"But they..." the Bann began, when Shiani interrupted.
"Have far better manners than you do," she chuckled to herself. She had her own stack of items to get through, and it looked nearly as large as Alistair's which covered the past year and a half of problems. Yup, he was going to die in this seat.
"I..." the Bann turned on the other elf, when the door to the room opened and the weaseliest face to ever crawl out of a burrow it stole from a mole peeked around the corner.
"Ah, here you are, Milord," the man bowed, showing off one of the better auburn wigs.
"Bann Declan," Alistair hissed through his teeth.
"Someone appears to have failed to gather me for this meeting," he oozed into the room.
Alistair glanced over at his bodyguard. He expected her to begin the usual pat down, but she stood frozen on the spot. Her eyes bulged more than usual, her lips sunk flat and he recognized an internal scream when he saw one. "Yeah, there's a reason for that," the King said staggering to his feet. "If you haven't been checked by security, which I know you haven't because..." he pointed at the knot of jute tied around the wrists of those who'd had all their weapons checked and confiscated, "you're not welcome here. Assassins and all."
"Of course, of course, I heard about your troubles. Such a shame. Ah, but you have a guard there. She could give me the once over and then I am free to join, yes?"
Alistair wanted to pick him up and toss him down the stairs just because of that nasally voice and the way he wheedled into shit that had nothing to do with him. Looking over at Reiss, he began to suspect she had a much better reason for hating him. He tugged her close and stood up to whisper in her ear, "Are you okay to pat him down?"
"I..." She tried to not shudder; he watched it climb over her skin and instantly regretted making it an option. But then the tenacity that drove her to leap off a roof set in. "Aye, of course, Ser."
With legs stiff as a board, she stepped as close to the man as she needed and instructed him to lift up his arms. Using quick movements, Reiss tapped at his chest, watching how the coat cut in and out to spot any hidden sheafs. She looked about to stagger back and pronounce him clean, when Declan leaned close to her and whispered in her ear, "What about my thighs? Don't you want to check them for anything dangerous?"
Alistair stood up and moved across the room before Declan had a chance to grab Reiss' wrist or hand. Putting himself between the bodyguard and the walking slug that became a Bann, he patted against the man's outer and then inner thigh, slapping it hard and glaring. "Good? Yeah, I'd say that's fine. Nothing there to write home about. Shock of shocks," he glared into those beady eyes daring him to say anything.
"Now," the King slapped his hands together and began to pace back and forth. Demolished enough, Declan scurried to an extra chair at the back normally reserved for any clerks taking notes. "Let's discuss what happened on the night of Drakonis..."
***
"I'm going to curl up into a ball and roll down the stairs until I make it to a bed, or ram into a wall," the King complained, massaging the back of his neck as the various diplomats filtered out of the room. In truth, Reiss wanted to follow right behind him. While he'd spent the entire rise and set of the sun arguing across the table over every tiny detail including if soup should be eaten with lunch or not, she did her damnedest to not glare at Declan sitting awkwardly in his chair.
She was grateful that the Dalish mage acquiesced on the soup portion. Watching that weaselly toad try to balance a bowl on his lap without having it clatter across his legs or splat against his face was almost worth the rise of her bile. Almost. As the last of the diplomats vanished out the door, all of them unhappy but for various reasons, Alistair turned to Karelle and jabbed a finger at Declan. "I don't know how that little shit got wind of this meeting, but keep him away from it tomorrow."
"I will, Sire," Karelle nodded. Her eyes flared as she glared where Declan had been, "I suspect some of my own were coerced into giving the information. Tomorrow we'll put you and the others in a different room, that should solve the problem."
"Good," Alistair dug the palms of his hands into his eyes to try and rub them free. "Good..." he turned over to Reiss and sighed, "how're you holding up?"
"Me?" she pointed at herself and tried to stagger up to attention. "I'm fine, your majesty."
He snickered at that, his eyes wandering over to her hand planted on the table. "There's nothing more from you, Karelle?" The chamberlain shook her head negative, her fingers darting across the first of a week's worth of never ending arguments. "Thank the Maker, however, I've got one more stop to make. Are you up for it?"
Reiss felt Karelle watching from behind her stacks of vellum, a curious quirk to her eyebrows. Why did the King care how his hired help felt? Was she weak and couldn't perform her job? Did there need to be a reduction in pay? Shaking off any concern, Reiss found strength wafting in her marrow and locked her face into a stern glance, "Yes, Ser."
He didn't lead her to meet with the Chancellor, nor Cade, or even the Grand Cleric who was offering up prayers to any and all that requested them. It wasn't until they rounded past the statue of armor bearing a frilly pink skirt that Reiss chuckled under her breath. The King was careful to push on the door, attempting to silence any squealing as he peeked a head in on his daughter. "Andraste's sake," he sighed at the girl clinging to the side of the bed. Her tiny hand dangled over the edge while the other kept her anchored. "I don't know why she does that," he whispered to himself while gently picking up the girl's limp body and guiding her safely under the sheets.
Taking a moment to smooth down her knotted black hair, he pecked a quick kiss on her forehead and then laid a small red feather against the nightstand beside the bed. When he returned to stand beside Reiss she asked where he got it from.
"One of the diplomats brought a flock of the damn things. They're squawking away in the kitchen while the chef figures out how to cook 'em. Apparently the birds know a bunch of really good curse words and are screaming them out across the larder. It set off the Grand Cleric who 'well I nevered' for a few minutes before one escaped, flapped up to the highest beam, and mimicked her. She'd yell at it to get down, it'd repeat it. She'd swear at it in words I didn't think a good Mother of the cloth ever learned, and it'd repeat it."
Reiss chuckled silently in deference to the sleeping child. "I'm sorry I missed it."
"Me too, would have been way better than when we got onto debating proper hair length for men in a village for a half hour," he stood close to her, his head tilted down to whisper in her ear, "Anyway, Cade shot it down with his crossbow, they ate the damn thing for dinner, and Renata was good enough to swipe me one of the bright tail feathers."
"That's sweet," Reiss mused to herself.
The King shrugged, "They said it tasted like roast nug." Turning away from his slumbering daughter he spent the entire day away from, he stepped into the next room. While Reiss sometimes followed into Spud's room, often in pursuit of the King who was in turn trying to catch his daughter, she'd never crossed into the Queen's chambers beside. He didn't order her to follow, nor did he tell her to remain, and fearing she might accidentally wake the child, she trailed after.
A warm firelight licked up from the hearth, highlighting the nanny who was stuffed into a padded chair. She had a thick tome up to her eyes but tugged it down at the sound of the King skirting across the floor. "What do you think you're doing?" Marn hissed, the anger evident even through the whisper.
"I thought I'd like to see my son before I'm dragged off to the eternal void that is bureaucracy," Alistair whispered back, his voice barely breaking above the susurrus of the wind outside.
Marn rose from her chair. Despite being of a height that barely staggered above elves, she bore a gravitas that made everyone else in the room shrink before her. Reiss felt herself staggering downward and she wasn't even the focus of the nursemaid's wrath. "He's asleep," she hissed, walking around the King like a goose about to peck out an eye.
"So I'll hold him while he's sleeping," Alistair continued, inching closer to the cradle. It was smaller than Reiss expected. For some reason she pictured something nearly the size of her own bed with ornate silks and golden filagree. In truth, it was an elegant but plain wooden cradle with nary a hint of gilding and only soft bedding for the baby within. On occasion, it shifted, rocking upon its bowed legs that she realized were carved to look mabari running through the fields.
Marn glanced down at the baby, then to the King who kept inching his hands closer, "No. I only just got him down."
Groaning, Alistair's hands froze but he didn't give up, "Give me this one thing, please. It's been a long...month? Two? An entire damn season. Just let me hold the kid for a few minutes. I won't wake him up, I super duper promise on my mother's grave." He looked like a child trying to wheedle for a second biscuit up until mentioning his mother, when his face seemed to sober up instantly.
Either moved by his plight, or no longer in the mood to argue, Marn crossed her arms, "Very well, but if you wake him it's on your head to get him back down. And he's been colicky lately."
At that threat, Reiss expected the King to yank his arms back and let sleeping babies lie, but he snickered and curled the baby to him. "As if Spud wasn't a rampaging monster for a good three months," he cooed to the tiny face swaddled in a sea of azure blankets. Stars dotted it in silver, giving the illusion of a night's sky. While snuggling the baby closer to him, a calm washed the man clean. He always bore a mask over the true man below, one not made of iron but coated in glitter and bits of string that used japes to hide him. But as he smiled down at his son, his armor fell away to reveal something fragile inside - like the soft skin of cheese preserved below a wax seal.
Marn didn't say a word, but she shook her head while slipping out the door. Not paying attention to anyone else, Alistair curled up in the rocking chair beside the fire. For a few breaths he only lightly tipped the chair back and forth on his toes, eyes upon the slumbering face. "It never takes long," he sighed.
Uncertain if he spoke to her or not, Reiss shuffled on her feet. She didn't say anything out of fear of being the one to burst this rare soft moment.
Tugging down the blanket, Alistair skirted his fingers against the baby's cheek, "I've missed you, you radish. Maker, no, that's still not right. I'll come up with something good, I promise."
"Sire!" a voice shouted from behind Reiss. She was so enraptured in the cozy scene, she leaped out of her shoes and spun around about to clobber one of the servants flocking through the castle halls.
The King stared down at the baby that thankfully didn't rouse, then whisper ordered to the trembling young man, "What is it?"
"There's a problem with the guests..."
"Then get Karelle to handle it," he hissed back.
"She's busy elsewhere, and I already tried Chancellor Eamon, as well as Cade, the Head Chef, and Edgar," the poor kid's knees knocked together like a bag of acorns.
Sighing, Alistair rose out of the chair, his son clutched tight in his arms. "Good to know I rank below the apprentice blacksmith in all diplomatic matters. Sorry," he whispered to prince Cailan. Reiss expected him to slip the baby back into his cradle, but he extended his arms out to her instead.
"Ser?" she stuttered even while wrapping an arm under the warm blankets and taking the boy's weight.
"Keep him warm for me. I shouldn't be too long," he winked at her and Reiss felt her stomach plummet before it rolled around like a wet dog.
"I...should I not go with you, to..." she began to sway with the baby in her arms, instinct taking over.
Alistair paused, two fingers running across the fine hairs sparsely scattered over his son's head. Smiling at the boy, he sighed, "Don't worry, I'll do my best to not die while dealing with...what was the problem again?"
"They say there are rats in their rooms. Big ones, Sire. And something about a man with a wooden stick."
Trying to not groan, Alistair shrugged and gestured the young man to head for the door. Reiss felt any common sense in the world fleeing with him, the King pausing at the door to wave her good luck before he quietly closed it. She could hear him asking the young boy why they didn't release some of the cats to deal with the rats, but the rest of his comeback was drowned out by her throbbing heartbeat.
For his part, the prince and second in line to the throne, barely acknowledged that a filthy commoner was holding him close to her plebeian chest. Reiss was the one having a hard time with the idea. Please don't wake up, or cry, or do anything that would draw people to her. Would they give her a chance to explain, or would they see a knife-ear holding the royal infant and go right to 'she's going to use it for one of her elfy blood rituals?'
While her mind panicked, her body fell back to all those years ago when she'd have to watch her brother and sister. Atisha was a quiet baby, but Lorace was beyond a handful. He was tugging out hair and going for necklaces before he'd grasped any other motor movements. And he seemed to enjoy hearing himself screaming, often crying for the fun of it while his exhausted ten year old sister did every damn thing she could think of to get him to shut up.
A soft cry, like a squeaky wheel, broke from tiny lips. Oh Maker. Reiss began to pat his back end, rocking her arms to try and entice the rousing baby back to sleep. She focused up on the door, praying the King was going to run back inside and swoop him out of her arms. Another gasp was followed by a smacking of hungry lips and she glanced down to catch the bluest eyes blinking up at this strange woman.
Reiss knew it was coming, a cry for anyone with the proper authority to come and rescue him was liable to break in a second. There was only one trick she had left. Dipping into her rarely used singing voice, an old lullaby floated out of her lips.
"Elgara valla, da'len
Melava somnia
Mala taren aravas
Ara ma'desen melar."
Pausing, she watched the prince's wandering eyes focus up on her. It was doubtful he could see much of her at this young age, but the soothing song seemed to be working as his body relaxed against her arm. With a smile, Reiss tugged down the creeping blanket to give the prince's fist room. He was quick to wrap around her pinkie as she began the second verse.
"Iras ma ghilas, da'len
Ara ma'nedan ashir
Dirthara lothlenan'as
Bal emma mala dir..."
Prince Cailan cooed at that, the building blocks of a smile trying to tug his slack lips upward. It was enough to draw Reiss to his little face, her own anxiety blanketing down from the happy baby gurgling in her arms.
"That's a lovely song."
Reiss whipped her head up and gulped at the petite woman standing in the previously closed door. With the baby in her arms, Reiss began to bow before returning to a curtsy, "My Queen."
She'd not spoken with Beatrice before, the King rarely spending more than a few minutes near his wife aside from during meals. While people weren't ever certain what to do with their bonhomie King, everyone loved Beatrice. People said she was kind, thoughtful, always quick to send a three page thank you note for the smallest gift given. They rarely talked about her beauty which seemed to be more striking by the cozy light of the hearth instead of the candles in a ballroom. It wasn't tight corsets and voluminous skirts that the Queen thrived in but soft robes the better to catch up baby spit up and full of pockets crammed with the accruements of motherhood.
When the Queen crossed over to her, Reiss began to hold her arms out, expecting Beatrice to take her son back from the rambling bodyguard, but she only traced along his soft cheek. Cailan seemed to sense his mother however, those bright blue eyes popping open to watch her. She smiled so sweetly at her boy, it tugged on a painful memory inside Reiss' heart of her own mother.
"What was that song you were singing?"
"It's an, um, an elvish lullaby, your Majesty," Reiss sputtered out. Maker's sake, it's bad enough to be caught holding the baby but whispering in some scary foreign tongue into his
ear...you'll be lucky to survive the night.
The Queen watched her son's tiny fist clasp tighter to Reiss' finger as she smiled, "I'd never heard it before."
"My mother she'd, uh," tears burned in her eyes, the grown woman come undone by the pure maternity wafting off the Queen who became mother to the whole country. Whether she wanted it or not, Beatrice wore it like a glove and while it could soothe those with happy childhoods, it kept sticking deep into Reiss' chest like a poleax.
Blinking back the tears, Reiss spat out, "She'd sing it to us often, to get us to sleep."
Beatrice turned away from her son to eye up the scattered elf coming fully undone by this. A soft hand landed upon her shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze, "You speak as if she is no longer with us."
"No," Reiss screamed at herself internally. It was years and years ago, the wound healed and stitched up by time as well as necessity. But, it was her parents... "The, uh, the blight."
"Ah," Beatrice nodded and bent her head low, "I lost my mother to an extended illness, not the Blight but a different plague." Gently tipping her head, she curled her hand around Cailan's head and he leaned into his mother's warmth, "I wish she could see her grandchildren."
"They watch from the Maker's side," Reiss muttered out.
"You are Andrastian?" Beatrice exclaimed, sounding as shocked as if a Qunari recited the chant of light.
This wasn't the time to go into the long, convoluted backstory of how Reiss suffered eternal days in the chantry of her youth, fully abandoned it as she struggled to survive in Kirkwall, and never really opened her arms back to Andraste. Instead she smiled, "My sister is actually a Sister." Maker's breath, that sounded stupid.
But the Queen only smiled politely and nodded her head, "That's good. It's nice to have something to cling to during the darkest hours."
Love's Blush Page 32
