"No man could beat the Chargers, cuz we'll hit you where it hurts. Unless you know a tavern with loose cards and looser skirts! For every bloody battlefield, we'll gladly raise a cup, no matter what tomorrow holds, our ears be pointing up!"
Blackwall laughed out loud at the minor editing of the Charger's song, made appropriate for Idril's ears, as he carried the drunken elf back into the castle. The grand hall was blissfully empty now that it was evening, although he could see a woman by the throne. He shifted Idril as she continued to move on his shoulder like a writhing sack of grain, which was how he decided to carry her should the lightweight decided to throw up. At the sound of her singing, the woman by the throne moved forward, which turned out to be Josephine. The Warden felt a bit of heat rise up his cheeks as she came forward.
"Sweet Andraste, I've been looking for her!" Josephine said, her accented Antivan voice sounding annoyed, "And now Leliana tells me she's been in the tavern all this time?"
"Drinking with the Chargers, yes." Blackwall said, smiling down at the woman, "She's had too much to drink, I'm afraid. Perhaps the Chargers hid her whenever you came by this morning."
"Ugh! That Iron Bull… and now I won't be able to get her fitting for her dress." Josephine complained, and she wrote something down on her ledger, "And now I would have to reschedule her again tomorrow…"
"Cassandra said the Inquisitor is not to be disturbed even tomorrow. Golden Scythe would mean she is in for the worst hang over in her life." Blackwall said, opening the door that led to Idril's room with Josephine following at his heels. "She said she'll be by later once she's roused up the Chargers to discuss something with you. I am to call on Cullen once I've settled her into her bed. Leliana would be in the War Room by now."
Josephine blinked as they finally reached Idril's room, "Oh right, of course. Thank you, Warden Blackwall."
A sudden retching made both of them stop in the middle of the room, and Josephine covered her nose and backed away as Idril promptly threw up on the Orlesian carpet of her room, still hanging like a shack on the Warden's shoulders. Blackwall looked up at the ceiling and shook his head before peeking at Josephine behind him, "Is there vomit on my clothes, Josephine?"
The young lady shook her head, still covering her nose, but she added, "There's none on your clothes… but they are on your boots."
"Great." Blackwall muttered out, "Mind that you get some servants to clean her up and get rid of that carpet, Ambassador."
"Absolutely."