ɢᴀʟᴇ (traps) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-09-15 10:58:00 |
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Planning a wedding that was going to take place in a medieval fortress was definitely a challenge. But since technically you only got married once (vow renewals notwithstanding) it was a challenge Gale was up for - he was set, he was ready, he was even wearing his combat uniform. The camo fatigues and boots that laced-up and were comfortably broken in; made sense, thanks to him having just returned from an Army Reserves training exercise - the whole thing was meant to ‘keep the skills sharp’ though he’d much rather climb a mountain and visit a castle. In October, he had an even longer training coming up, an even more intense bout of field exercises - two weeks he’d be gone, which was peanuts compared to months (even years) that some soldiers completing tours overseas faced. He’d been there, done that, and was fine with the shorter time these days. Not like he enjoyed being away from Leliana even for the weekends here and there - not when they used those days to catch up with each other, generally, after busy work weeks. In the tavern known as the Herald’s Rest, they could at least take the time to do some organization and snap some photos to help plan how they wanted to set things up and where. Gale was glad his spymaster fiancee was here, because he’d feel wrong coming by himself - there were separate errands to run (for example, he had an appointment soon to get his military dress uniform altered, though he might bring Leliana for that one regardless) but when it came to Skyhold, together was best. Barrels of dwarven ale avoided. He’d heard it tasted like dirt and cinnamon, and the burn was like drinking kerosene. “Getting the catered food up here - “ He ran a hand along the smooth wood of one of the tables, turning the candle with authentic wax drippings to better see how old it looked, “...that will be fun. What kind of food did you have in Thedas?” Food wasn’t something the Gale of Panem knew. He hunted and killed his own, or else his family wouldn’t get to eat. It was a precious commodity in District 12, nothing overly special or tasty, and unless Leliana wanted him to shoot a few deer for their nuptials, he’d take suggestions on what to best feed guests. Dwarven ale packed quite the punch - once upon two Thedosian moons she had only a thimble of it and she awoke in Jader (a very large Orlesian city) in nothing but a towel and her shoes. An entire week had also passed, one she had very little memory of, but it was during her days of serving tea in a brothel so really, the possibilities were endless. Leliana was alright with it being served at the wedding in very small doses, let’s just say. Nor would she partake in such a potent drink since she actually wanted to remember - and be conscious - for her wedding night. It was a couple months away, but Skyhold still needed a tad bit more work to make it inhabitable for an entire wedding, plus a reception during the wintry December month. Table measurements had to be done for the linen, and not to mention they had to gauge whether or not they had enough seating and if they needed to contact a rental company for additional furniture. Then, of course, whether or not they wanted table runners, and proper placements, and ohhhh - how were they going to decorate the mantle? “It varied,” she answered him, right in the middle of snapping a couple pictures of the fireplace (different angles, of course, all photographic details were a necessity!) to store them and, of course, send them to her very creative maid of honor - perhaps her darling Cindy-lou would have an idea. “If I was stationary - during my times as a Lay Sister, for example - we would eat very light meals. Roasted vegetables, grains, fruits. Lean meat. During travels, however, anything that moved was fair game.” There was a mournful sigh before she continued, looking to Gale with her powder blue eyes. “Nugs included. I do not speak of those times in front of them.” “You ate nugs?” Gale gasped, with faux dramatics. Because how scandalous. Not like he had any room to talk though - he gladly aimed and fired when it came to shooting arrows at baby deer in order to have that fresh meat. Hell, he even remembered Greasy Sae’s winter specialty - a stew dished out from a large cauldron, mice meat and pig entrails and bark. Delicious. He set the candle down, heading to the actual bar to examine what was here. There were two stories in the tavern itself, what looked like a metric ton of soft pillows and hanging plants on the second floor - someone’s personal quarters, no doubt. “Maybe we should have like...medieval fare, then? Hearty things, for people - because in the winter, they might like that.” It wasn’t going to be a good time of year for light salads and things like quiches. “But let me know if you need me to get numbers for anything. I brought the measuring tape.” It was in one of the deep pockets of his camo trousers. Leliana visibly pouted. Yes, nugs were sometimes consumed as sustenance - they couldn’t afford to be too picky during the Blight, but once Schmooples joined the ranks she did her best to not eat the poor thing’s fallen brethren before those beady black eyes. Hunting had been more of a rogue’s responsibility back in the Warden’s ragtag group; arrows and knives were more ideal for the art of hunting and gathering, and she’d done her fair share of killing and skinning forest dwellers for the camp. Now it wasn’t that necessary, but perhaps she should join her fiance during a hunt or two for bonding purposes. No baby animals, however, she might tear up. Those pictures were sent to Cindy, though she had to wave her phone a little bit for signal bars - it was difficult up here sometimes, so high in the mountains. “Medieval is such a broad term,” Nightingale chuckled, and slid her mobile into her back pocket. Her jeans were of a stretchy, comfortable material and her cowl blouse was sleeveless. “It all varies by country. Orlesian weddings, for example, have the most decadent of foods available. Sweets, honeyed carrots, black berries in cream, wines of all sorts. Very extravagant decor and silken fabrics draped around. I would describe it very similar to a masquerade, as masks during special events is culturally appropriate, but poison still mixed in goblets.” And culturally, Leliana was Orlesian. If directly asked she would call herself Ferelden considering it was her birthplace, but her mannerisms and upbringing hailed from that snotty empire. Flaws aside, however, it was a very beautiful place - unique architecture, impressive art, and an interesting sense of fashion. She slowly sauntered to her towering soldier, looping her arms around his waist, and smirked up at him. “Perhaps your masculinity is craving the need for meat.” Such a manly thing! For meat, yes. Gale chuckled, hands sliding up Leliana’s back and on her shoulders; one hand curled into her hair, gently squeezing behind her neck as he ducked to drop a kiss on that deceptively sweet rosebud mouth of hers - meaning that he’d heard her say some dirty things. “Sounds like Orlesian weddings are similar to Capital weddings,” he observed. In fact, Capital weddings were basically what modern-day weddings were these days. Fancy clothes, lots of food - he just thought of whole goats and pigs turning on spits, tons of sauces, seafood, fruits, desserts that were so intricate it seemed almost a crime to eat them. Extravagance and decadence were the go-to themes for every main event. “We can avoid the poison in goblets though? Anything else, I’m good with. The lighting’s nice, as it is - “ He took a glance around. It was that kind of ambiance that offered kind of a glow, golden, orange, something that was a result of candles or torches. It was a certain kind of warmth, he thought. “There is certainly a resemblance with what you’ve told me,” Leliana confirmed, practically purring against his mouth. Little kisses were given as reciprocation, genuinely sweet despite her penchant of cleverly disguised venom. “There are many aspects of its culture I am not proud of.” Halamshiral, for example, was historically the capital of the Dalish - it held the Winter Palace and a high population of elves. There was no alienage, and nobility had more private areas to keep separate from the so-called ‘knife ears.’ As the divine she was doing her best to right certain wrongs, but there was too much to accomplish in merely one life time. But she did like the idea of incorporating Thedosian cuisine into their reception. Ferelden or Orlesian, it didn’t matter - better if it were both, as Orlesian recipes were often very sugary sweet. Around his neck is where her arms switched too. “And no poison, that I promise. We do need table measurements, however - and count the chairs, make sure we don’t have a rodent infestation...and we must check for possible prank traps. There was a very mischievous elf who often stayed on the second floor. She had a thing for bees.” Thedosian culture should be incorporated into their reception, Gale believed - it was important to Leliana, essentially a part of her, and where she’d left off in her dreams she was really working to make improvements and inspire change. He was proud of her - in a sense, they were doing the same thing. Only he was a military official, uniformed in loneliness because he’d become a person apparently his best friend could no longer tolerate - he would never get to meet her children. At least Leli had her Hero of Ferelden, and he was actually glad for that, for her sake. “Rodent infestation?” He lifted an eyebrow, amused. “I haven’t seen any turds around, so we might have gotten lucky. But I’ll take a closer look when I do the measurements. And now that they have the right invitations those will be picked up next week - we can make sure chairs match potential number of guests.” Not everyone would attend (they weren’t even inviting that many people) but of course having enough seating was important. Whatever the hell was up with the second floor though, he didn’t know. A mischievous elf, huh? “So if we don’t have rats, we might have bees?” Alright, fair enough. Giving his fiancee’s derriere a squeeze, he then let go to dutifully do his measuring job. “This place is full of stories.” Bees were likely, she thought. Pull the right floorboards out and there could be a swarm - Leliana wouldn’t put it past for this structure to come rigged with Sera’s pranks. That elf was exasperating but the trickster in her could appreciate the attempt to ‘lighten things up’ during an era of darkness; it was something she would have done once upon a Blight, but by the time the breach had ripped the skies her sense of humor had turned to ash and the only smile she was giving people were red ones - right across their neck. “Like the time someone decided to attack Skyhold by throwing a goat?” she scoffed, and refrained from letting her hands make grabby notions because otherwise she was going to devour Gale’s muscular tush up. There was work to do, alas, and she slipped behind the bar to gauge what needed to be done back here - the glassware to take a count of it, the wooden mugs to see their conditions. Making sure they had enough was essential, and she also wanted to make sure there weren’t any nests of bugs that got comfortable within. Anyone who lived during a medieval period could tell you sanitation was not high on the list. “I can tell you where everyone like to spend time in. What times they were likely to be there, where were their most favored spots for lovemaking…” There was a bit of an eyebrow waggle from the oh-so terrifying Spymaster. Nothing could really escape her - she had eyes and ears everywhere here, especially with the threat of traitors among them. “Or where they thought no one would ever find them pleasuring themselves. The barn was oddly popular.” Leave it to Leliana to have dirt on the Inquisition’s base of operations. Though with what was basically a small village’s worth of people living here, Gale assumed that there were definitely some dirty deeds going on. “Now you have to tell me about the preferred places to get down,” he said, crouching to measure a table. He did it quickly, efficiently, and programmed the numbers into his phone - it did take some finagling, but he could manage one bar of service to get the document saved here and there. The number of chairs, making note of the varying sizes, was also programmed into the same spot for later. He’d email it to himself and they’d see what they could do with the results when it came to best figuring out a comfortable reception. “Don’t leave anything out. Where did everyone like to do their banging?” Hmmmm. Leaning forward, Leliana’s elbows propped atop the bar, and tapped her mouth with her fingers in thought. Not to mention this forward position made for such a lovely view of squished cleavage. Drop a quarter in there, get a prize. “Well, the Inquisitor and his lover were a little shameless in their exploits. More so his lover. I often questioned whether or not I should touch the war table,” she giggled. “That aforementioned elf had a bit of a thing going on with our scholar arcanist - a dwarf - and did it everywhere. Dagna was just the right height for all those troublesome standing positions. They never did get the throne room, though. Too heavily guarded.” Sera’s affectionate nickname for her was Widdle, and she was pleased to know their relationship flourished to something more serious down the line. Many encounters in Skyhold were brief, stress-relieving things - but sometimes relationships flourished under the pressure of it all. “I suppose a possible end of times does bring out the need to hump like nugs?” There was a light shrug. “None for me, of course. I remained loyal to mine.” Hump like nugs. Gale started laughing, he couldn’t help it - but it was probably the nonchalant way that Leliana spoke of it all. He didn’t really laugh much either (not this stone-faced, hard-as-a-rock soldier) but she usually got him to loosen up a little in more ways than one. “A dwarf and an elf, sounds kinky,” he noted, then took a slooooooooow step back from the table he was measuring, after realizing that it was possible not only did dwarf-and-elf naked ass potentially cover the surface, but also potentially two other guys that he would probably have to look in the eye at some point. Especially Trevelyan, if he was going to marry Gale and Leliana here. Uh, well, that was all just hilarious. Now, did he head toward where cleavage beckoned or did he go and investigate the second level for bee traps? Obviously, the answer was cleavage, so he sauntered closer and leaned in on the bartop to have a better view and steal a kiss or several. “I’m surprised people still had sex at all in Panem,” he huffed. The Capital was decadent, and like one big orgy, but elsewhere in the Districts? Reproducing meant more mouths no one could afford to feed and a potential to face the horrors of having your children’s names on slips of paper in the reaping ball. “Nope, I still haven’t dreamed of losing my virginity.” Most sad. But dream Gale loved weapons more than people - he didn’t care about carnal pleasures. They just weren’t on the radar for him. Yes, the exposure of cleavage clearly served to lure him into a trap! Leliana looked so very pleased with herself. “If you think that’s kinky, I will have to describe how qunaris handle their mating.” Ones like Iron Bull were known for gaining an erection during a dragon fight, and their love-making was far from gentle - she’d always heard it involved pulling hair (if there were any to pull) and furniture breaking while regaling tales of battle or something. Her exploits were limited to humans and elves, alas. “From what you’ve described, I can’t say I’m surprised that they do,” she went on, curling her fingers into his shirt to pull him that much closer from across the bartop. “Intimacy serves as comfort. There is probably a craving from connection among the disconnected? Perhaps you come across some older redhead later on that teaches you the ways of dirty cuddling.” Sometimes it was odd how open the ending of the dreams could be, but she hoped that somewhere down the road the Gale in Panem found some kind of silverlining through it all. At least here, she could make sure of that. “I hope so. Not many redheads where I’m from - “ Save for Darius the goofy Peacekeeper, who ended up an Avox. A dead Avox. But Peacekeepers were generally brought in from District 2 anyway and looked different from the dark-haired, olive-toned citizens of District 12, “...she’d be like this exotic flower or something,” he grinned, giving in to the dangerous wiles of his sweetly-accented fiancee. Gale planted a kiss on her, knuckles sweeping down her cheek and along the side of her neck, fingers unfurling to caress skin. Gently, a lot gentler than the appearance of his scarred hands would suggest. He didn’t exactly want to end up alone either though. Maybe he’d changed a lot, and poisoned by the war and his own hatred for the enemy, but that didn’t deserve eternal solitude. Katniss clearly wasn’t the right one for him, and Gale had known that even before she chose Peeta, but someone out there? Someone had to be. In this life, he’d found her. That was what mattered. “So, did I do a good job measuring, Princess Leliana?” Just without the cinnamon buns for a hairstyle. Maker, no. None of that odd bun-style. It was a blessing Gale had gone and run that errand, otherwise the employee would have gotten a stare that would freeze her very bones. “Hmmm,” Leliana purred, cocking her head to the side a bit for a peek at the tables. “You could have bent over more. Stretched, given me a whole show.” Tsk, tsk. Really, she should have him retake the measurements just for that failure! Then she lifted her head so they could be nose-to-nose, their signature eskimo kiss. “But I suppose that’ll do for now. It frees you up so you can help me sift through the glassware and take inventory.” There also had to be some Orlesian wines around here somewhere, rich and thick from the red grapes and blackberries they were made from. “And if we time it right, the last ten minutes will be me taking you somewhere that hasn’t been christened by someone.” Shit, and here Gale thought he was going to get a reward for doing such a great job. Though he was pretty much at Leliana’s beck and call anyway - he whipped off the shirt to do manual labor outside, in the heat, for her or her friends whenever she asked. All she had to do was bat those lace-curtain lashes of hers. Or show cleavage, that didn’t hurt either. “I think we can take maybe thirty minutes for that,” he smirked, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “At least more than ten. We want to find a good spot.” That hadn’t already been defiled - seemed like a difficult task, given all the raucous that had gone on in this very fortress long, long ago. But alright, inventory. Glasses and whatever else was behind this bar. Mugs, barrels, candles in bottles, who knew what the fuck else. “I guess we can’t skip to the christening part?” Never fear, he was mostly kidding, having whipped out his phone to dutifully record more notes. “We go to that and we will get absolutely nothing done,” Leliana giggled, sweet but impish. All it’d do was revert her into a pile of euphoric mush and then have her crave a nap, which is why the christening would happen after their errands - as a reward for a job well-done and not going bridezilla? “The quicker we do all this, the quicker we will get to that.” Meaning, it was time to meticulously but quickly get the rest of their list done. |