There was no argument Reiss had against that. Truth be told, she missed walking the alienage. She'd never been this long gone since first arriving in Denerim. Surely someone was concerned for her lengthy disappearance. Even still, her job was to protect the man from harm not throw him right into it. "Are you certain?"
"Don't worry," he smiled, "I'm really good at blending in. And, I'll have my bodyguard by my side the whole time."
Reiss couldn't shake the small worry in her gut screaming that this was all going to explode in her face, but she nodded her head, "Very well. We should leave soon, Ineria's known to close up shop before the sun sets."
He beamed a smile at her and, after yanking up the pile of vellum next to his plate, raced her up the stairs to change. Reiss had a few options before her. She never wore the guard uniform when walking the alienage, and preferred to rely upon her tunics and trouser combo but that felt too unprofessional for traveling in the company of the King. Even if no one was supposed to know who he was, he would. And there was that burr in her stomach again, trying to embed itself as a warning that she was about to take the noblest noble into a nest of elves.
Taking a few calming breaths, Reiss selected the nicest not armored thing she owned - a simple grey dress with sleeves that cut off at the elbows. She wore one of her cobalt blue tunics below that uncertain if it would grow chilly or that the sight of elbow flesh might be a slight to nobility. It was hard to guess with some humans. After securing a dagger in her boot, Reiss patted her stomach. This was probably when she was supposed to look in the mirror and judge her worthiness based upon what glared back but she didn't have the time nor will to bother. She only made a quick glance at her ears, the welts on the tips an angry pink but the rough skin remained. It grew more doubtful that it'd ever fully heal away.
"How's this?" the King's voice echoed under their shared door and she opened it to find him finishing off the last tie on a crimson doublet. There was no golden embroidery, no diamonds or silk, and she noticed a small white hand print upon his trousers. He caught her staring and shrugged, "Spud found paint and...let's just say some of my ancestors are sporting brand new white mustache smudges." It was no nonsense clothing, the kind one would expect to find on any worker running up and down the streets from job to home and back again. The fit cut tight to his imposing frame but not enough to restrict his airflow. He looked gorgeous.
What? No. Where did that thought come from?
Not gorgeous, just that the color worked well with his boyish smile. That was what she meant in her head. Suddenly aware that Reiss had been staring at the man without saying anything she snapped out an, "It looks fine. Doubtful anyone will notice you."
For a brief moment a pang broke up his smile as if he was hoping for something else from her, but it sank back to the depths. Smiling, the King slapped his hands together and gestured to the hallway, "Shall we?"
Reiss took the lead towards the Alienage, certain that the King had never set his golden slipper anywhere near it. She was right about no one noticing the King in his outfit, no one batted an eye at the two of them stepping straight out of the gates past a dozen guards who should know them both on sight. Even she felt somewhat slighted at being so easily forgotten without shiny metal slapped across her chest. For his part, the King waved a cheery salute at them before turning wide down an alley.
"It's this way, Ser," Reiss said, trying to get his attention.
"Ah, how about we try this one instead," he answered back with a giddy smile in place. His spirits seemed to levitate off his shoulders the second they broke from the palace gates.
Reiss knew that in order to make it to the Alienage they had to return to the main thoroughfare and then cut back across the bridge. There were only two ways in and out, but who was she to question her boss. If she was lucky, he'd get them lost and she wouldn't have to deal with the problem of a dozen elves glaring daggers at a shem that could have them beheaded. "Okay," she gave in, "we'll take your path."
He flashed his teeth once before breaking into a quick walk down the alley. The King's path involved scurrying over a fence, climbing a ladder to leap over a few mercifully close buildings, climbing down a second ladder, leaping across boats clustered together on the river, before somehow arriving at the Alienage's gates.
"Maker's sake," Reiss gasped, cranking her head around to try and get her bearings from the sun. "That worked?"
Alistair shrugged, "A man should know his city, right?"
He slowed, quick to give up his lead, so they two of them could stroll in together beside. Even still, Reiss naturally walked a step or two ahead, her eyes crawling for danger. A few older elves sat upon a bench outside, one of them begging for change, the other gnawing upon a rotten piece of fruit. It was so past its prime it was impossible to tell what it was.
As they passed under the gates, Reiss began to take a deep breath when she remembered the shem beside her. This wasn't a return to home, she was at work. Remember that. The King didn't gawp at elves hustling through their streets, children chasing each other around in the muddy paths, or even comment on the long line sitting on a porch braiding each other's hair. She'd expected a constant stream of him pointing and asking for her to explain like his elven culture interpreter.
"I'm getting the impression you've been here before," Reiss said, her unease cracking a bit.
"You could say that, though it's been awhile," he said. "Hey, it's the big tree," Alistair commented on the vhenedal tree, its branches overflowing with the twists about to fan out to become leaves. "Last time I saw it was winter. Thing reminded me of a giant skeleton hand coming down to swat you to the ground."
Reiss stepped beside him and glanced ever higher up to the elfiest thing in the Alienage. She knew she should feel some connection to it, a need to protect it against all else, but in truth she thought it was a big and pretty tree and nothing more. "I thought so too," she admitted to him, her voice barely a whisper.
"When it's got that blanket around it for Satinalia, that's the sleeve of the skeleton revenant's coat. Can skeletons become revenants?"
"You know about the Satinalia quilt?" she asked, focusing fully upon the human beside her. Even she had to ask what it was about her first year in Denerim, having never been to an alienage before.
The King looked about to answer, when a voice shouted out from the slabs of wood tossed over the mud, "Well well, if it ain't the snake."
"Hello Jarth," Reiss groaned, not bothering to turn around.
"That's what snakes do, right? They gobble up all the little knife ears and toss 'em into their big prisons," Jarth scurried nearer to Reiss but always remained far from his grasp.
"Your metaphor needs work," she didn't look at him, certainly felt no need to rise to his bait. If a weasel learned how to walk upright, it'd bear a striking resemblance to Jarth and probably try to find a blood mage to alter its face because of the association.
"You walk around here like you own the place, well you don't. You ain't even one of us, not proper like. Turning on your own people for a bit of extra coin? How many other knife-ears have you knocked about to meet your quota?"
She could feel him advancing and while Reiss would normally walk away, well aware of what some elves thought of her on the city guards, she feared what the King might do. Whipping around, she grabbed onto Jarth's collar, her fingers knotting through the holes for a better grip. Yanking him down, Reiss growled in his face, "Got something to say to me, Rat? Cause I bet if I go poking into your business I'd find myself enough dirt I could cash out my pension right now."
Jarth sneered, his broken lip lifting higher to reveal bloody gums, no doubt from the dragon blood that'd been flooding the streets. When it was kept to the alienage, no one cared if the elves medicated themselves to oblivion, but once it crossed those gates suddenly mayors and commanders were calling for heads to roll. She could easily toss him into a jail cell, wait until he crashed and then through the shakes get names from him. But what would that
really solve? One hook off the street, maybe two at best while five crop up to replace it. It was like trying to kill cockroaches with a bow and arrow.
"You got nothing on me, flat...foot," he smiled wide at that.
"No," Reiss released her hold and pushed him away. Noticeably wiping the filth of him off down her dress, she answered back, "you're not worth the paperwork."
Without any ammo to come back at her, Jarth skittered back to his hole. If she wasn't careful, he might try and gather up a few of his other friends to flag her down which was why she could never live in the Alienage. They were only sort of her people, when she was playing the part right. "Sorry about that, Ser," Reiss said.
"You can't make them happy all the time," he smiled at her, "believe me, I had that one hammered into me a lot over the years. Now," Alistair slapped his hands together and rubbed them in anticipation, "you promised the best dumplings in thedas."
"I did," she breathed, glad that Jarth didn't draw attention to the human beside her and that the human beside her was surprisingly understanding. Reiss found herself constantly rewriting everything she ever knew about nobility and kings in particular with him. "They're this way." She gestured to a tiny door that opened to an even tinier flat. Someone cut the room in half with a wall giving people just enough space to either stand beside the door or pull out the chairs and sit at the table, you couldn't do both.
"Cozy," the King commented, sucking in his stomach as the stockier human struggled to move through elven space.
"Ineria!" Reiss called, her voice echoing in the tiny room causing the multitude of signs to rattle upon the walls. No one knew why Ineria kept so many, but they all bore elven names dear to them. Dirthavaren was painted in green over muddy brown wood streaked with rain water while Elvhenan rested to the other side, its script with a curl to the L that required a second board hammed above it. Arlathan hung over the door so every person who left could place a finger against it. It bore no banners the way the palace dining hall did, no golden chalices nor jeweled plates but Reiss felt at home here. Even having never been raised in an alienage, only picking up a bit of the old tongue here and there from her days in the camp and in the Inquisition she sensed a power in the words, in belonging somewhere.
Realizing what she pulled the human King into, Reiss glanced over at the man. Alistair was holding a breath to try and squeeze around, but he didn't look perturbed or unsettled. He ran a finger down the sides of his stubble while inspecting the Elvhenan sign when the only other door in the place opened and Ineria rushed out.
"Da'mi!" she cried to Reiss, "You've returned. It's been so long, too long."
Ineria had her grey hair stuffed up under a towel to give her neck breathing room. She was always red faced from the fires which gave an even brighter burn to the red tattoos of the Dalish across her brow and down a cheek. Thin as a reed, Ineria looked like a fragile old woman but when someone crossed her they learned that reed bore a steel center. Whether that was from living in the woods as a Dalish or the spine necessary to pick up her roots and move to an alienage Reiss couldn't say, but given her own life she'd put her coin on the latter.
The older woman dropped a bag of flour to the floor and nimbly stepped around the table to throw her arms around Reiss. She gave into the hug when Ineria's batter spattered fingers grabbed onto her chin and twisted it around. Her eyes narrowed as she gave the woman a through checkup. "You've been using the poultice for your tips I suggested."
It wasn't a question, but Reiss nodded anyway.
"And the other to assist with your digestive problems?"
"Ah," Reiss cut off the string of highly personal and embarrassing questions about to tumble from the woman's mouth. Her eyes glanced over at the King only for a second before returning to the woman.
Never one to miss anything out of place, Ineria slowly glanced over at the human in her restaurant. Those crisp eyes traveled up and down the King who sucked his bottom lip over the top and kept staring at the ceiling. "You've brought a guest, da'len?"
"I have," Reiss said. "I told him that you have the best dumplings in all of thedas." Ineria snorted at that as if it were as certain a fact as what direction the sun rose. The shemlan for his part shrugged and in the process knocked his elbow against the sign for the elven people. At that Ineria only sighed softly to herself before turning back to Reiss.
"While I would enjoy teaching the shemlan the limits of their knowledge, I'm afraid I have no dumplings in stock." She pointed at the bag of flour and groaned, "Due to some collision out on the King's Road I only received my allotment of flour a few minutes ago."
Reiss' regret at not getting to sample Ineria's cooking melted into joy. This was the best possible outcome; no one could be upset because no one was at fault and they'd have no reason to remain in the Alienage where risk to the King or elves would increase exponentially. She threw on her best 'damn, that's a shame' look, and prepared to thank Ineria before guiding the King out.
"How long do they take to prepare?"
Ineria whipped around to eye up the human who spoke. "Hours," she said in a stringent tone. "Unless," Ineria's calculating tongue ran over her teeth. "Da'len, what if you were to assist?"
"I don't know much about cooking," Reiss admitted. She could manage scraping by, but wasn't about to invite anyone to eat anything she ever made.
"Even better," Ineria smiled, "no knowledge means an empty head I can fill with facts. Much easier to direct. Please, it's doubtful I will make it before the harbor breaks for evening and the alienage is flooded with hungry and exhausted people."
"I..." Reiss glanced over at the King and watched him shrug.
He stepped forward and spoke, "If it'll help morale, I don't see any reason to not pitch in."
"Ah," Ineria glared at him, "you intend to help as well, Sir..."
Alistair didn't miss a beat as he stepped forward and said, "Duncan." Extending his hand, Ineria awkwardly lifted it up and gave a shake.
Not even lowering her voice, she asked Reiss in elvish, "Do you trust this one, Da'len?"
The King posing as Duncan blinked slowly but didn't cut in to demand they speak proper common. Nodding, Reiss whispered, "Yes."
"Very well," Ineria glided over to Alistair and inspected him up and down, "Dun-can." She spoke the fake name slowly before shaking her head at the foolish human letters. "You will follow my every command to the letter, not talk back, and answer with a 'yes ma'am.' Is that understood?"
Reiss tried to reach over, her brain searching for all the elvish she knew to explain that Ineria was about to wake up with her head on a pike when the King smiled wide, "Got it. Wait, I mean yes, Ma'am. Sorry."
Ineria didn't hide her groan as she threw her head back to glare at the creators for cursing her so. "Since I have no other choice, Dun-can, lift up that bag of flour and follow me."
"Yes, Ma'am," Alistair saluted. Ineria didn't bother to watch as the shemlan tugged up the burlap sack and tossed it over his strapping shoulder without a thought. She yanked open the kitchen door and with her head directed the human inside.
"Follow quickly before all the heat escapes and I must proof the dough again," she chastised the man who dipped his head down and scurried into the kitchen.
Reiss was quick to follow, afraid that Ineria was about to find whatever noble button there was that would send the king from lovable goof to raging inferno. He had to have one, they all did. Wait, not lovable, not like that. She meant in the abstract sense. Of course.
Shaking off that sobering mental misstep, Reiss glanced around at a place so elusive it may as well be Arlathan itself. Kitchens for restaurants were blocked off from prying eyes to keep others from attempting to swipe family recipes or secret ingredients and none ruled over her kingdom with an iron fist the way Ineria did. A small wolf carving hung over the other door to the outside alley. Perhaps a warning to anyone daring to sneak in? It wasn't a singe great fireplace that blazed alive in the back room but three of them, each with iron
grates placed atop the flames. One appeared out while the other two danced with a spray of red below until Reiss stretched up and noticed blue flame blazing below. Maker, how hot was that?
"Place it here," Ineria ordered Alistair while pointing at her crafting table. It didn't look like any typical cooking table Reiss ever knew. This one was three separate small tables locked together to form a big one with wheels on the bottom. Once the bag was in its place, Ineria flipped up one of the locks and wheeled the station towards the farthest wall, more or less trapping Alistair tight.
"This is yours, you are to sift the flour, which I hope you know how to do, and fill this bowl until I say," Ineria spoke slowly, watching the human to see if he understood.
"Yeah, I've broken up a few sacks of flour in my day, Ma'am," he caught his wandering tongue and then saluted again.
"Good," she refused to be impressed but Alistair seemed to know what he was doing, easily unknotting the top of the bag and scooping with a gentle flow into her great metal basin. If Reiss had done it, she'd have just hauled up the sack and dumped it out in one go. Even with his skill, Ineria kept an eagle eye on him until she shouted out, "Stop!"
Without thinking, Alistair dropped the flour coated cup against the table which sent a wave of the white powder rushing up into the air and spattering against his crimson doublet. Even with his less than finery coated in flour, the king cracked a wide smile. Shrugging at the mistake, he tugged up on his hair, coating that in flour as well. Reiss couldn't stop the giggles from how pasty the half pastry king looked, nor how happy he seemed to be while covered in the beginnings of baking.
Ineria turned over at Reiss and then waved her near, "Da'len, come. Do you require an apron for your dress?" She glanced over pointedly at the human she didn't offer one too.
"Ah, no, I should be okay. I'll keep myself back from the bigger messes."
"Yes, do try that," Ineria cut in before she dug a hand into the flour and made a hole.
My Love Page 164
