31: What the Eyes Can't See (Part I)
"If he had had all Peru in his pocket, he would certainly have given it to this dancer; but Gringoire had not Peru in his pocket; and besides, America was not yet discovered."
― Victor Hugo
Almira was fed up. Fed up with being told what to do, hauling heavy packs and satchels from the cart to the stall on the courtyard at Skyhold. Her father watched her, sour-faced, knowing precisely the foul thoughts she had conjured and was stirring as he bossed her around.
Heavy. Everything weighed so much. She blew the strands of hair off her face and sighed. The vendor from Orlais, Belle, always looked so lovely.
Who wouldn't want to browse her wares, she wondered, leaning her elbow on the edge of their stand and resting her chin on her balled up fists while contemplating the coquettish woman smiling sweetly while informing her potential customer of the devastating prices.
She never stopped smiling, even as she engaged in a ferocious back-and-forth, negotiating the final price.
From thirty gold pieces to twenty-four. Not bad. Not bad at all, Almira thought.
A Shem approached their stall, picking through their wares with a rather disdainful expression.
"How much for this bundle of rashvine?" he finally asked.
"6 gold," Almira lied.
The man's eyebrows shot up.
"That is absurd."
Almira was smiling. She kept telling herself it was a charming smile, but the man's perplexed expression indicated it was likely he found her rather terrifying.
"For you, I'll make it 5 gold and 5 silver."
The man balked.
"Ridiculous!" he tossed the bundle back on the table and turned away just as her father returned from stabling his horse.
"Messere, do you need any help finding anything? We carry the finest reagents—"
"At the most exorbitant prices!" the man cried. "A bundle of rashvine at 6 gold? Highway robbery!"
Her father shot her a murderous glare.
"Well, rashvine is in high demand," he lied, " but for our friends at Skyhold, we can most definitely find a more agreeable price," he added amiably.
The man seemed to pause, examining her father carefully before relenting and agreeing to peruse their wares once more.
After the Shem left, her father said nothing. He'd managed to sell the man several herb bundles at a marginal profit.
"I thought he would negotiate with me," she grumbled at last.
"You were too greedy," he chastised her.
"I was willing to haggle down to 2 gold."
Her father snorted, half annoyed, half amused.
"For something that has a market value of 7 silver? Go on!"
Almira grimaced and pointed at Belle.
"She does it ALL the time,"
Belle looked up from the book she was reading behind her stall.
"Pardon?" she asked, confused.
"You. You overcharge your customers and still manage to sell your wares for more than the market price," Almira said bluntly.
Belle's eyes narrowed shrewdly.
"My wares are the finest quality. That is why they command such a high price."
"No, that isn't it," Almira continued, incensed. "You dress all nice and speak all primly so that people are too embarrassed to haggle with you! Me and my dad? We're elves! Fair price my arse! Everyone treats elves like sh—"
"Almira!" her father said sharply as Belle looked away disgustedly at the outburst.
"It's the truth!" she huffed.
"I'm going to wring your neck," her father snarled quietly. "You are particularly bad today. What's gotten into you?"
The family business. That itinerant lifestyle they had, never stopping anywhere for too long, sleeping in wagons, washing in frigid brooks and creeks, eating and sometimes not eating, and the tedious hauling of their wares everywhere they alighted.
She sulked, kicking at the stand's legs until her father slapped his own face in an act of frustration. He was about to utter something to her in his usual growly fashion when they were interrupted by a customer.
Not just a customer, Almira remarked. A glorious customer.
He was the most fascinating man she had ever seen.
For a Shem, that is, she corrected herself. Then she smiled deviously. Oh, heck, even for an elf, she thought giddily.
Dusky skin, dark wavy hair closely shorn along the sides of his head, hazel eyes flecked with gold. He spoke in a low, quiet voice.
"Got any elfroot? I'd just as well go off and pick it myself, but our healer needs some right away."
"Is it to treat you? Do you need any healing and comforting?" she asked saucily.
"Five bunches of dry herb, one silver. Ten for one silver and ten coppers," her father told him.
"I'll take ten," he decided, reaching into his coin pouch.
"I can carry them for you!" Almira offered excitedly.
Both her father and the man glanced at the small, light bunches that could easily be carried in two hands.
"It's a special service we offer our new customers," she grinned encouragingly.
At the stall next to them, Belle scoffed.
"Some of us treat our customers well," Almira said in an onerous tone.
Belle continued to stare ahead, shaking her head.
"I didn't see you move a finger to carry the crate of reagent containers for your other customer earlier," Belle said maliciously.
"He was quite robust," she quipped, "and could handle the crate well on his own!" she protested.
The handsome young man smirked, crossing his arms.
"So what you are saying is that I don't look like I could handle this bundle of elfroot?" he asked amusedly.
She panicked for a moment, but then smiled. He was teasing her.
"Not at all! Not at all! It's part of our Inquisition Soldiers Appreciation program," she flirted.
"Oh, is it?" he laughed, surprised. "What else is offered in this program?"
Me, Almira thought lustily.
"I can tell you all about it as I carry your purchase," she winked, seizing the bundles before her father could hand them off. "Watch the stall, will you?" she said brazenly to her bewildered father.
She stepped around her father and stood next to the alluring man. He contemplated her with a mirthful expression, a half grin on his attractive features, so enticing and strong in his armor.
"Where to?" she asked, ceremoniously holding the elfroot bundles.
"The Herald's Rest," he pointed up a steep staircase. "You sure you can handle all that?" he joked.
"If I can't I am sure you'll lend me a hand, won't you?" she contemplated him appreciatively.
Very appreciatively.
This time he laughed, and she liked the way he looked at her, his lips parted slightly, eyes narrowed, scrutinizing her.
"My name's Almira," she announced, turning on her heels so swiftly her long braid almost whipped him in the face. "What's yours?" she asked.
"Krem," he told her, following her, watching her hips undulate seductively as she climbed up the steps before him.