InsaneJournal

It was the hottest day of the summer so far, and they were all standing around in full armour, and Alistair guessed it would have been rather ridiculous if it hadn’t been too hot to care. The tournament field had been emptied, fresh hay spread over the downtrodden grass and the spectator areas were full to bursting. Standing on the raised platform of the honorary box, Alistair found himself distracted by thoughts of cheese, wondering if his armour was hot enough that it would melt if he… A slight cough behind him informed him of Bethany’s disapproval – not that that was unusual, she usually disapproved of him. Bethany Hawke, first disapprover of the Commander of the Grey. Maybe he should suggest that title to her…or maybe not.
Looking at the Wardens standing at attention around him, a fine show for the people of Amaranthine and the visitors, he spared another thought to what would happen if he poured a bucket of water on them (they needed some cooling, the poor chaps, but would there be steam? Maybe it would boil immediately, which would defeat the purpose…)

Stepping up to the edge of the platform, he glanced down at the little stair that would enable him to interact with the winners. It was ridiculous, here he stood with little medals and heavy pouches of coin, when what he (and probably the winners too) longed for most was to slap them on the back and buy them a cold beer. But no, they were the Order of the Grey Wardens and they had to keep the tone of things. Unfolding the paper he had in his hand, Alistair noticed how there was water stains on it, little pearls of sweat that had transferred from his indeed sweaty hands onto the paper. The ink had spread out, leaving the long speech all but unreadable, the long, fancy words smudged. For a moment he stood there, gaping stupidly at it, flailing inwards. He knew if he looked up he’d see hundreds – thousands?! – faces staring at him, waiting for him to step into the part as the dashing role of Warden-Commander, speech-holder extraordinaire. He was getting too old for this.

Well, they’d just have to be happy with a sweating, bumbling Warden-Commander.

Clearing his throat, he was relieved when his voice did not come out as a squeak, but as a dignified manly rumble. It was a little thing, but it made him a little less nervous. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are here to honour the men and women who...won.” Great start Alistair, he thought to himself, the corners of his mouth trembling with the effort not to grin.

“All of you have fought with skill and determination, but as all things must come to an end, so must there be a winner.” That sounded good, but he wasn’t sure what he meant with it though.
Reaching behind him blindly, until his fingers met the little table filled with coin purses and knick-knacks, he managed to get a hold of a purse. Clearing his throat again he called the first name, before fiddling some more to find a medal. They were all alike, simple ornaments in copper, emblazoned with the Grey Warden insignia. Hopefully the winners would wear them proudly.

OOC note: This will play out just like the rest of the tournament: if your character wants to interact further with Alistair, thank him, weep in gratitude etc, he will reply. Otherwise it’s fine to just accept the money and retire.