faderift | A bottle of white, a bottle of red

WHO: Open to anyone that wants wine and warmth and a little company.
WHAT: Wine and no whining.
WHEN: After the mage meeting wraps up.
WHERE: Close to the healing tents, specifically the Orlesian section.
NOTES: There will be wine, drinking, unwinding, and nibbles.

The meeting had been stressful for just about everyone involved. Tempers had flared, opinions made known, a few rounds of confetti and arguing before some manner of accord. Whether it would last or however long it might? No one could truly say. In the interest of being quite done with the stress and headaches such debate brought on the Orlesian healing tents clearing out the potions, bandages, and poultices in favor of what cushions and braziers they had on hand for light and for heat. The space was open, warm, and inviting with an odd assortment of tin mugs or clay glasses set around flat side tables propped up with stones to keep them from wobbling and tipping the whole mass onto the ground. There are some dried fruits and hard cheeses, dried meat and hard crusted bread- whatever scraps they could scavenge or spare and a few bottles of wine or brandy. Across the entrance to the tents there was a sign:

Bring a bottle or food to share for entry.

Tacked below was a list of rules:

Everyone is welcome, don't make a fuss
Don't hog the wine
Don't hog the food
Don't fight or argue
If you finish a bottle open a new one, don't recork it for someone else to find
Clean up after yourselves

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Yes, I am learning that the spirits of these lands are quite persistent," Galadriel answered vaguely as she came alongside Krem.

She was taller than he was, by nearly a foot, and the difference was exacerbated by his being seated. It fascinated her briefly, but her attention quickly drifted to the unfamiliar and impressive cut of his armor. She had never seen him in it and she admired it for several silent seconds. In fact, she looked quite ready to comment on it, but whatever she had to say was, for better or worse, lost as the bard in the tents struck up a merry tune.

It wasn't a song Galadriel knew, of course, but it was one she had heard before, if only earlier that very evening. Recognition was a fond thing and her face lit up with joy as she cast a glance back at the tent. Without the warmth of the firelight or the braziers, it was that much more apparent that she exuded light. Her joy seemed to intensify it and, when she looked back at Krem, she was quite literally alight.

"Come," Galadriel encouraged him and bent to grasp both of his hands, bottle and all, in her own. Her enthusiasm was obvious and, before he could offer any answer at all, positive or negative, she drew him up to his feet. "Dance with me."

Krem might have asked what she was looking at so intently, had she not moved to pull him to his feet. He stumbled a little bit once he was out of his chair, squeezing onto her hand a little more firmly with an expression of mild bewilderment. He pulled back briefly to put his bottle back down on his chair to keep it from spilling, then turned back to her.

"Can't guarantee I'm any good at it," he warned her, following behind her and looking down at their feet then at their hands, trying to at least orient himself so that they could do this with ease. It wasn't that he was really a stranger to drunken dancing; sometimes it happened among the Chargers when spirits were high.

Galadriel took his warning in stride and, truthfully, it wouldn't have mattered if he was made entirely of left feet. She settled a hand at his side, against the joint of his breastplate and the back, and wound the fingers of her other hand through his. Within a moment, she was beaming again and swept him into a quick, but utterly elven dance. It was doubtless a strange and alien thing, in both step and form, but the rhythm in it matched perfectly with the bard-song. It would have been a challenge, a test of a resistant will, not to fall in time with Galadriel as she led their steps.

She was loose with drink and merriment, enjoyed the stars, and Krem was a familiar face in a crowd of strangers. There were few better ways to spend an evening than this and she delighted in it. For all her grace while they sparred, she was at her most graceful now, moving with the ease of water and mist, unhindered by the dips in the ground or any missteps he might've made. The world flowed around Galadriel and, at the moment, it was obvious just how easily it could pass her by and leave her lingering in its wake. She was a thing out of time, even in Thedas, but she wasn't bothered by it now.

No, now, she simply held her friend close and ushered him through cheerful steps. Above, the stars rested and, when the song was done, she sighed happily and inclined her head to him.

The smile on her face made Krem's own return, his hands finding purchase as his feet moved with the rhythm of the music and that she had set. It wasn't the most elegant dance, but it would do as far as revelry went. If he didn't know better, he'd have sword he was dancing with a spirit, as the elf glided over the uneven ground, avoiding his much clumsier steps when they might have broken her toes with the weight of his boots.

At the end of the song, Krem was just the slightest bit breathless, for as sudden and unorthodox as the dance was, but he was obviously rather pleased nonetheless. He looked up as Galadriel's head bowed, letting his forehead touch hers briefly.

"Care for another?" he asked as another tune started, this one slower, easier for him to keep up with.

"Lead the way and I shall gladly follow," Galadriel agreed a bit breathlessly. It was wordy and florid, but she was neither the first nor the last elf who would surrender to poetry when drunk and merry.

She didn't know this particular song but she had no issue following Krem's lead, if he wished to dance another dance.

While the song is slower, it's no less energetic, more percussion and intense movements that Krem guides her through. He's a commanding dancer when it's something that he knows that he's leading someone into, taking charge here as he would on the battlefield. He maneuvers deftly around Galadriel, giving her a confident little smirk then ducking away, giving her a bow when the song is over. He barely hears the smatter of applause as he straightens up again.

"Gratias, my lady. You dance well."

A bottle of white, a bottle of red

I warned you.

Yes good.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject