Far too exhausted to put up a proper defense, Reiss hid her face behind her hands and waited until they found a different topic. Out of nowhere a warm body of fluff landed upon her lap and she glanced down to find Sylaise mewling like a baby kitten. "I wondered where you got to tonight." She hadn't seen her cat since she was fed, no doubt Sylaise slipping up into the apartment along with the baby and Kurt.
Padding her paws into Reiss' thighs, Sylaise stretched a moment while Reiss parted her fingers over the fluffy grey fur. She missed her cat, even if Sylaise couldn't be bothered to share in the sentiment. When Reiss had risked checking on the state of her apartment Sylaise was perched upon the tiny table glaring as if nothing had changed and she was owed her due.
After swishing her tail a bit, the cat bounded off the wreckage of their lives, then landed into the cheap crib right beside Myra's snuggled body. Reiss spun around to watch the grey shadow sizing up this sleeping little human.
"Cat..." she warned. "Don't you dare wake her. Or sit on her face. So help me, if you smother my baby."
Sylaise swished her tail at the threat, seeming to weigh how serious her occasional roommate was with the potential mutilation. With a soft humph, the cat curled up beside Myra's back, a gentle purring breaking from her as she snuggled to the warm baby.
"All right," Reiss nodded, "that'll work."
"You were no help against stopping 'em, eh kitty cat?" Lunet mocked. She'd pried open a few of her buttons, revealing the hidden breastplate Reiss should probably slot back on. Oh right, there was a baby that needed her breasts. It wouldn't help for her to fumble the metal off each time Myra grew hungry.
She stumbled to her feet and wandered back towards the crib. It was tucked safe in between a pair of tarp covered boxes. Cheap wood, lucky to survive the trip to their agency and much less likely the load of a toddler, it worked for now. Reiss could find something better later. Despite the child of the King being curled up on little more than scrap wood and straw stuffed canvas, she dreamed beautifully. Her soft, blonde eyelashes lay flush against those rosy cheeks, one curled fist up by her face as if she was trying to fight off the oppression. Reiss began to reach down to tug the blanket up to keep her baby warm.
"Uh, Boss," Kurt's soft voice rose to a terrifyingly high pitched level. That set off Myra, her nose at first wrinkling, then here came the tears. Maker's sake.
Scooping up her baby into her arms, Reiss faced a blast of crying right into her ear as she attempted to soothe her infant. "Shh, calm down, it'll be okay," she tried at Myra before shooting a glare at Kurt, "What is it?" Her wrath faded as she caught the stricken look turning the dwarf's sturdy legs to jelly.
"Ma'am, there's people approaching," he gulped, his head stuck through the hole between sheets.
"So," Reiss waved him away, "go and greet them." She caught Lunet's eye and tipped her head. Maybe it wasn't as dire as they'd first feared.
"It's just, Boss," Kurt worried the braids in his beard before staring up at her, "they've got torches."
"Shit," Lunet staggered up to her feet first. Sticking her head over top of Kurt's she narrated the view like a scout preparing for battle, "A good dozen lights, means there's easy twice as many. Marching hard too, probably loaded down with...things. Reiss, we have to--"
Her orders died as Reiss dropped the still crying Myra into her arms. The others sat rigid, terror rising but no one certain what to do. They wanted to run, she could see it, but they would stay to fight if she asked it. "What are you doing?" Lunet whispered, her voice barely making it over the baby screaming for her mother to soothe the aches away.
Rolling her old coat over her arms, Reiss snatched the hat she'd scoured out of her apartment onto her head and made certain to yank her eartips out. For a moment she thought about picking up a sword or dagger, but that would only exacerbate things. She had to do this unarmed. "Lunet, keep the baby safe. The rest of you, remain back here out of sight. I'm going out there to confront them."
"Uh..." Jorel rolled the word around in his mouth like a marble before tumbling off of Qimat's lap. "Boss, are you sure about this?"
She could hear them now, the voices of the drunk and desperate, crying against an injustice they barely understood, wanting someone to take the darkness away, and using that fear to justify death. "Yes," Reiss nodded, her steps shored. There was no other option. Parting the curtain, she moved to step out into the torchlight and pitchfork range.
"Rat," Lunet's hand lashed out, gripping tight to Reiss before she could slip away, "this is crazy. You can't do this. What about...?" She tipped her head to the baby in her hands, Myra's green eyes awash with tears like the spring rains that wipe away the cold of winter.
Reiss cupped her baby's warm cheek, trying to dab off a few of the tears, then kissed her on the forehead. I love you, she thought to Myra, and I'm sorry. "Like I said, keep her safe. No matter what, Lunet. I mean it."
"Aye, I will," she nodded, the woman who'd kept far abreast from her baby tugging Myra close to her chest.
Shaking off every warning in her gut, every threat that'd been drilled into her head since she was a babe as little as Myra, Reiss marched towards the angry mob of shems. Their torches pricked apart the darkened street, this part of Denerim too poor for any to bother with mage lamps. A circle of deadly fireflies surrounded the agency, the voices rabbling but softening at the woman in the coat yanking open the door to stand before them.
Reiss knew now what it was to walk into a den of wolves and stare the creatures right in the eye. Teeth glinted orange by the combusting firelight, eyes blazing like a demon's as every single one focused upon her. Upon the whore of Denerim. And if she showed even a second of weakness she was dead. If not by the cheap swords hanging by their hips, the fire they no doubt intended to start in her home.
Pinching her eyes closed, Reiss willed away the shake in her legs. She took calm, steady steps to relight the lamp they'd replaced outside. Its blue flame lanced upon her, shadowing the face below the brim of a very familiar hat. They couldn't see much of her beyond that and the silhouette of her coat, a shadow that often was running to their rescue instead of away from it.
Turning from the wall, Reiss stared out at the people who marched towards her demise. There were a good ten or twelve humans, both men and women, but what struck hard to her jaw were the elves at the back. Two or three sneered like rabid dogs, as if they intended to snap her bones and eat the marrow to satisfy some bloodlust. No, don't think about that. Focus on what you know.
Survive.
"You know me," she shouted against the din of the crowd. The voices faded, every hungry eye snapping to the elf standing upon an old apple box to be seen. Reiss wasn't going to cower, ever again. "You've known me for three years or longer. I'm the one that you looked to when your children were stolen by slavers, when your husband or wife turned up dead in the alley and no one else considered it a murder. I have found your lost goods, rescued your stolen relics, and even returned run away pets."
Her voice ricocheted against the silent buildings of Denerim, the eaves seeming to stretch towards her in the dead wind. It looked as if the entire city was leaning in to hear her. Would it also watch silently as she was cut to pieces before them?
Shaking away the dour thoughts, Reiss stuck her hands behind her back to show she was unarmed, "But more than that, I have been a part of this street, this neighborhood. I know you, Mr. Causer." The man's head shot up, the torch beginning to tremble in his hands at her recognizing him. "Even before I set up shop here, your pants and leggings supplied the City Watch I worked in because we'd all freeze to death if we had to rely upon the cheap uniformed ones. What would Denerim be without Causer's Trousers?"
"A lot colder!" someone shouted from the back, drawing a few snickers from the people around him. Even Mr. Causer smiled a moment at the jibe.
"Yes, it would," Reiss tipped her head down and to the side, revealing her long ears. The reason she'd been so despised without having to do a damn thing
to earn it. "You, Lady Ayers," she nodded towards a woman who was drawn tight into a corset, her cheeks practically radiating in blush pink from the cosmetics. "Your tanneries are so famous as to be known beyond Denerim. Even a few Orlesians import your leathers, albeit under cover of darkness because the last thing the fops can do is admit they're less than us at something."
That got a few more laughs, and then some Orlesian accent impressions. "Ser Aston," Reiss continued, trying to not lose the crowd. "Many here rely upon your whetstones to keep our blades sharp for grunt work. For my own sake, I hope all here have used them, for they make the cuts quick and less painful."
The grin of pride faded from his lips as she drew back to their unholy purpose. Why would a cavalcade of humans leap out of bed in the middle of the night and march but for the death of an elf? She'd never lived in an alienage, never seen first hand what a purge looked like, but her parents did. If anything, they feared angry and destitute humans far more than the blight that killed them.
"I was born near South Reach, as many of you know. We'd speak of it often while passing time under awnings waiting for rains to clear, or Mrs. Feeley's sweetshop to open." Reiss tipped her head towards the infamous candy store that seemed to only open once an age. A few more smiled, the nostalgia taking root. "Many of you were torn from your homes same as I, same as most in Ferelden. We all came together to this city to do one thing, survive."
Reiss spun towards them and closed her fist in a victory. They had survived, all of them. Scrabbled and crawled through the unending death of the blight and darkspawn to emerge into a new day. The torches began to drift lower, eyes swinging around as they all tried to shuffle away without being seen.
"Shut your fat mouth, whore!"
Silence fell, heads swiveling to search out who said it. A few groaned, or called for him to shut up, but far too many agreed with the man.
"I may be a knife-eared whore," Reiss glanced back at her building and the graffiti that by the dancing torchlight looked like dripping blood, "but I am also the woman who served faithfully in the City Watch, who protected you without you even knowing my name. Who protects you and your interests now. Who slogs out at 3 in the morning through sewage for your sakes. I am the woman that bleeds from bandit blades and frostbite all because no one else would hear your pleas. No one else in this city would rise up, pay attention, and solve your problems."
Reiss had to unclasp her fist, her voice rising in rage at the end. Squeezing her eyes tight, she said in a softer tone, "Yes, I have a child and you all know whose it is. I am not denying that and neither is he." Blazing eyes stared at the masses, "But I am far from the only person in this city, in this neighborhood, in this very street, to have given birth to a bastard child. A baby that I love, that I will defend, that I will nurture and grow. A child who will know what it is to survive on the streets while also having an ear with the court."
A few of the torches rattled at that. Oh, she knew who was legitimate, knew who was sleeping with whom, where the bodies were buried both literally and figuratively. Reiss knew enough about these people she could destroy them without thought, but she wouldn't. Not yet, at least.
"Her name is Myra, get used to it because you'll all be seeing her often. Learning to walk down these streets, play outside this building, grow into the woman she will become. Neither I, nor my child, nor the business I worked to create -- the one that has rescued you all numerous times over -- are going anywhere. You can count on that."
The final words reverberated through the street and Reiss glared upon those that would threaten her. She had nothing else. No more words, no more tricks. There wasn't going to be any last minute rescue from knights or soldiers. It was up to a bunch of shems who'd shattered her window and came to burn her to death to do the right thing.
Maker, turn your gaze upon me.
"I'm going home, it's too cold!" the first voice rang out from the back. A couple of people turned with her, the torch bobbing away through the night before being doused in the fetid water of the gutters. Slowly, a few more vanished as well, the lights fading back from the void where they came. Reiss didn't blink, didn't move a muscle as she glared down the last remaining would-be murderers. They clung white knuckled to their weapons, snarling as if they were afraid to take on the unarmed woman by their lonesome.
"Let's kill 'er!" one shouted, his voice slurring. He staggered forward, but his body slumped towards the ground.
"Oi, you're drunk. Get yer ass home," the man beside him cried in response. After being poked in the side, the man hoping for murder glared at Reiss but gave in to the prodding. All that remained was a single shem, his knuckles popping against a rock squeezed tight into his fist.
He looked all of seventeen, if that, angry at everything, and ready to take it out on something people hated. Didn't care if that thing people hated could have been his own mother or sister. He needed the hate to feel something other than despair. Even without any backup from the other shems, the kid hurled his arm back.
Reiss gritted her teeth, prepared to take the stoning, when a great grey fist clamped onto the kid's wrist. Qimat shook her head, her horns glinting by the pale blue glow of the lamp. "Nu uh, boys shouldn't throw rocks. Put it down, 'afore I tear your arm off."
The kid snarled, but he couldn't do anything save what the qunari ordered. As the rock dropped to the ground, he snarled, "Bitch-born whore," then scattered into the night. A deathly silence fell in the air, Qimat standing guard in the middle of the street while Reiss tipped her head back to gaze at the stars. They could have been the last ones she ever saw, a full moon cresting over the horizon to illuminate a pocket of dark clouds. Black wings silhouetted across the blue-white orb, Reiss foolishly wondering if that was the same crow that foretold her end in the garden. So much for that omen.
Up from her spine rose a tremble that nearly pitched Reiss to the cobbles as she hopped off the box. Qimat reached over to help, but Reiss shook her off. Nodding once in thanks for her intervention, the founder of the Solvers walked head held high back into her agency.
"Holy shit balls!" Jorel shrieked. "That was amazing!"
"I thought we were all gonna die, but then we didn't die. So, yay," Kurt added.
They all disobeyed her orders and snuck around to watch. It was a foolish move as they'd nearly been front row to her bloody disemboweling instead. Lunet lifted up Myra and smiled, "I don't know how you did that, Rat, but..."
Reaching forward, Reiss wrapped her arms around her baby, the tears burning in her eyes along with the bile of staring into so many black, lifeless eyes that'd once greeted her as a friend. She smoothed her cheek against Myra's, tucking her child tighter to her chest while she begged for her forgiveness. It had to be her. The mob would have cut anyone else down, but...if she'd failed. If she'd miscalculated, then Myra...
Myra, I'm so sorry. I love you, always.
Unaware of the torment ransacking her mother, the baby tipped her head back, then lost all control and beaned Reiss hard in the nose. Maker's sake! Reiss spun her head away but didn't let go of her grip. That kid had a powerful swing with her head, pain radiating up through her sinuses and into the eye socket.
"Uh, Boss," Kurt gestured to her.
Swiping where he mimed, Reiss found a line of crimson dribbling out of her nose. An idiotic, ecstatic to be alive laugh broke from her. Out of all of that, after everything that could have happened, the only blood drawn that night was by her baby. "I'm alive," she smiled at her group. "We're all alive and tomorrow..."
Hooves scraping across the street, ripping apart the mud that'd been trampled by the mob, cut off her words. Reiss barely had time to recognize the royal seal before the door flew open. Looking as if he crossed the void itself, Alistair leaped to the ground. He barely eyed up the damage to the agency as he ran through the open door.
A sliver of relief at her and their daughter's continued existence flared in his eyes before he roared in an anger Reiss had rarely seen, "What in the void do
you think you're doing?!"
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
Fear
"...I was damn near wearing a hole in the rug, then the floor. When my feet crashed through the ceiling I gave up on hoping you'd come home and headed out to find you."
Alistair's haranguing faded as he staggered in a breath. It began with him red cheeked and screeching for an explanation as to where she went, then he hugged both Reiss and Myra tight, before resuming his rant. Occasionally peppered in the never ending saga were a few questions that he didn't give her a chance to answer, and then prayers to the Maker for keeping her safe. Reiss kept a tight hold to the baby in her arms, patting her butt to try and soothe her. She seemed about as happy about her daddy on a tear as Reiss was.
"And what in the blighted Maker's name happened here?" he paused, extending his hands around the mess. All of her crew stood battle shocked in front of the curtain uncertain what to do while their boss was being reamed out by the King. "If this is your idea of redecorating..." Alistair continued, no doubt trying to defuse the situation with a laugh, but a long day plus the lingering fear and adrenaline pumping through Reiss' system set her off.
"What happened here? What the fuck do you think happened here?!"
"Reiss, language," he reached over to cover Myra's ears, but she shook him off. In her state, she wasn't in the mood to let any shem touch her baby.
"The agency was attacked, okay. Did you miss the broken window? Or the smashed up desks we had to hide behind bedsheets? How about the ten foot tall sign declaring me a whore?!" She was spitting each word out like it burned her tongue.
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