My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "Is this a new elf thing or personal preference?" He tried to lean closer without taking a step nearer as if attempting to honor the sovereignty of her room. Which seemed particularly stupid as it was his castle.

  "No, I..." Reiss steadied her breath and tugged her hands down from the edge of the tape flaking free. She could deal with it later. "The city guard helmets are not designed with elves in mind, so our ears will often chafe and sometimes blister or worse. I tape it up to prevent that."

  "You," he gasped, jabbing a finger at her while Reiss felt herself melting into a puddle at the attention. "Why didn't anyone say something? We could get new helmets or..."

  She should apologize instantly for making him agitated. Put all her sentences in the form of questions as if begging for permission. Internally, in the rarely delved smart part of her brain she knew that, but something in him brought out the old soldier that didn't have time for niceties and needed to get that old lady to finish off the demon infested chicken. In a gruff voice Reiss explained, "There are only three elves in all of the city guards. Forging new helmets for so few of us would be expensive and, given the always lagging coffers, it didn't seem prudent to become known as one of the complainers."

  "Does it hurt?" he said and she winced. No one ever asked her that. Certainly none of the other humans in her guardhouse no matter how often they'd watch Reiss and Lunet ripping off sections of tape with their teeth and trying to line it up in the mirror. Often, one or the other elves would signal when it'd fall off their skin and stick in hair.

  "No," Reiss lied, "I've grown used to it."

  "Well, royal guards don't wear helmets so we can keep track of who's coming and going. Which I should ask Ghaleb about later. Do you know him?"

  "No, Sire...Ser. Sorry, it will take some time to adjust."

  "No problem, Ser Reiss," he grinned a pure beam of sunshine upon her and for a moment she felt something flutter in her stomach.

  "He's our spymaster, everyone calls him weird. Okay, he is weird. Spymaster's tend to be, but..." the King tapped his finger against the wall, his eyes darting past her shoulder to the hall. "The man you beheaded, the assassin..." Reiss nodded, remembering it well. That was a difficult thing to forget. "Do you know what happened to his head?"

  "I," she shook her head slowly, "I'm afraid not, Ser."

  The King threw his hand up and shook his head, "Maybe it's not important, or I'm...Maker's breath, I'm tired." His head lolled down, trying to roll a knot out of his neck, "Beyond tired. This was a long day, one I hope to never repeat."

  "I shall endeavor to make that come true," Reiss said, standing at attention.

  For a moment the King's head snapped up at her, a hint of a smile wafting away his exhaustion. "Thank you for that. And thank you for saving my ass," he stuck his hand out and instinctively Reiss took it. "I mean it. I know there wasn't much time in the thick of things and..."

  "Ser," she shook their hands again and then in true soldier fashion slugged him on the shoulder, "that's what you pay me for."

  He laughed at her response, and more of that fluttering rose in her stomach. "I suppose I do. Okay, I'm going to go fall flat on my face on the bed. If you hear a scream in the morning, it's one of the maids thinking I'm dead. They're always doing that." He turned to walk away before snapping a finger and whipped back around. "Ah, here, you should probably have this..."

  The King pressed a second key into her hand, this one with a small crown decorating the top. "Ser?"

  "For the door between us. I'm terrible about losing those things and you seem to be the responsible type."

  That was putting it mildly. "I try," she said, already sliding the key in beside hers.

  "Right, okay, goodnight Ser Reiss. We'll dig into the real marrow tomorrow."

  "Sleep well, Ser," she called out before the King shut their door between them. Weary feet shuffling over the stones, she could hear him moving deeper into his rooms alone until another door opened and closed cutting off all sound. For a moment, she thought about locking the door between them, but that seemed unwise at least until there was a reason. Instead, she closed the door to the hallway and slowly turned around in her room.

  Her room.

  Maker, she had a bed she didn't have to share with her siblings, or the other farmhands stuffed into the same straw pile, or a gaggle of soldiers fighting for space on a pallet. Reiss' ecstatic vision drifted up to the mirror where she caught a glimpse at herself. You look even worse than usual, and that's saying something, Rat.

  Her broken nose barely set when it happened a few months ago, leaving a swelling at the bridge she was coming to accept as normal. Mud from the training grounds, and smoke from the assassins stained her cheeks, but it was the tape that drew her attention. That damn tape that set her apart from the rest of the shems, trying to protect the part of her they rarely looked past.

  Someone, most likely Karelle, was kind enough to leave water in the basin below the mirror. Reiss drew a finger across it; cold but not freezing. She'd suffered worse before. Sliding next to the fogged mirror, she twisted her head until she could see her ear from the edge of her eyes. Working a nail under the tape, Reiss slowly tugged it off. A sharp hiss of pain broke from her lips as she ripped off the layer of skin below. Dabbing the end of the cloth into the basin, she carefully scrubbed away the blood caked into the tips of her ears. They rarely looked this red, the day having involved more action than normal. Swelling puffed up under her skin, giving her an even more elven look than usual. The last time her tips were this red her sister was flicking at them with her fingers and calling her 'turtle neck' while Reiss kept dodging to get away. She hadn't seen Atisha or her brother in such a long time.

  Scarlett bloomed through the water basin as Reiss turned to tackle her second ear. Maker, what would either of them think of her here in the palace working for the King? To even have elves as servants was unheard of for royalty. They were so well off they didn't need to slum the alienages for their foot maidens or whatever they were called. Not just any servant, not just any guard, but the personal bodyguard.

  Reiss wiped off as much of her blood as she could manage, leaving the raw and oozing skin to heal in the exposed air. She thought the Inquisition was her salvation once. It offered her a job, a bed, and a surprising number of friends. And then she went and ruined it all because of...it didn't matter. In the end it was her choice, she did it, and she'd been scraping by ever since wishing she had someway to correct her biggest mistake.

  Maybe, just maybe, for once the Maker's looking out for you, Reiss.

  ***

  Metal sliding against leather dug through the fog of sleep and straight into Reiss' sore ears. She sat up, her fingers searching for the blade she kept stashed under her pallet. Ambushes weren't common in the camps but this far out on the road they could...could. Her fumbling hand pushed down upon a mattress, a real one stuffed with feathers and not straw. Quickly, the past day snapped back at her and she tried to not groan at her first foolish assumption that she was back with the Inquisition.

  Sometimes her fellow guards would think it funny to wake the elf by trying to cover the tips of her ears in cream. That stopped when she sat bolt upright, grabbed what she thought was a red templar's throat, and shoved him into the wall. Ever since then people tended to give a wider berth to Reiss when she slumbered.

  This is the castle, remember. Palace. Whatever they call it. The fancy one on the hill in Denerim. She snickered, realizing she'd have to learn its proper name in order to send out any letters. Though 'Where the King lives' would probably work just as well. And you're here because...

  Another sound echoed through the night, muffled but the distinct crunch of sword digging into wood.

  Because you're the King's blighted bodyguard!

  Reiss leaped out of her bed, her feet smacking into the floor. She'd tossed off her trousers before sleep but there wasn't time to put them back on. Instead, she unearthed her short sword off the belt and tugged back
on the door between their rooms. No screams of the male and dying variety broke the air and she breathed a sigh of relief. It would be just like you to fail within not even twelve hours of your new job.

  Lamplight from one of the old glass ones used by night patrolmen cast shadows along the wall. One in particular moved outside of the flame's dance, a sword extended in its hand as it advanced towards something on the other side of the room. Gripping tight and trying to not think about how she was in her smalls and a training tunic that was more stain than not, Reiss inched closer towards the potential attacker come to finish off the King. If she was quick, he wouldn't see her. Dropping down her sleeve, Reiss planned to jam it into his mouth to muffle the screams. No reason to go alerting any other potential assassins.

  Fancy furniture of the chifforobe and armoire type stood in the way, providing a strange maze for Reiss to navigate. She flattened up to the edge of one of those mabari statues that littered all of Denerim. At nearly seven feet tall, it easily hid her form as she waited for the opportunity to strike. The shadow stepped closer and closer to its target, to the exact left of her, leaving its back exposed.

  Gripping tighter to her sword, Reiss made a step to move out when blonde hair whipped backwards. She froze in the shadows, her brain filling in the rest. The King, for reasons unknown, was stripped to the waist while running with a rather plain sword at something further inside the room. He didn't spot her, thank the Maker for that, even as he stood with chest heaving a few feet away. His focus was upon whatever dummy or piece of royal furniture he got it in his head to destroy, while Reiss' was, well...

  Maker, those were gorgeous shoulders. Lunet gave her constant grief for her fascination with that part of the male anatomy. As she'd often put it, "What could one possibly find interesting in shoulders? They're lumps of muscle atop arms." The bad ones, sure, but when you got the right set like a taut ball dipping forward and back as the arm sliced through the air, something in Reiss awakened. She didn't care much about stomachs, or asses (though Lunet could talk her pointed ears off about them), but Andraste's holy pyre did she ache to dig her nails into the right kind of shoulders.

  Something of a gasp broke her lustful concentration, causing Reiss to notice a few scars decorated the King's chest and one in particular against those tempting shoulders. Still unaware of his audience, the King dropped his bastard sword down and wiped at his forehead with the back of a forearm. Whipping the arm away to shake it dry, he turned to glare at the practice dummy. Certain that his attention was too focused to see her, Reiss inched nearer to spot one that looked like it belonged in her guardhouse. Simple, stuffed with straw, the arms were knotted on by rope and hooks. Only a cheap wooden crown perched on its head made it appear any different. Three throwing knives were embedded into its chest while another dozen littered the ground.

  Rolling his shoulders back, the King stood at attention. His stance, normally knock kneed and uncertain, fell into perfect formation. With right foot forward and left back, he lifted the sword high and charged at the dummy. It was a massacre, straw spilling to the floor in clumps as the King cried out incoherently. "I...Am...Tired...Why can I ever-? Just fix it...Ahhh!" Tumbling out of his hands, the sword clattered to the ground, metal echoing against stone as it rolled back and forth. The King knotted what she saw were red and swollen knuckles in his hair and tugged upward. Moaning, he dropped to his knees, the hands he'd no doubt been wailing upon the dummy with earlier collapsing to the ground.

  You shouldn't be seeing this.

  Reiss knew in her heart that this was supposed to be a private moment, the King showing weakness in the only way he knew how. But, some silly stupid part of her wanted to reach out and help him, as if he wouldn't rear back, wipe the tears away with his bloody knuckles, and then shout her out of Denerim for thinking he ever cracked.

  "Damn it," Alistair breathed, the tears evident in his broken voice. "Damn it all."

  Slowly, Reiss slid back from the King, certain that there weren't any assassins leaping through the windows about to finish him off. She could have explained what drew her out of her room, maybe he'd even understand, but...this was wrong. Too personal and private. And she'd been gawping at his half naked body no less.

  Scowling at her ineptitude and lack of decorum, Reiss slithered towards her room. Before she closed the door, she watched the shadow across the wall. It staggered to its feet, bent over to snatch up the dropped sword, and then picked up the dummy's hand to shake it for a well fought match. Terrified the King might catch her, Reiss closed her door -- muffling the final click -- but she stood beside the wood listening. No more sounds of battle filled the night, he seemed to have worked it out of his system.

  Don't.

  Reiss heard her mother's words ringing in her head, first ordered to her when she was only seven years old and wanted to play with a neighbor boy.

  Don't get involved with shems. It never ends well for the knife-ear.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  First Day

  Adjusting to a bodyguard was going to take some time. In the back of his head Alistair knew that, but staggering out of his bedroom in search for anything to pry open his eyes and nearly running head first into an armored chest was a bit unexpected. It did wake him up a treat though, fear of death was far more efficient than a bucket of cold water dumped on your head. She seemed about as uncertain as he did with the whole situation appearing to have dressed, breakfasted, and probably read the entire works of Brother Genetivi before dawn. While he wasn't a sleep 'til noon and stumble into the throne room with a sheet knotted around his waist kind of King, mornings and Alistair weren't friendly. If you took a wyvern and made it square off against a shark while a giant hurled a massive boulder into the arena...that metaphor went nowhere, but Maker, that'd be fun to watch.

  After dressing on his own and trying to not seem too proud that he managed to get the boots on the right feet in the first go, Alistair waved off the itinerary guy. He had an official title with lots of frilly letters attached at the end but Alistair didn't much care. Every morning the slope headed, fuzzy cheeked man coughed at his bedroom's threshold, placed his hat upon a hook beside the door, bowed once to the king, and then told Alistair everything he had to do today.

  For the first few years it worked spectacularly, Alistair terrified of this tiny but potentially dangerous bureaucratic man ordering around the King. Now, he'd humor the itinerary man if he had nothing better to do. You know, before someone sent assassins after him and his children. That previous life was far more likely to include instructions like 'Appear in rose garden and have brief ten minute discussions with visiting dignitaries from Nevarra.'

  What he needed far more than making small talk about aphids was a very frank discussion with his Spymaster. Rounding up the twisted staircase two at a time, Alistair pulled a bread roll out of his pocket and jammed it in his mouth. Realizing his lacking manners, he turned to shoot a glance over his back at the woman struggling to keep up.

  "Sorry, would you like one?" he asked with his lips around the food he snatched off the breakfast table. Alistair held a second roll out, after having absconded with a good five. It was a habit he picked up as a child uncertain if anyone could be arsed to remember to feed him. And there had to be five or more swiped each time because the dogs refused to share.

  "Ah," Ser Reiss shook her head slowly. "No thank you, Ser."

  "Your loss," he shrugged, mashing down the last of his roll with his teeth and swallowing, "they're actually good this morning."

  "Yes, I had a few earlier when they were fresh," Reiss admitted as they resumed their climb. Why Ghaleb insisted on living in the tip of the stupidest tower was beyond him. The old Spymaster before him, prior to throwing in the towel, had a salon on the first floor so she could keep watch over everyone that came and went. This one preferred to be as far from people as possible.

  "Maker's breath, how early did you get up?" Alistair paused, letting the bodyguard catch up. The narrow, twisty stai
rcase was hard enough to manage, and he was used to the damn thing.

  "I..." She'd rolled her hair back into those knots that women sometimes made on the top of their head before jamming fancy needles and the like into 'em. Though Reiss seemed to have a stiletto hilt sticking out of hair, the grip glittering by the sun. It was such a bardish hairstyle he was surprised Leliana never tried it. "In truth, I tended to work the third shift and my body isn't used to sleeping at night."

  "Gotcha." Alistair sighed, "Maker, I remember that one. It's brutal."

  "Ser?" She twisted her head to the side almost like an inquisitive bird. One of the cute ones though, like a wren or sparrow, not like an evil goose.

  "Having to stand guard outside the camp. I was always drawing the short straw and wound up getting the fun of being bored while freezing my ass off. Sometimes I'd see how far I could toss small rocks...right until I slipped and had one smack into the qunari. Forgot about that." He smiled at the memory when he streaked through the underbrush hiding from a wrathful Sten. His only saving grace was when Lanny stepped in to distract their big, scary qunari friend. Though he did get a 'Don't do that again' look off her.

  Alistair came back from his trip down memory lane to find Reiss staring through him as if searching for a lie. "Why so surprised?"

  "I...I didn't think Kings ever did their own guarding."

  He chuckled, his head dipping down, "Don't worry, I'm not about to steal your job. This was before the fancy hat and," Alistair sighed, "fancier chair."

  "The blight," Reiss whispered, her eyes hardening.

  It was a rare Ferelden who wasn't in some way touched by the Blight, but as the years faded people sort of stopped caring. Maker save him, he'd once had to sit in on some Bann near the northern border convinced that it was all a hoax concocted by the secret dragon people living amongst them. Alistair's guards tried to pry him away to avoid an incident, but he found it all hilarious, until the man started talking about how Lanny was a doddering puppet put forth to make mages seem sympathetic. After that, it was a wonder the Bann made it out of there with all his teeth.