Reiss' shoulders shook with her silent laughter. Her perky cheeks lifted even higher as she spoke, "Maker's sake, they can't deal with a little baby shit?"
"This was no little. I'm starting to think that kid's secretly eating whole druffalo when no one's looking. Gotta say, I was impressed. Horrified, but impressed." Alistair swung their clasped hands together as he found himself bobbing away in her pretty eyes. Shaking off the urge to kiss her, he sighed, "After that spectacle, I spent most of the day with my kids. Post baby clean up. Spud tried to paint my hair, then we all had another bath, and Brunt more or less stood there like a silent statue glaring at us all."
"I don't say much on the job, either," Reiss said.
"No, but you give little nods or smile on occasion when something happens. You're not frozen without anything going on behind those eyes. I swear he's sleeping while standing upright."
"With his eyes open?" she asked.
"I knew a Warden that could that. Freaked us all out so we'd bury his face under leaves."
As his little laugh dissipated in the air, heavy silence descended in its place. He wanted to hug her, to tell her that he was there for her, that he'd do whatever he could to help. But she was so strong, it made him feel like anything he did try would probably hurt more than help.
"It still hurts," she whispered, her eyes closed tight.
Ignoring the fact they were both coated in fight-sweat, Alistair wrapped her tight to his body. "It's okay," he whispered.
"It'll be okay?" she asked.
"No, just that it's okay to hurt."
Reiss blinked a few times, her eyes darting through the air as if she was speed reading something. After a beat she glanced up into his face and a bottomless gratitude washed across her. "How are you so damn smart?"
A rampaging blush burned across one cheek, then leapt to the other as Alistair gulped at the air. "I...uh, I doubt you'd find anyone to ever agree with..."
Before he could finish, she lifted up on her toes, her lips crushing tight to his. As he tipped his head, giving her nose breathing room, her mouth softened, and Alistair matched in kind. There wasn't any heat. No, there was some because there always was whenever he kissed her. But what bowled him over instead of lust was a sense of comfort, a longing he didn't even notice being swaddled by her mere presence as she circled her fingers against his back. Reiss drew a calm to him with an ease he never thought possible.
Sliding her lips to the side, she kissed once against his cheek and whispered, "Thank you, again. Could I...May we sit out on your balcony for a time watching the stars together?"
A smile rose through Alistair's jittery nerves and he cupped her cheek, "I wouldn't love anything more." Taking one more kiss before he regretfully had to break from her, Alistair moved to step away, but Reiss kept their hands locked together. Maybe, maybe she needed this bond as much as he did.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The Letter
The next few days both flew by as well as crawled. True to her word, Reiss served for as long as the King required her -- Alistair maintaining his usual work throughout the castle and the occasional trip to Denerim proper. That gave Reiss a new challenge as she'd have to scout ahead to make certain that no one too suspicious was lurking around the perimeter. They feared that with Harding on the case, the assassins might get spooked into trying something even more daring than before, but also for the sake of cover it was vital the King act like, well, himself.
Today's challenge away from the bureaucracy and sitting quietly in a room while people yelled at him involved visiting a small woodworking shop and forge. It was a curious husband and wife team up, the woman stripped to nothing but an undershirt while she stoked the coals and the man with fancy spectacles perched upon his eyes chiseled a tiny fleck off a hunk of wood. When Reiss officially marched in, they glanced up from their work a moment but neither moved to greet her.
They saw the ears first.
She'd been getting through the days by ignoring what happened, trying to forget that she was even an elf, but Ferelden itself did everything in its power to remind her this wasn't her world. Coughing into her fist, she stood up tall and exclaimed, "I come on behalf of the King, and if you don't drop your tools now we're going to have an issue."
The threat, while severely limited by her lack of power, was enough to startle them to attention as Alistair strolled in. A few of the easier handlers trailed him, always asking questions because the advisors seemed to fear leaving the man truly alone for long.
"Your Majesty," the pair of crafters bowed, rushing towards him.
"Hi," Alistair waved in his disarming way, a smile full on his face from being free of the confines of the palace. There was no concern for his well being in his movements, but for a brief moment he glanced over at Reiss. She shrugged a shoulder, having nothing nefarious to report, and he focused fully on the pair. "So, I heard from Karelle that you're some of the best woodworker & blacksmith team in town."
"We'd be the only one in Denerim," the blacksmith said while running her bare forearm against her sweaty forehead.
"That narrowed my choices a bit as well," Alistair was quick to rebound.
"What my wife means is, we are delighted to have the royal house showing an interest in our wares," the woodworker raced to cover for the unimpressed woman. "Whatever the crown requires we will be happy to provide."
"Assuming it's possible," she snorted, very unimpressed with the King or well aware of Alistair's peculiarities.
"It's not anything fancy," Alistair said, his eyes dancing from one to the other, "I know it's a bit early, but I'm thinking of a Satinalia gift for Spud."
"A, er, potato?" the man stared at his wife, a sign of real concern flitting across his face. He feared the King was truly mad after all.
Laughing, Alistair shook his hair, "No, that's...I mean my daughter. Seems one of her cousins has those ridey horses on the springs and Sp-- the princess adores the damn thing. Every day in and out about the magical ridey bounce horse."
"Of course, Sire," the woodworker spoke for his wife who was already turning away to return to her forge. She had no interest in the conversation and Reiss had to say she felt the same. "It should be no problem, though I believe some of the local toy shops would have one in, uh..." visions of all the coin the man was about to talk out of his pocket flashed through his mind.
"Yeah, I know that," Alistair explained, "but I was thinking of something other than a horse."
That caught the woodcarver's attention, "Such as...?"
"Here," Alistair waved his royal hand at one of the clerks trailing him. A slip of paper passed over, which he unrolled on the desk, "I drew a basic idea."
"And was kind enough to label the drawings as well," the woodworker commented while pointing at the drawing. "Is that fire?"
While the two of them knocked their heads together in thought, Reiss paced back in forth in the shop. It seemed to be split right down the middle to highlight the two crafts -- one half was all logs, sanded and varnished to a glossy finish while the other rough stone to protect the fires of the forge. It was a wonder none of the sparks ever leapt to the wooden side, but maybe that'd be grounds for divorce should it occur.
Unable to stand still, Reiss picked at the horseshoes nailed to the wall. Most were inelegant and designed for function but a few bore filagree and some even had gold laid into them. Hopefully they were never nailed to a horse's hoof but people with more coin than they knew what to do with tended to find strange ways to burn it off. Not by feeding the hungry or clothing the freezing, that would be foolish, but golden horseshoes that's the real answer to solving life's problems.
That was one of Atisha's favorite topics of conversation right after the amazing things Andraste did, and how great the Maker is. If the wealth was merely shared equally somehow everyone would be happy. Reiss rather doubted it was that easy, seeing as how people had a habit of being selfish bastards any chance they could, but Atisha was so damn certain in
her belief. That was her sister, if it required a leap of faith, she'd cling to it with all the power in her body even when everyone else trudged on home because supper wasn't going to make itself.
Lorace used to joke that when Atisha fell ill, the virus boiled her brains like pudding, pushing her to accept the tripe of the chantry without question. Reiss would scold him, as much as she thought he'd bother to read, but silently suspected he might have been right. Something in her nearly dying from a plague the chantry didn't have the compassion to care about or minister too, pushed Atisha right into Andraste's arms. Which always struck Reiss as funny seeing as how it was actually an apostate that saved her life.
Things were supposed to be getting better. The new Divine threw open the chantry doors, invited all she could to join in. When no one took her up on the offer, the humans were content at the message with no intent, but as elves began to trickle in the fires burned hot. Why did everyone get so upset? Why didn't everyone hold hands and sing happy songs together? Reiss knew, but dear, sweet Atisha -- Maker save her, but she believed in the good of people. Truly, fervently thought that if she gave every person a chance, a hug, offered up the clothes on her back and the blood in her veins she could save them all. It was foolish, and naive, and got her killed.
But...maybe thedas would be better off if there were more people like Aitsha and less like Reiss. The Mother's words to her rang through Reiss' head often, "everything happens for a reason." If that were true, if Andraste was pleading for people, or the Maker had some long stretched plan then wouldn't he have rescued his true daughter of the faith? Why did she have to-to burn while Reiss...while she...
Blinking off the thought, Reiss glanced up from the horseshoes to feel the blacksmith stared hard and long at her.
"Know much about horses?"
"Not in particular," Reiss admitted.
"Unsurprising, given the..." she gestured at Reiss' ears with her flaming hot tongs before scooping up a chunk of metal and bashing it with a hammer.
"Some elves, we..." she wanted to defend her people, to mention all the knife-ears she knew who were experts on horses and riding, but no names to came to mind. There had to be someone, right? A famous breeder or racer that defied the odds of being poor and ill educated to climb the sawed off ladder and make a name. The only one to dart though her mind was the stablehand in the palace, but even he was a half elf. For some people it didn't count for anything good, but mattered greatly for everything bad.
"Miranda," the woodworker called unexpectedly.
"Yeah?" the smithy answered back. While her husband spoke, she quenched the blade, steam hissing over his words and fog blanketing her from him. Chuckling at the move, she returned the metal to the fire to begin again.
"We have a job for the King himself, as a gift to the princess. Can you behave for two Maker damn minutes?" he sighed, the exasperation evident.
Reiss began to suspect that the spark to burn down their shop wouldn't be an accident.
"Possibly," the smithy laughed again. "Get yer ass over here and show me the plans."
Groaning, the woodworker picked up the King's hand and kissed the metal ring as if it was important. Alistair blinked madly at the move but didn't yank his fingers away. "Thank you, Sire for thinking of us." After bowing a few more times, he scurried away from royalty to confer with his wife who looked about to dunk his head into her quench bucket.
Alistair watched the pair for a moment while absently wiping the back of his hand across his trousers. When Reiss returned to his side, he leaned over to whisper, "True love, it's a thing to be admired."
"I'd put it at good odds that one or both of them is going to wind up murdered," she whispered back as the woodworker's arms began to flail madly at the woman ignoring him.
"Maybe," Alistair said softly which caused Reiss to eye him up. He didn't really think this was a healthy or normal relationship, did he? His fingers softly graced the edge of the armor across her upper arm. "It's amazing how stubborn some people are. You can't have that, it's bad for you? No, well now I want it even more! Also screw you for thinking of me."
He chuckled at the end but Reiss faded behind her eyes as Lunet's cursing her out echoed in her mind. Was she being stubborn or...?
"Your Highness!" one of the bushier of the handlers dashed into the small shop. Alistair devoted as much of his rapt attention as he could to the man. "You are required back at the palace immediately."
"Why? Did Eamon catch a spider and fear for my health? He hates the things," he directed the last part at Reiss who smiled grimly. She wasn't a particular fan either.
"No, Sire, it's the assassins."
That cut off Alistair's goofy grin. It was probably Reiss' imagination that every ear in the shop leaned in closer as their King turned upon the man blushing below his beard. "What about them? Have they made another move?"
"Uh, no. Harding, your Majesty."
"Skip the bloody titles and get to the point."
"She's caught them, Sir," the handler watched Alistair digest the news slowly before adding, "All of them."
It was the fastest trip to the palace they'd ever taken. Normally the King would take his time, trying to scrounge up any excuse he could find to avoid heading home but he was practically coach driving. With his head stuck out the window, Reiss had to keep tugging him back in so Alistair couldn't smack his face on passing sign posts. Leaving behind horses spitting steam in the stables, the handlers in their fussy robes hustled to keep up with the King's elongated gait and the elf keeping at quicktime behind.
Alistair didn't even ask where the assassins were being kept, he didn't need to as they caught the pitted remains of caged wagons cooling on the grounds outside the guard's cells. It seemed as if all the royal retinue were there, the crimson shining in the sun to discriminate them from the plate grey of the city watch. A few were manhandling the kind of slime one dug out of a drain at the bottom of a tannery, those wave tattoos evident along with a bright array of cursing. The rest of the guards leaned back, exhaustion evident from what must have been one hell of a move.
One of them jabbed another and soon all were staggering to their feet to salute their sovereign monarch. Alistair gave a small wave at the attention, as well as a "Good job, everyone," while passing the rows of men and women saluting. At the end of it, as the last of the prisoners vanished kicking but not screaming down the hole, Alistair grabbed onto the arm of the lieutenant taking down whatever information they could.
"Where's Harding?"
"Down there, Sire, with the Commander," the guard pointed into the hole without a second thought.
Nodding his thanks, Alistair glanced back at the pile of exhaustion sunning itself on the grounds. Through the groans and people trying to unhitch exhausted muscles were smiles and secret bottles slipping in and out. They won.
He glanced back once at Reiss, a look of dread in his eye, before it all vanished away. Summoning something to protect him, the King marched with head held high down the stairs into the pits. What had seemed like the cursed realms of the forgotten buzzed with sweat and anger as dozens of men hobbled back and forth like caged animals behind the bars. Eyes glittered in pain through the darkness, daring their King to draw closer. This wasn't poor Ghaleb and the ambassador tossed into a straw pile, these were the real horrors of the street. Men who'd found within each other a shared desire to take whatever they wanted and hurt when it suited them. If there was any soul worth saving, they long ago traded it away for drink or worse.
Reiss didn't look over at them, but she could feel the hot breath snorting from their noses. It felt as if it crawled down the back of her neck into her armor. Did they know she was the reason they'd been found out? Would it matter to them either way if any ever escaped?
Circling down to the second level, they spotted Harding with daggers drawn as she punched one man in the gut. Before he could think to slide back, she drew the dagger up under his dangly parts and moved to draw it upwards. That froze him i
n an instant, his eyes bulging as she dared him to try anything and face his new life as a castrato. Lifting his hands, one of the guards punched to the ground in the scuffle manacled one wrist and then the other before knocking the man into a cell.
"Remind me to not piss you off," Alistair said while clapping in appreciation for Harding's efforts.
The dwarf spun on her heels to eye up the King. Blood was spattered across her cheek, which she wiped up to mash with dirt and sweat. A smile lifted and she shrugged, "Make sure to pay me on time and you should be safe. Sorry about that one, we had damn near everyone secured but he got one look at the Commander here and went berserk."
Cade sneered from behind as he quietly slotted his sword back in place. If not for Harding's quick thinking, the Commander would have beheaded the prisoner without a second thought. "Fear will do that to a person," he grumbled in his bass, all the teeth flashing at the man glaring in his cell. Shaking it away, Cade turned to Alistair and said, "Milord, it's not safe for you to be here."
"Seems as long as I stick near Harding I should be good," Alistair said, rocking back and forth on his heels. Ignoring Cade's grumble at forgoing his safety, Alistair focused on Harding.
She slotted her daggers away and yanked up mounds of paperwork that spilled across the floor in the scuffle. "We've got them, your Highness."
"All of them?" he glanced around at the cells full to bursting as if in disbelief that there could be more out there trying to kill him.
"Every last bastard. Took a lot of reconnaissance and critical timing, and I won't lie, we got damn lucky in the end. But this is ever last member of the Zea Dogs, all thirty two of 'em."
My Love Page 197