Love's Blush

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Alistair watched her panic with a slow smile before he coughed and said, "You didn't tell me why your friend stopped visiting the alienage."

  "I didn't? Oh, that's, well, as I said she was married off. The leaders of the Alienages pick who weds who and the one in Highever didn't care about one vital fact about Lunet. She prefers women exclusively."

  "That would put a damper on the wedding night," Alistair said.

  "It didn't help that the man they shackled her to was a boorish oaf that Lunet wouldn't spit on if he was on fire. She lasted all of a month in the Alienage before running out and joining the Watch a few months prior to me."

  The King blinked his eyes slowly and he turned fully in his chair to gaze over at Reiss. "Without any sword training she was recruited straight into the guards?"

  Reiss smiled at that, "Lunet is very beautiful."

  He scoffed a moment before turning back to gaze over the city. "I'm beginning to think that's a requirement for joining the City Watch."

  She misinterpreted that. He must have meant some other guard he knew. He was King, kings knew the guards in their city. It was how it worked. They knew things because people were always telling them things, day in and day out. Lots of thingie things. Damn it, Reiss! Get a blighted grip.

  "You know," the King mused to himself, rolling the glass back and forth before picking up the half full bottle. "I'm coming around to this koomtra?"

  "Right," Reiss nodded, happy to have any change of topic. He filled another finger and a half's worth into his glass and downed it quickly, his eyes barely watering from the fumes. "They say that only true elves can enjoy koomtra's layered flavors."

  Hacking erupted from Alistair's lungs and he had to cough down the resurgence of the cheap liquor before being able to sputter out an, "Oh?"

  Reiss rolled her eyes, "I suspect that's code for 'only true elves are poor enough that koomtra's the one thing they can afford to drink.' Because it's so much fun to draw lines in the dirt and declare who does and doesn't..." She shook off her grumblings, trying to tamp down the shame and anger that rose whenever Reiss stumbled at being an elf. Her parents were proud to keep her from this life, insist that she try to blend into human existence while also watching herself with every move as if that was the proper way to live. Of course, she wasn't exactly running for the Alienage's next harhen either serving on the City Watch often at odds with her people and never rooming within the gated walls of the elven slum. Not even enough to be a flat ear, sometimes she felt like a shemlan hiding inside an elven skin.

  "Can I ask you something?" Reiss began. Alistair placed the last of the bottle down and nodded. "Why did you agree to help make dumplings without expecting there to be any compensation, risking belittling from Ineria, and never once calling for someone else to take over?"

  He watched her talk, his eyes darting across her face as if he'd never seen lips form words before. "Maker's sake, how many noble bungschooners have you had to work for?" A giggle broke through his words, the bungschooners causing a ripple effect through Reiss' lips.

  After shaking off the laugh, she sighed, "Far too many, though not all were high born."

  "Assholes in every rung, right?" It unnerved her at how perceptive this goofy king was. Shifting on his chair he leaned forward and pinched his fingers together, "It was fun to accomplish something, to have my hard work right there in front of me all done within an afternoon. No waiting ten years to see if some choice came to fruition, and certainly without a half dozen people running in from the sidelines shouting that I completely screwed them over and how dare I think I could make a dumpling!"

  "Aside from Ineria," Reiss interrupted.

  He smiled wide, "I'd much rather have one woman ordering me around than a hundred Banns after a hard choice that they refused to deal with is made flocking over so they can score some political points by arguing." Sighing, he leaned back in his chair, "I really miss being ordered around. Go here, kill this darkspawn, stop that hurlock, dodge the boulder from the ogre. Life was so much simpler when everyone wisely kept the fate of nations far from my shoulders."

  "You didn't wish to be King?" she asked.

  Reiss expected him to thunder that of course he did, it was his birthright or he deserved the power, but he slowly turned to her and shrugged. One eye slipped shut to match a half smile crawling up his cheeks, the man looking uncertain about everything. "It's not as if I ever had a say in who my father was, nor mother. They were happy to keep me hidden out of the throne's shadow and I was happy to stay there." He fiddled with the bottle, watching the setting sun's orange rays warp through the amber to lance upon the table as if it lit on fire. "I took the crown because...there weren't any other alternatives. Not really, none I'd trust to hold the door open for me at least."

  "This is a painful topic I should not have risen, I'm sorry," Reiss raced to apologize. She heard the regret ringing through his words, every sentence seemed to carry a silent 'If I could do it all over...'

  Alistair stopped rolling the bottle around and he focused fully on Reiss, a soft smile brightening his face. "No, it's all good. Not exactly something I've been hiding over the years from anyone. Get Eamon a few sour gimlets and he'll talk your ear off about how much of a failure I've been in living up to the Calenhad legacy." Picking at the table with his nail, Alistair glanced up to stare directly into her eyes as if he was daring her to call him on it. Despite having no real evidence, and the fact that they'd skipped all protocol to run off to the alienage for a day, Reiss didn't believe him. Granted, she also had no idea what made a king good or bad in the annals of history - though starting wars for some reason seemed to put one in the latter instead of the former category, assuming they won. But in this year, this decade, this age, he seemed to be trying as much as possible to help. That had to count for something.

  Groaning, Reiss flopped back into her chair and threw a hand over her eyes to block the sunlight. "I'm beginning to understand why you loved making the dumplings so much."

  That stomach flipping laugh echoed from beside her as Alistair sighed, "They are good dumplings. Thank you for bringing me. I'd have missed out otherwise."

  "You..." she wanted to tell him he didn't need to thank her, but maybe he did. "You're welcome," Reiss smiled. "Ser, should I be returning you to the palace soon?" She worried about the dark shadows lurking through back alleys. It was doubtful bandits would care much if their blades sunk into elven or kingly hides.

  He groaned the same way he would after drinking the mage's milky white potion. "I know I should, there will be a good dozen people waiting to shout at me for vanishing but...could I have a few more minutes to be Alistair?"

  Reiss' eyes wandered over the man with his eyes shut tight while he seemed to breathe in the setting sun washing the alienage to a golden glow. "Of course."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Scaling the Summit

  "I can't feel my teeth." A hand grabbed onto his, another in a sea of never ending limbs snatching it up and giving it a good pump before vanishing back into the fold. "Yes, hello to you too, whoever you are," Alistair mumbled the latter part to himself as he watched someone with a tall hat wander off. It was either someone in the chantry, a diplomat from across the waking sea, or a thief that got his hands on a long loaf of bread.

  "Sire," the woman of iron commanded him to stand up straight and act even more pleasant than usual. After two hours of greeting everyone who strolled into town for the summit, it took all his control to not flop onto the ground for a nap. Though, knowing Karelle, she'd haul him up and kick his feet under him until he stood and resumed smiling calmly and shaking hands.

  "My entire face is numb," he whined to her. She tutted at that, crossing off the names as they whispered them before wandering off to do whatever everyone was up to in the grand ballroom behind. Alistair's itinerary that he should have been the one to set was scattered between Karelle, Eamon, Cade for a few hours, and then back to Karelle. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was
being treated like the near three year old passed from instructor to instructor whose best hope would be to get her to stop stuffing dirt down her pants.

  "And so glad you could make it, your irrelevance," Alistair greeted a woman who wasn't listening to him. She was too busy making certain Karelle had her name spelled correctly on the list. He leaned over to watch the chamberlain lift up the vellum coated in crossed out names. Hoping that was a sign they were about to be freed, he couldn't hide the groan as she revealed another even longer list of names below. "If I die on this spot, just prop my hand up and wait for rigor mortis to set in. I doubt anyone here will notice," he grumbled, trying to snap himself awake.

  "As you say, Sire," Karelle didn't rise to his bait. She never did. Most who worked in the castle for over a year either learned to adjust to the King's particular style, or went mad and fled from his employ as soon as the tide came in. It was a wonder he wasn't trapped in the palace alone pretending the lamps and tea pots could talk from abject loneliness.

  Lifting his exhausted head, Alistair glanced over the heads of the guests standing in line. He had a good view from his little dais to see down all the expanding bald spots, before landing upon Reiss running her hands over a man's midsection to check for weapons. Pausing a moment, her fingers returned to something tucked into the small of his back where she unearthed a long sausage stick. Upon realizing it wasn't about to maim the King beyond mild heartburn, an adorable blush burned across her cheeks.

  The King's own goofy grin at her stumbling dredged up last night's dream, as well as a few from before, involving his bodyguard giving his own body a very thorough pat down. Maker's breath, he felt like a giddy teenager again, having to glance away quickly so the pretty girl wouldn't notice that he was staring. More than staring, if his dreams had any say in it. Not really the appropriate response there, Alistair. Okay, maybe you can look a little longer. He shifted on his toes while watching the woman snatch up a tendril of her errant blonde hair and stuff it up into her bun. There was nothing erotic about it, the woman all business but the intimate moment drew his full attention as he wondered what those fingers would feel like ruffling through his hair.

  Andraste's knickers, everyone was right. It had been too long.

  "Sire," one of Karelle's underlings poked his head out through the ballroom door. "They are ready to receive you in the conference room."

  "Too bad, there's still a good dozen people waiting to be greeted first," Karelle interrupted, glaring at her toady. She operated a swath of vassals under her, each young, watery eyed, and prone to yipping at any loud noise.

  "I understand, but the Dalish entourage is making overtures about...um, setting some shemlan on fire," he coughed out quickly.

  Alistair rolled his eyes, fairly certain that was hyperbole on someone's part. "I've got this," he declared and before anyone could argue, he stomped off his little prop dais and began to grab onto waning hands. There were so many people, he didn't bother to shake and only lightly knocked palm to palm against everyone startled to find a king moving amongst them.

  "Okay," the King shouted, waving his arms in the middle of the horde, "now everyone shake everyone else's hand and boom, done, all greeted. Time to get to the meeting." Maker's sake, he was actually excited about sitting in a room and being yelled at for a few hours. Glancing over at his bodyguard, he lifted a shoulder and she smiled.

  Alistair swung his vision back to Karelle, who was glaring at his faux pas, in order to disguise a rising blush up his cheeks. He hadn't felt this unnerved by a pretty face since...honestly, since Lanny when he had no idea where she stood with him even after the rose. And this one was ten times harder to read, always swallowing down an idea she had for fear of stepping on fancy slippers.

  Stomping away from the group of nobles realizing they got the stick on the lolly, the King nodded once at Karelle and whispered, "I imagine you've got it from here."

  "I seem to have no choice," she growled back.

  Not bothering to hide his chuckle, Alistair followed the under chamberlain up to the meeting room. Normally, people in the palace might offer up an occasional greeting or wave when he passed but now everyone he bumped into bowed deeply. He heard so many Majesties and Highnesses, for a moment Alistair feared they accidentally invited the royal families from all of thedas. But that was impossible, if Celene was here, she'd have brought an entire wing off the Winter Palace to drop onto the "unfurbished Ferelden castle" to stay in.

  The kid dropped them off in one of the better rooms. It bore a fantastic stained glass window, a circle that played out the life of Calenhad forming the country of Ferelden in vibrant colors. When the sun was setting behind, the light would streak over the eaves of the battlements to lance the pattern onto a white and gold conference table. Though, what Alistair liked was the half of a stuffed great deer. Someone in trying to be clever put the front half of a deer galloping over a fence in a state bedroom, which meant they didn't know what to do with the back end. Of course, when their new king stumbled across it rotting in the attic, he insisted it be installed right away. A few diplomatic eyes wandered over to the deer's ass, its tail held upright as if it sensed danger or was about to spray pellets across the carpet.

  "Thank you for attending," Alistair said, swooping into the room filled with a good half dozen of the more important people to the talks. He told Karelle that it was her job to keep everyone not needed busy while they actually got something accomplished. Settling into the chair placed before the stained glass window, Alistair glanced back quick to make certain there were no archers hiding behind it.

  Reiss seemed to read his worry as she leaned close to whisper, "We have a few men patrolling the battlements and rooting out the towers just in case."

  He turned to thank her for that, and caught a whiff of her scent. In a room clogged with thick perfumes that could smother a nug, she smelled of honeysuckle wafting over a meadow and pork dumplings. "Good to know," he said instead, coughing to cover up any growing embarrassment, "so, do we need to go through with introductions or...?"

  "I demand you tell me why these savages have intervened into a most regal matter!" the Arl of Denerim was the first to pop up, waving his fist back and forth as if it could do much of anything. After Howe, anyone with sense made certain that Arling had as little power as possible -- a lot of its old duties falling to the crown for safe keeping until the new guy settled in. That was the strangest contest of arms for land he'd ever seen, no one with any true standing wanting it. In the end, the last two families wound up waving their fingers at each other and pretended to fall down, both attempting to get out of it.

  "Kylan, sit your ass down," Alistair said, barely bothering to look at the man. He gave his attention instead to the dalish woman sitting primly in a chair. She gave no bones about who she was, wearing the forest green leathers and tan hides of her people against all the humans dressed in wools and silks. Clinging tight to a staff, she glared at each human daring her to leave.

  "Sorry, I don't think we've met," Alistair stuck a hand over to her. "Or we did and I didn't catch it in the sea of everyone else I had to meet."

  She probably glared at that too -- her eyes seemed to be in a constant state of glowering at the world, only a slit of color evident below heavy eyelids. "I am Niala, first to the Keeper."

  "Ah, I'd hoped the Keeper herself would come." He'd hoped a lot of people who gave him a polite piss off would be here, one elf in particular.

  "There was some trouble, and we fear if the Keeper left our lands the shemlan would use the opportunity to attempt to retake it."

  "I object to you using that word within these walls!" Another Bann leapt up, this man one of the few rattling sabers near the Kokari wilds. "Shemlan is a boorish and savage word that does not belong in these proceedings."

  "Believe me, shemlan," Niala bared her teeth, "I have far better ones to use for you and the rest of your kind that would threaten ours. Cowards comes to mind first."

  "Sire!" the
Bann snapped his head over at Alistair and whimpered as if the elf just stole away his toy and he needed an adult to get it back.

  "All right! Maker's sake, let's try to avoid the name calling even if some people might deserve it. Okay?" he glanced at the Bann first who nodded slowly and sunk to his chair but kept up a glare. The elven woman didn't go down easily. She had the whitest vallaslin he'd ever seen, the tree tattoo glowing like the horns of a halla against her darker forehead. Tipping it to the side in a sort of deniable agreement, she also promised to curb her tongue for the time being.

  "Well, with that pleasant greeting out of the way, let's get down to the real brass tacks," Alistair yanked up the first of a never ending stack of the problems out of the Kokari Wilds. "Item one, the attack upon the Dalish village by shemlan...sorry, human influences."

  "I object!" the Bann shouted.

  "Why am I not surprised?" Alistair groaned, already flopping his head forward. "And, for the love of Andraste, sit your ass down. This isn't a game of musical chairs. If you stand up again, I'm having someone put a tack on your seat."

  "I..." the Bann shrunk down at that. "Yes, Sire. But, that report you have is a gross misrepresentation of what occurred. For starters, that cluster of huts they have is no village. It can barely even be labeled a campsite for how little care they give to it -- naked children wandering the woods without a care, animals decaying in the lawns out front."

  "Lawns? What are lawns?" Niala asked, glancing around. An elf beside her, one who seemed to travel with her pack but without the Vallaslin whispered in her ear. She guffawed at that, "You waste precious land to impress others with grass? Shemlan truly are touched in the head."

  Rather than speak a word, the Bann jabbed a finger at the First as if he could have her ejected for using the s word. He kept waving it near her while glaring at the king. "Can we please not use shemlan, or for that matter knife-ear, savage, barbarian, and for my own sake moist. Maker, I hate that word."