AN: First of all, thank you to everyone who wished me a happy birthday! I didn't get a kiss from Han, but all of your lovely reviews made up for it! This story will be in two parts and consists of all the details involved in throwing a medal ceremony. Thank you to Reading Writing Watching for being my wonderful beta-reader!

"No, no, we can't put Icestyo next to Dobel Protonwor," Dodonna told Mon Mothma.

"Well, he can't be put next to Astatis Row. You know how he gets after he's had a few drinks," Mon Mothma said. Han was watching the whole exchange in disgusted disbelief. The high command had convened this morning to discuss plans for the upcoming state dinner to decorate the heroes of the battle of Endor. For some reason (possibly because he was sleeping with the highest ranking officer on the base), he was the only second-tier general required to be at the meeting.

Mon Mothma, Rieekan, Madine and Dodonna had been arguing for almost an hour over the seating arrangements. Han had his arm around Leia, who had offered very little to the conversation. He could feel her getting more and more annoyed with the ridiculous banter that was taking place.

"We are running out of places to put him," Madine spoke up.

"This isn't a battle plan, Crix!" Mon Mothma exclaimed. Mon Mothma and Madine then launched into an argument about the level of difficulty of planning a successful battle. Han shook his head, trying to force himself to wake up. Surely, this was some bizarre dream.

"Do something!" Carlist Rieekan hissed at Leia from across the table. Leia snapped her datapad on and started madly writing. Han looked over her shoulder to where she was drawing up circles and writing names in them. After a few minutes (in which the command unseated ten of the fifteen people they'd already placed) Leia was placing the circles—tables, Han realized—strategically, occasionally rotating one or switching two names.

"No, no, no! He and Onedumo will be arguing before the soup is served!"

"Here," Leia said stoutly, sending the image on her datapad up to the screen at the front of the room. The command was quiet for a moment while they looked over Leia's outline, and no one could come up with any reason why it wouldn't work.

"I suppose you have the menu conundrum all worked out, as well?" Dodonna asked with an air that Han guessed he'd regret in a minute. She didn't reply, just sent another image to the screen that perfectly outlined a menu that would satisfy the dietary requirements of the different species attending the banquet. Dodonna didn't say much after that.

"Anything else?" She asked tartly. Han smirked as the high command humbly shook their heads. "Very well," She finished, standing and leaving. He followed as the rest of the command staff picked up their bruised egos. It made him smile to think that, at 22, she could best four of the top military minds in the galaxy.

"That was one of the sexiest things I have ever seen," he whispered to her as they marched down the hall at a brisk pace. She raised her eyebrows.

"I've never seen something that simple get blown that far out of proportion," she bit.

"How did you know how to do that?" He put his arm around her, slowing her to a slightly more comfortable speed.

"I had to learn how to do all the things for planning banquets and balls and state dinners and receptions. I had lessons in protocol, etiquette, and decorum. How to greet people from every planet of every rank and title. Who I had to bow to, and who was supposed to bow to me. A simple seating arrangement and menu for a dinner banquet is hardly what you might call a stretch." He smiled.

"Am I supposed to bow to you?" He knew the answer was probably a firm and adamant yes, but it might be fun to hear her explanation.

"As a General of the Rebellion, yes. However, you're technically my consort, so no."

"So then, your royal highnessness, what does protocol dictate is the proper way for a scruffy smuggler slash general slash consort such as myself to ask a devastatingly beautiful princess slash general such as yourself to the banquet?" He tightened his hold.

"Well, protocol woulddictate that you write to me and extend your invitation. However, as my consort, you are already listed as my escort."

"Your escort? You aren't my date?"

"You forget, General. I outrank you."

"Oh, believe me, Your Worship, I haven't forgotten. And I think it is a little pretentious of you to assume I would agree to escort someone who outranks me," Han teased.

"You should have thought about that before becoming the consort," she told him as they rounded the corner that led to the hangar bay. He pulled around her to face him.

"Well, I s'pose I can handle escorting you, Your Worshipfulness," he consented, kissing her.

"Good. Because if you didn't, I would be forced to pull rank." She sauntered away from him, on about her next task. Han watched her retreating figure, her hips swaying a little extra, no doubt for him (though whether it was for his benefit or his detriment remained to be seen), and wondered how he'd gotten so lucky.

00

There was an envelope on her desk the next morning. 'General Han Solo,smuggler, space pirate, scruffy-looking nerf-herder, and consort would be eternally grateful if Your Worship would be his date to the grand state banquet ball reception thing even though you outrank him. By one rank. But who's counting.'Leia folded the paper and smiled.

00

Han held up his uniform that he only wore when it was really, absolutely necessary (ok, every time Leia told him to, which was more often than he liked these days). It was black and had all sorts of decorations on the shoulders and chest and sleeves, including a weird crown-type thing that he'd never seen before but assumed meant that he belonged to Leia. The pants bore the red and gold of the Corellian Bloodstripes. He jumped in the 'fresher, shaved, and put the monkey suit on. His blaster belt didn't fit through the belt loops on the kriffing pants, so he was forced to wear the belt that had come with them. The blaster was clunky under the jacket, but he wasn't going anywhere without it. The final touch was his Alliance medal, which he hung around his neck. Chewie laughed as Han emerged from his cabin.

"The only reason they don't have you in this getup is because you're strong enough to yank their arms out of their sockets," Han shot back, though he knew it was probably had more to do with the fact that Chewie was already covered with hair than anything. Han walked from the secondary hangar bay to Leia's quarters. She was dressed in something far less standard-issue than his black dress uniform. Her gown was made of lavender shimmersilk and there was far less fabric than what she normally wore around the base. It showed off a great deal of her arms and shoulders as well as a bit of leg that was usually reserved for Han's eyes only. Her hair was braided and coiled into a huge circle on the back of her head. He was speechless for a moment.

"Good evening," she grinned at his appraisal.

"Good evening," he repeated, offering his arm. She graciously accepted it and they set off towards the banquet.

"This isn't fair. You get to touch me, but I have to keep my hands to myself?" He teased, looking down at her small hand tucked into the crook of his arm.

"Just till the end of the reception, flyboy. Do you think you can last that long?" She asked.

"That's the thing about Corellians, sweetheart. We can last all night," he replied.

Please R&R (I don't know why I ask that. You guys are so great at reviewing everything)

Tune in next week to these same stations for the thrilling conclusion of 'Taming of the Consort'!