Love's Blush

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "So I need not worry about rivers of blood soaking into boots? Good, it's a pain to clean out of any rivets," Reiss said.

  "Tell me about it," Alistair rolled his eyes, their sparring practice fully forgotten save the two of them occasionally shifting their weight back and forth. "But, I must warn you." The jolly tone faded away to an ominous certainty. "Whatever you do, never enter into the west wing of the palace tower."

  "Wh..." Reiss swallowed down the concern in her throat at the glare in his eyes, "Why not?"

  Like striking a flint, his face lit up in joy and Alistair smiled, "Because there's this Maker awful statue of me in there. Eamon thought the courtyard needed one and boy did he pick the wrong artist." The King stopped his sliding feet and stepped close to Reiss to whisper in her ear, "It's naked. Nothing, not even a tasteful fig leaf. Yeah."

  "Oh..." She didn't bite down on her lip, that would be improper. Nor did she stir her toe and fold into her shoulders while giggling. But Maker take it all, Reiss couldn't stop a blush rising up her cheeks. "That, uh, understood," she coughed out, trying to shake off the tiny part of her brain daring her to find this mysterious statue. It wasn't as if it was necessarily correct, he doesn't seem the type to have posed for it. And for the love of Andraste, why are you even thinking that?

  "What about you?" he asked, drawing her out of her blushing bubble.

  "Beg pardon?" Reiss squeaked out.

  "Any big secrets weighing you down that you want to confess off your chest?" He smiled innocently, before his eyes flared and he stammered, "Not that you'd have a naked statue or other nude uh...things in existence to be noticed and I should stop talking."

  Reiss' steps faded away and she knotted her fingers together. Weights upon her chest? There were too many to count. What if she failed him? Failed all the elves in the city? Where would she go then? Could she rebuild her life for a third time? What of... "My sister," slipped out of her mouth. Reiss froze up, unable to speak more through a bramble lodged in her throat.

  "You have a sister?" Alistair asked.

  "Aye, and a brother as well. They..." she took a steadying breath before throwing on a fake smile. "I shouldn't trouble you with this."

  "I did ask," Alistair insisted, "in my typical stumbling into the throne room without any pants on kind of way." She knew he wasn't a mage, but she felt as if the man put her under some kind of spell. Charming she was used to, the pointless flattery, the eternal compliments, but this was something else. He was bowling her over with an earnestness she'd never seen before.

  "Atisha, that's my sister's name, she's been in Jader for a few years now. And..." Maker's sake, Reiss. He won't care. Why are you telling him? "After the Blight she became devoted to Andraste, fervent to an annoying degree."

  He snorted, "I know that one. Let me guess, she tsks her tongue at you for letting a single damn out."

  "I haven't seen her in many years, but," Reiss smiled, "she would often send back my letters with big red circles and little prayers for Andraste written in the margins for my less than savory words."

  Alistair whistled under his breath, "Shit, she's worse than most templars I knew. Granted, when a fireball's coming at you, the Maker's gotta allow a few good swears out."

  "She's taken vows," Reiss spat out. Atisha'd been hinting at it for months, ecstatic about some Mother that took her under her wing, but Reiss never thought anything would come of it. "The first elven Sister in Jader. And I'm terrified of what..." She shook it off, don't complain to shems about other shems. They'll always draw rank. "She's my younger sister, I've spent much of my life watching out for her and it's hard to let things go."

  The King opened his mouth, seeming like he was going to call her out on whatever terrified her, but he closed it softly and squeezed his eyes tight. "Jader, huh?"

  "I am uncertain if the fact it's near the Ferelden border makes it better or worse," Reiss was willing to admit.

  "No kidding, it..." he ruffled his hair until it nearly stood upright before yanking both hands down to stare at the bruised knuckles, "I shouldn't bore you with politics. I wish I didn't have to bore myself with them."

  "Nor should I you with my familial problems," Reiss said, snapping to attention.

  Alistair wrapped his hands together and said, "You heard me the first night, didn't you? It's okay, I don't blame you for not saying anything. I thought I spotted a shadow but didn't want to speak up either because then it gets awkward and we're both trying to avoid each other all day despite having to be together all day." He tipped his head in thought and swung his fists limply at his side, "That stuff, it builds up and sometimes I need to get it out. Without scaring any of my easily startled subjects."

  She placed a hand against his upper arm and smiled, "I understand."

  "Thought you might," Alistair whispered, his bruised fingers gripping onto the ones she put upon him. Sweet Andraste, Rat, you're touching royalty. What are you doing?

  Reiss didn't know how to yank her hand away without making it more awkward, so she left it there pinned under his warm skin. "If you ever need to have someone to work it out with, I could certainly use the practice."

  His sunny smile dawned and that flutter trembled up and down her stomach again. "Thanks, you too. I've been, not exactly in your shoes, but well I haven't always had a shiny crown weighing down my head. I don't mind if you have to rant about shems."

  Starting, Reiss' eyes cracked open wide and she her jaw fell slack. "Did I...? I, uh...?"

  Laughing, Alistair released his hold on her and folded his arms up, "My door's always open, Ser Reiss. Seeing as how I gave you the key."

  "You did," she smiled, reaching into her pocket and finding the pair nested together. "I should...go to sleep." She pointed her thumb behind her as if he didn't know where the door was.

  "How goes adjusting to the new shift?"

  "Slow," Reiss admitted. As she picked up her music box, the song slowed down, the melody straining to become a haunted ballad. "How do you sleep, Ser?"

  He paused in inspecting one of the swords along the wall and turned back to her, "With the weight of Ferelden upon me. But the bed's really soft so it balances out."

  "Good evening, your Highness," Reiss bowed her head, trying to shake off a smile etched on her heart.

  "And to you, knight of the realm," he answered back. "Oh, and about those mage rumors. If you're going into the pool, I'd go for more than 6 weeks." She paused in her steps and turned to find the man shrugging, his smile assured in the face of the entire castle betting upon him. "Call it a hunch."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Thunder

  Most of the King's day to day life folded into an easy routine. There'd be some time spent with his children, he was getting much better at properly parting the princess' hair, then it was hours upon hours of meetings. For the first few Reiss stood at constant attention, her eyes trying to bore through every noble that barely glanced a flicker over at her. She knew there were assassins on the horizon, but after having to sit through another droning voice speaking ad nauseum for an afternoon about the sewage problems in Denerim Reiss' attention began to drift away from her job. On occasion, she'd catch sight of the King with a quill in hand jabbing at a piece of parchment. He kept an arm in the way so no one else at the table could see, but standing behind him Reiss spotted drawings mixed in with his notes. Most were line figures of heroic characters fighting off probably dragons, and once or twice he drew the person droning on crushed below a giant cheese wheel. Stink lines seemed to be a favorite addition.

  After a week and a half of this, Reiss found herself blending into a safe familiarity. Her always being on the King's heel kept her apart from the rest of the guards, but she'd find time to speak with the head cook Renata and Philipe. Apparently the King's appetite was legendary and he wasn't one to wait for servants to bring silver trays to him therefor he'd often snuck off to the kitchen. Commander Cade would glance over at her, but rarely say much. He made it evident that as far as h
e was concerned, this outside hired bodyguard wasn't under his jurisdiction. Reiss wasn't certain if that was a blessing or a curse. Her only backup seemed to be the King, the man she was supposed to protect.

  With clouds buffeting away the warm spring sun, a chill crept through the windows and across the meeting room's floor. Alistair stood beside the head of the table, he never could sit long and would often pace during meetings that ran into hours. Before the others arrived, he took to running his finger over the snarled teeth of the various stuffed heads hanging on the wall. "When I was a boy, I used to think people would stash things inside the mouths," he said aloud to Reiss or perhaps the other servants scrambling to set up the meeting room. The Orlesian banner sat upon one place setting along with a golden goblet, which an elf was filling with red wine from a separate decanter.

  "I remember they had a giant bear, well what seemed giant to me, in the Lothering tavern. In truth, it was a little black one, maybe four feet tall," Reiss said. She stood beside the door, far across the room from the King. Turning away from the muzzle of a wolf, he gave her his full attention. "I screamed for days after seeing it. Called it 'Blacktooth.' My father refused to take me anywhere near that tavern ever again."

  "Blacktooth?" he smiled, "Maker, that's a great name for a pirate. Is it too late to...?"

  "Yes, Sire," one of the clerks interrupted.

  "You don't even know what I was going to say."

  "To register a boat with the Port Authority under the name Blacktooth so you may traverse the high seas. It is too late in the day and season to attempt such things," the man droned on, not bothering to raise his eyes to his King.

  Alistair stuck a hand on his hip and stared at the clerk who was the first to arrive in the room, "What happened in your past to drain all the fun from you, Derek?"

  He moved to speak, when the door flew open and the first of the guests to this meeting arrived. Reiss didn't recognize most of them, full faces hidden below expensive hats or above ruffs, but each gave in to her inspecting their hands and asking they leave any and all dangerous weapons outside. Most were obliging about it, having heard the news of the assassination and not wanting to cause trouble. The Orlesian ambassador gave Reiss the most trouble, refusing to part with the breast blade the bodyguard noticed in an instant.

  "It is an antique of the Drakon dynasty, a gift from the Empress herself," Madam Cherie stuck out her porcelain chin, or whatever the mask was made out of.

  "Ambassador," Reiss threw on the voice she used to get her brother to bathe. It worked 99.9% of the time against the nobility.

  "I do not trust any of your sticky fingered..." her eyes traveled over Reiss, in particular the ears, before she faced fully upon the King, "servants. If you allow an assassin to move in your midst, then what is to stop thieves as well?"

  Reiss wanted to reach over and yank the damn thing out of her cleavage herself, but the King interceded. "Give it to me, and I'll keep it safe until the meeting's over."

  Her eyes danced over the man, "And I am to think you are safer hands? I'd be best tossing this priceless relic to the dogs." Despite her very Orlesian complaints, she reached inside her bust, pulled out a three inch long knife, and pressed it into the King's palm. "Do not ruminate upon where it rested," she hissed before sliding to her seat and taking a long sip of the wine.

  Rolling his eyes, the King slipped the dagger safely under his belt on his back before whispering to Reiss, "How did you notice it on her?"

  "Women carrying one will keep their backs straight at all times to avoid it accidentally nicking anything vital. When she reached across her to shake a hand, I noticed she froze a moment to check herself."

  "Maker's breath," the King whistled as if impressed. Then he leaned even closer and in a breath asked, "Do you often inspect women's chests?"

  "Only if I'm being paid," Reiss admitted.

  Laughing at that, Alistair returned to his spot at the head of the table and waited for the rest to enter. A dozen more came, including the Spymaster, Commander Cade, Chancellor Eamon, and to Reiss' surprise the Hahren of the Denerim Alienage. Shinai's eyes barely paused in glaring at the multitude of humans, but for a brief moment they landed upon Reiss. She'd heard of the woman being named an Arl but the very idea seemed a farce. Reiss was certain that it had to be a title only and that they'd never let an elf attend court, much less sit in on meetings. A few grumbled at the woman's presence, but Shiani ignored it all and sat in a flourish beside Ghaleb and one of the Banns from the far south.

  "So," the King slapped his hands together and then cast an eye towards the door. Silently, Reiss shut it, sealing them off from anyone else wandering past the room. "What's gone horribly wrong in Denerim now?"

  A few eyes glanced over their heads, most still in that late morning haze. It was the red headed elf who sat up first, prepared to speak over top anyone, "The alienage is crammed to bursting, which I've been telling you for months. If you don't fix it soon it'll be a big problem."

  "You say that as if elves clustered together in a hovel is something new," a bald man with a black beard spoke to her. He barely glanced in the Arlessa's direction, nor addressed her properly.

  Shiani didn't blink, "This blighted well is." She turned up to Alistair and pointed at him, "Too many people stuck living on top of each other invites chaos."

  "I thought we loosened up the work restrictions for elves," the comptroller said. She was dressed in a grey blouse festooned with ruffles. It reminded Reiss of the chickens on the farm when they were fluffed out during a cold snap.

  "Jobs don't mean a thing if people are jammed five or more to a bed," Shiani spoke to the King who steepled his fingers and stared through her.

  "Isn't your job to keep the peace in your lands, Arlessa?" the bearded man spat at Shiani, finding her title to be a laugh.

  She didn't turn to the King or anyone else for support, the woman raining fire down upon the man. "Maybe I'm of the mind to let them give into their anger when my people's needs keep getting swept under the rug. You shove more elves into the alienage it'll be plague again, and riots are a certainty."

  "Disease and thuggery, the two traits elves are famous for," the bearded man quipped under his breath but loud enough the two knife-ears in the room heard. Shinai growled at him, her teeth bared as if she intended to rip his throat out while Reiss couldn't shake off her glare winnowing down.

  It was the Spymaster who spoke up, seeming to himself, "Elves have shown a proficiency of magic beyond human lines. Nearly one in five members of a family are known to be mages." He blinked those watery eyes a moment before focusing upon the elves turning to him. Ghaleb eeped and then burrowed into his robes, "Their dexterity ranks higher than all known species as well."

  "For the Maker's sake, Perrin," the King groaned, "could you try and act civil for once in your damn life?"

  "The facts are..."

  "All right," Lady Cherie rose out of her chair, her fingers hovering above the table, "I've humored his Majesty long enough. I see no reason for you requiring my costly attention."

  Alistair grumbled but threw his hands behind his head, "Seems a lot of the elves flocking to Denerim are coming out of Orlais. I'd thought you'd want to have some input on your citizenry."

  "Please," Cherie waved her perfumed hand in the air but slowly returned to her chair, "they hardly count as citizens."

  "What was that?" Shiani began, focusing her ire on the ambassador.

  "Dear, just because Ferelden finds it adorable to prop up elves like stuffed dolls in the middle of their throne rooms doesn't mean that Orlais is into such a farce."

  Shiani didn't reach out and punch her the way Reiss feared she would and for which she was grateful. She didn't want to have to restrain the Arlessa, and backing her up would probably get her fired. Instead, the woman leaned back in her chair and tented her fingers, "What do you call your Marquise Briala?"

  "A one night stand that failed to leave in the morning," Cherie muttered under her breath.


  The King banged his hand on the table, drawing every eye to him. "We could spend the entire damn day arguing over piddly little shit but it won't solve anything. Shiani, I assume you've got some ideas."

  "A few," she said, and the Arlessa yanked out a scroll which caused the entire assembled group to groan. Without any waver in her voice, Shiani read aloud her ideas complete with plusses and minuses to each one that were then shored up with data. On occasion, Ghaleb would toss in a comment, most of which backed up the elf's work. She'd done her homework and then some.

  Of course, the multitude of options led to more infighting. One tiny man insisted they couldn't fit it into the budget. When pressed for which of the Arlessa's ideas he claimed nothing would, rendering the entire thing moot. As the meeting went further off the rails with Perrin and Cherie bickering over the level of sewage runoff in Denerim's streets compared to Val Royeaux, Reiss' attention began to wander. The room was not that impressive for gathering together so many people important to Ferelden, middle sized with a small hearth that no one felt the need to light, it boasted only the table they clustered around and a few bookcases. The table itself bore the wear of age and what looked like a trio of dagger cuts jammed into the wood, no doubt from someone trying to dramatically mark a map.

  A chill crept up Reiss' legs and she glanced at the window behind the King. Someone worked it open, despite leaving the hearth cold. Did they anticipate so many people full of hot air overheating the room? Or was it some trick by crafty advisors to force the people to come to their demands faster to escape suffering the chill? Either way, it seemed odd. Grey clouds bulged in the sky threatening to open up and drop rain across the ground. Judging by the height of the window, they'd need a ladder or hook to properly close it...

  Reiss felt someone looking, and she glanced down to find the King's eyes staring right at her. As she met them, he smiled wide and shrugged at the constant bickering that amounted to politics. She began to smile back, when the pieces fell into place in her brain. Reacting, Reiss barreled towards the window and slammed her shield in place. The politics fell to a crash, everyone watching the strange bodyguard acting like a loon, when the flit of arrows cracked the air. Two embedded into her shield, causing Reiss' arm to rocket back. A third landed in the middle of the table, causing all the diplomats to scatter back as if it was a venomous snake.