Like a butterfly cracking out of its cocoon, hope erupted inside of her. Turning over her shoulder, she stared deep into the man's eyes. He absently swung their hands together while those dimples dug in deep from the brightest smile of them all. Maker's breath, sometimes he nearly knocked her off her feet with that. She wanted to kiss those lips, to run her tongue across them, suck his bottom lip into her mouth and do other things to his body that drew a blush to her cheeks even in the abstract. But...breaking away from his gaze, she watched the caravan circling the fire -- at least a dozen eyes occasionally glancing over at their King waiting for him to finish with his unhinged bodyguard. This wasn't the place nor the time.
"There will be time later," Reiss breathed as she squeezed his hand once before releasing it into the wild.
Alistair instantly tugged on his hair, a blush breaking upon those smiling cheeks as he gasped, "Maker's breath, I hope so."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Damn
On the whole, things were going well. Alistair's metric for well was that no one had threatened to flay someone alive and stretch their entrails through the trees like party decorations. That low of a bar was the only one they'd managed to cross. The dalish town or whatever they kept calling it because the wanderers didn't build cities as they kept insisting was achingly quaint. With bright pops of the primary colors dashed across eaves bearing nothing but curves and gentle slopes it was the kind of place that made one expect to find white haired grannies selling their home made quilts on every corner.
Instead, about two dozen hardened Dalish warriors watched the human caravans with wary eyes, their arms all crossed enough to let a hand drift down to a hilt. But, behind the razor sharp edge lurked the bits that made a place a home. Children rampaged often from one fire to another, the smaller ones begging the bigger ones to slow up and let them have a go at using a bow. He'd often drift off from another argument courtesy of a Bann insisting the place was fetid and must be condemned to smile at the kids playing a rousing game of "halla." Alistair wasn't certain what the rules there were, if any, but it'd remind him of the hazy afternoons when Spud would shake off her minders, drop to her knees and become their pet mabari Sprinkle Toes. He had to play the cat Sprinkle Toes was always chasing, of course.
Maker he missed that squirt. It'd only been a week and all he wanted to do was pull up stakes and head right back to her. Every night he wrote a little letter about the day's excitement even though Spud couldn't read and there'd be no one to deliver it before their return. It gave him something to do and also created the illusion the King was working extra hard.
When he wasn't missing his kids, or accidentally paying a bit of attention to the continuing arguments, he'd glance over at the woman at his side and do his damnedest to not sigh. Everyone kept the two of them continually occupied. If not crowds swarming the King, once they arrived in the hamlet the Dalish took it upon themselves to orient the elf in his employ. He wasn't certain what all was involved but after an hour's disappearance she returned with berries and twigs in her hair, her boots sloshing, and a growl on her face. After that minor hazing, the local elves folded Reiss into their groups, often speaking elvhen to her while glaring over at the shemlan trying to not lose a pint of blood to the insects. How'd he forget about those from the first time in the Kokari Wilds?
There'd been barely any chances for him to even get close or whisper in her ear a question all while he kept drifting off watching the curve of her guarded smile -- the armor slipping off courtesy of her people. When she grew exhausted from either a day of tramping back and forth across swampy waters, or dealing with swampy politicians, a crinkle formed in the bow of her upper lip. Alistair came to look for it, and in turn found himself aching to skirt his finger across it, to kiss her full on once again. Maybe try with his tongue. He still had the hang of it after all these years warming the bench. Maker but she was beautiful.
It struck him worst of all when the Keeper, her squad, the Bann and his posse all trekked up to the Dalish's hard fought dam. Water pounded against the rocks, the elven created lake full to bursting from rains that never seemed to stop, while down below the little hamlet waited serenely. It was a source of contention because the Banns thought the Dalish had no right to take a claim upon water that would wind towards theirs, while the Dalish argued uncontrolled flooding would wipe out their village. After three days or arguing over the proper shade of red, this was an easy one to give to the elves.
Proud of her accomplishment in building the first ever Dalish dam since ye olden times, the Keeper moved a few levers and pulleys to open up a lock and send a stream of water bursting over the edge. It shot out like a toddler fleeing bath time, tumbling down the rocky slope and sliding down a controlled river right to the Dalish's doorstep. A rather pretty marvel, the King was about to comment when he turned to Reiss and his breath rolled up into a knot.
With sunlight highlighting behind her and water spraying into the air, a rainbow arced from the side of her head -- the blue skirting close to her ears before all of it vanished into the ether. She was smiling, not politely to deal with people, but a true one that lit up those summery eyes as the wash of sun turned her hair even more golden and shimmery. Alistair feared he was about to collapse to his knees and give thanks to Andraste or the Maker for such a beautiful sight.
Then the Bann clapped him on the shoulder, completely shattered the moment, and they got a long lecture on how the dam worked. Apparently the Keeper, having little knowledge of foundational structures, took to inquiring with various shemlan and after gathering enough knowledge plus a hint of magic something something... He wasn't listening. He was too busy acting like that idiotic twenty year old all over again, nodding along as someone else handled all the decisions while waiting for an opportunity to grab the pretty girl's hand and tug her into the tall grass for some smooching. There was also a lot of picking grasshoppers out of unmentionable areas he remembered, but the wiggly bugs were worth it.
After five days, with nothing truly decided but lots of certain sounded words given, Alistair was ready to depart. The elves and Banns remained at a stalemate but it was one that could hold for a few years. While the land was returning to its once fertile stage it wasn't there yet, which made the Banns more susceptible to agreement. And while the Dalish were repopulating, and reproducing at numbers beyond what the wanders would dare, there was no chance they could have a true army for many years. That also made them more willing to listen to the human's side of things. He knew that it would all come to a head and it wasn't going to be a happy answer for all, but for now it was a begrudging peace.
To celebrate the last day of the shemlan invading their territory the elves decided to throw a part of their own. While there was no life size replica of Alistair carved from cheese it was a lot of fun, or would be if not for the rains sheeting off the gutters and splattering against quaint red and green porches.
"It seems your send off is not as festive as we'd have liked," Niala approached Alistair. He'd perched himself by the window, at first curious about the beautiful rosette etched into the glass, then drawn by the pounding of rain. It also kept him from having to interact with any Banns.
Placing down his mug of warmed brandywine, he turned and smiled at the elf. She'd softened since they'd reached the forests. At least there was less of that implied eye rolling wafting in his direction. "It's not so bad, rains are good for farmers and it's not as if you can control the weather," he paused and glanced out at the blackened skies. The sun trundled off to bed a few hours ago, and the moon had no chance to break through such a mob of clouds. It was as pitch black as the void itself out there.
Blinking at a thought, he turned back to the mage clinging to her staff and asked, "You can't actually control the weather, right?"
There was that implied eye roll, the woman pursing her lips as she shifted her staff to the side. "No, your Highness. Not for hours at least."
"Contained blizzards and the like," he counter
ed, remembering a few of Lanny's particular feats in the height of summer when they thought they were about to die from heat exhaustion. Alistair frowned at that memory. This close to Ostagaar, thoughts of Lanny dug up the conflicting emotions he thought he buried years ago.
"Ah, good," Niala spoke, drawing Alistair out of his own reflection. He turned to watch Reiss step cautiously over the floor. While the dalish stood out thanks to their vibrant colors and dominant personalities her grey metal blended her into the background. It worked particularly well when she'd stand cross armed watching the others to the point a Bann nearly stepped on her boot. But when she lifted her head into the flickering torchlight, a smile broke upon her lips and Alistair couldn't see anything else in the room.
"First," she nodded at Niala, then turned to him, "Ser."
Either unaware of the rising tension or not caring, Niala sighed, "You may take over the duties of tending to him."
"Ah, what?" Reiss scrunched up her cute face and turned to the mage.
"Is that not what elves in the shemlan cities do? Care for the humans who cannot find their asses without one person each holding a cheek for them?"
"As King I get three, in case one can't handle their duty," Alistair spoke up, laughing at the idea. He glanced over and caught a look racing upon Reiss' face. While he was by far no expert on the languages of body or womanly thoughts, it didn't seem to be a happy one at the Dalish calling her to the carpet.
"Excellent for you, your Kingness," Niala bowed and waltzed off to her fellow elves -- all of whom were spinning like mad in circles and dancing with far more heart than anyone had at Denerim.
Alistair picked up his mug and took a drink, savoring the warmth dripping down his throat before it hit the stomach and bloomed across his body. After wiping off his mouth he turned and spotted Reiss standing awkwardly beside but not near him. "Ready to head home?" he began, his eyes swinging out the window to the embattled land beyond. It wasn't much, a lot of scrag brush and rocky hills surrounded by moats of dead earth, but they were making it beautiful.
"I," Reiss slipped in beside him, her own bright green eyes hunting over the land. They'd wandered across dozens of seedlings springing from the ground, but none of them were as fresh and pure as the color of her eyes. Which was another fact Alistair shouldn't have been thinking when he was supposed to be paying attention to the Dalish's attempts at irrigation.
At her silence, Alistair picked up the conversation, "I'm aching to get back. Sit in my chair for a few hours, sleep on my bed that doesn't have a rock buried under the mattress which I just bet Letali did. I've seen the way he keeps giggling when I look away."
"Perhaps he has a bit of a crush on you," Reiss whispered, her beautiful lashes fanned out as she didn't quite laugh at the idea.
That was Alistair's job. "Maker's sake, someone should have a healer inspect the man's eyesight and fast before he puts an arrow in a dark place."
She snickered at that outburst, and it drew a smile to his cheeks as well. A soft sigh broke from those tempting lips and Reiss beamed her full attention upon him. How badly he wanted to wrap his arms around her, pull her body tight to his, kiss those petal lips, and make a mess of her taut bun sending blonde hair flying everywhere. Instead, Alistair cupped both hands around his mug and shifted on his feet, hoping to distract his body with alcohol.
"I would very much like to return home," Reiss whispered. He'd expected that, given her revulsion to camping, yet it wasn't a shudder ratcheting up her spine. No, a burning desire so obvious even Alistair could catch on roared in the depths of those greens.
"Well, um," he realized his mug was empty and moved to put it down. "It doesn't escape my notice that..." Alistair turned his head back to note that the Dalish were all clustered around the hearth of the fire while the Banns flocked to proper tables. "We seem to be alone."
Her eyes shot open wide at that fact and she glanced behind him as if to make certain he wasn't lying. "So it would appear, and I'm talking like one of Lune's blighted romance novel characters." A vibrant blush erupted upon her cheeks as she continued to chastise herself under her breath, though he heard a soft rant about velvet encasing something.
"I..." Maker's sake, what the hell was he going to say? He'd thought about it, sure. I liked that you kissed me, a whole bunch. It was nice. Wanna do it again? Andraste's big toe, he was thirty-seven years old and he never managed to get better than charring himself bright red at the thought of doing things without a tent. Lanny found it adorable for reasons that made him question her sanity at times, even if it paid off for him. And the others...
Alistair knew it was as much about the crown as him, maybe not in the attention paying parts of his brain, but his heart slushed that fact around often. If he wasn't King they'd have skipped right on past without giving him the time of day. After ending things with the last woman, he found himself wondering not what kept anyone from wanting him but why Lanny ever did. Seemed the height of stupidity on her end, really. He'd been happy to play the part of lustful royalty, and while of course the lamppost licking was often on his mind, he found himself missing the smaller intimate moments more. Maybe not more. 70:30. Silly handholding, brushing her hair behind her ears, giggling like mad over the dumb things they kept whispering to each other. The other women would go along with it, some seeming to find a sort of peace but it never lasted because it wasn't right. They liked the idea of being a king's mistress without taking into account the reality, and he liked it even less.
What bound his tongue wasn't the fear that Reiss was only in it for the power or attention but that she wasn't and that he would completely screw it all up in under five minutes. A whisper flowed through his veins -- which hatched after Seheron when he broke Lanny's heart again -- that Alistair would never know that true fairy tale love again. Because of his title, because he came with enough baggage to fill a chateau, no woman could ever love the man without the shiny hat.
And she was staring at him in concern because he just fell slack jawed and stupid for far too long. Alistair snatched up his mug and put it to his lips, hoping to find liquid courage inside, only to remember that the damn thing was empty. Uncertain what to do, he tipped his head back and pretended to drink, making a big show of wiping the imaginary excess off and giving an exhale of approval. Maker's sake he was a moron.
"So, that thing we need to talk about," Alistair rounded about talking without saying. She nodded her head, her eyes boring into the ground as she worried her fingers together in knots. "When you, you know..."
"Kicked you to the ground," Reiss spoke solemnly before raising her face up and a wicked grin lifting her lips.
A breath of his hesitation vanished and Alistair dug through his hair, fluffing it up higher and chuckling, "Maker, I know better than to attempt a frontal assault on you." He'd been serious but a blush burned up her cheeks and when the potential innuendo hit him he groaned, his head flopping up to the roof festooned with potted plants. "Which, that is to mean, a hem, why do pretty ladies always steal away my ability to make words good?"
With her head tipped down, he could only see a wash of the golden hair, a cupful of her cheek and one green eye quickly overflowing with an orneriness. "You think I'm pretty?" Reiss whispered to the floor.
"Is this a trick question?" Alistair felt a scoff rising in his throat. He wanted to tell her she knew she was gorgeous, like dawn's light but not when you were staggering out of bed with a hangover. The birds folding your laundry and squirrel's bringing breakfast kind of dawn. A brightness burned off her that chased away the creeping shadows and lifted them off his heart. Even aware of the dozens of eyes shifting around the small hut, Alistair picked up her hand in his. She responded to it, her gloved fingers twisting around to fold into his, as he leaned near her slightly red ear.
"I think you're beautiful," he whispered. Either it was his imagination, or a small shiver ran up and down her spine. Reiss crested her face towards his until those tempting lips were within closing distan
ce. To keep himself steady, he focused on her eyes, chasing a daisy yellow sparkle of color within the green fields.
Lifting a shoulder, she confessed, "You're rather attractive yourself."
That did it. Leaning forward, Alistair's free hand moved to cup her cheek. She caught on, her lips pursing in anticipation as he moved achingly close to kiss her.
"Help!" echoed through the quiet stupor of the celebrants followed by the door slamming open.
Alistair snapped his head away and let his hand fall off her warm cheek, but their clasped fingers remained intertwined. An elf stood in the doorway, impossible to tell who by the dark light and shapeless armor, but Niala was quick to leap to their side.
"What's wrong?"
"It's the dam," bedraggled beyond measure, the elf looked as if he'd swam the river to get inside. Barely wiping mud off the blue tattoos across his cheek, he took in a breath and cried, "It's broken."
"Elgar'non show mercy," Niala gasped, flipping back to her people, "Everyone to the dam!" Alistair rose off his seat, absently reaching for a sword that wasn't there. The move drew the panicking First's attention, her eyes narrowing upon the king. "If we don't stop this..." she whispered.
He nodded, catching on quickly. "She said everyone," Alistair clapped his hands, jostling a few of the traveling servants to their feet. At his glare the rest of the Banns began to rise. "Go and collect the others, mobilize them..."
Niala squared her shoulders and he caught a glimmer of a protection spell, golden stars fading off her skin as it dissipated, "Many will remain in the village, sandbag the banks to keep the river at bay. The rest of us shall have to repair the dam itself."
"Understood," Alistair nodded once. He reached over to tug his cloak off the tack and had it thrust into his hands by Reiss. She'd already knotted hers on and was waiting for him to follow suit. Niala and her people were the first out, the woman directing most to the sandbag locations and doling out orders. Of course Alistair had to repeat them to his fellows because they suddenly couldn't understand the elf or something. They amounted to "Do as she told you, and don't Maker damn argue or we'll all be dead. Got it?"
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