A/N: Not sure if this warrants it or not, but better be safe than sorry: Trigger warning for sexual harassment in this chapter.
33: What the Eyes Can't See (Part III)
"Respect for ourselves guides our morals; respect for others guides our manners"
― Laurence Sterne
Almira bit her nails as she ran the stall the next day.
Maybe he doesn't like me, she fretted.
She tossed back the incorrect change to her customer and glowered at him when he complained.
"Almira, where is your head?" her father tapped at his own skull as he urged her to be more attentive.
I was probably too forward, she concluded. But that's just how I am. Plus, we move around so often, I don't have the luxury of being too coy.
Never had any complaints before, she thought dourly.
Belle was especially irritating that morning.
"How's that Soldiers Appreciation program?" she asked Almira mockingly once she caught her staring.
"Inquisition Soldiers Appreciation program," she corrected the haughty vendor.
"I haven't seen you conducting it anymore," Belle stated cattily.
"It's built into our business," she quickly replied. "In how we don't overcharge people for crap—"
"Almira!" her father warned. "Here! Pay attention!" he pointed to the ledger.
"Bah!" she actually blurted out.
"I can't control whether or not I will be accepted the way I am," Krem explained, looking especially glum, "but I can definitely control when she'll be given the choice to move forward or not."
"So she doesn't know yet?" Rocky asked.
"No. Not yet," Krem revealed, scratching his head.
"She is so ditzy she might not notice," Dalish grumbled to Skinner.
"Anyway…How does my business become everyone else's business?" he complained suddenly, resenting the small crowd of Chargers assembled around him at the tavern.
"You have a big mouth?" Stitches shrugged.
"Not big enough, apparently," Skinner whispered back to Dalish.
"So are you going to tell her?" Rocky asked.
"Since no one else has done the honors…I'm disappointed in the rumor mill at this place," Krem sulked. "That alone usually does all my romantic sorting for me."
It was with no small amount of delight that Almira saw her handsome lieutenant wander towards her at noonday. She sighed contentedly as she watched him offer her a warm grin from afar, admiring his fine armor, looking impeccable and at the ready.
"Back for my fine wares?" she asked him flirtatiously as he approached her.
"Only if covered under that appreciation program," he smiled devastatingly. "I was wondering if you'd like to have a drink with me later."
"And then?" she urged him on, biting her bottom lip.
"Maybe even a second drink. I'm generous like that," he smirked.
Scoundrel, she chuckled, crossing her arms.
Just then her father appeared, his arms hauling the last of their wares. She stared at him impatiently as was their established custom when Krem hurried to him and seized the parcels from the elf's arms.
"Let me help you," he offered.
Her father nodded, surprised to receive aid, and watched as Krem carried with ease what had caused him to bend forward from strain.
"Thank you," her father stated. He did not like to be beholden to anyone. Least of all to a Shem. But he had appreciated the gesture, she could tell.
"I came by to ask your daughter to accompany me for a drink," he explained to the man, to her further shock.
Her father turned to stare at his wild, unruly daughter. He appeared as if he were going to speak, but shook his head instead.
"Almira does as she pleases," he stated with resignation, before turning away.
They watched him walk off, Almira's heart beating rapidly. None of her conquests had as much as looked at her father before. It was strange and she did not know if she liked it.
"He is right, you know. I make my own decisions," she told him in no uncertain terms.
Krem averted his eyes from the tired form ambling ahead.
"I have no doubt. And I wasn't asking for permission. But your father cares for you and you are lucky to have him close by still."
She snorted. He examined her face with those shrewd eyes of his.
"You will not always have him. And when you don't, you will miss him."
She blinked at him. That was not the direction she expected or wanted their conversation to go in. She wanted more of what she'd glimpsed the previous night— that seduction, its familiar course, were more comforting to her. She preferred it when the men she fancied strove to bed her, give testimony to their desire for her, make her feel powerful. She thought she was starting to feel a little cross at this Krem; she didn't need to be lectured or chastised for simply conducting herself in the way she knew best.
"I have to get going," he told her, turning towards the staircase to the upper courtyard. "See you later?" he asked.
I don't know. Maybe I should ask my father, she wanted to respond. But a glimpse at those shoulders of his made her think that perhaps he was worth another try.
When Almira stepped through the door that evening, Krem couldn't help feeling a rush of affection for her. She wore a dress that had likely seen better days, but was probably her finest, he noticed, with the eyes of someone accustomed to discerning fine tailoring. Her hair had been arranged into a braid crown adorned with tiny flowers. Krem licked his lips nervously and hoped for the best.
He met her at the doorway and led her to the quieter second floor, seeking out one of the remote tables at a corner of the room. After they ordered their drinks, she examined him expectantly. They exchanged a few pleasantries, but he could sense her bewilderment, her slight impatience.
"Would you like to have dinner, too?" he asked, pondering the choices the tavern barmaid had rattled off to them moments before. "I could eat—I am usually starved after drills."
She pressed her lips together.
"I will… if you are dessert," she grinned coyly.
Krem laughed in earnest, but did not reply.
It irked her that he was being so elusive.
They had a couple drinks and she watched him eat a platter of meat and lick his fingers. She forlornly wished he were savoring her as contentedly.
They conversed throughout the dinner. They talked about the Chargers (too many names to remember) and a bit about Tevinter (she and her father had never gone that far north). She learned his father had been a tailor and she had told him that she had grown up trailing the roads in both Ferelden and the Free Marches, with her father supplying each region with rare reagents gathered from the other. She didn't mind talking to Krem, she liked how intently he listened, how attentive he was as she spoke, but it was odd. The conversation was…too normal. He said nothing about what he wanted to do to her later, or what he wanted her to do to him. There was no innuendo, no furtive touches under the table. Why didn't he simply do what she expected him to, what the others did, and be done with it? She wasn't accustomed to such treatment. It was strange, she decided.
He had been telling her something about a mission involving giant spiders when she was overcome with frustration and interrupted him.
"Do I not please you?" she asked at last.
He leaned back in his chair and contemplated her with an unguarded expression that made her catch her breath.
"Oh, you please me just fine," he insinuated.
"Do you not want me?" she wondered, leaning forward so that she could better display her shapely bosom. It had the desired effect, she noticed triumphantly. He did not reply, though, even as his eyes wandered over her lustily.
"Almira," he finally said, breaking the small hold she had trapped him in. "Before we go any further, there is something I should let you know about myself," he began.
She remained impassive. Maybe he was married. Maybe he had…unusual tastes in the bedroom?
"Have you ever heard the term 'Aqun-Athlok'?" he asked.
Almira's head reeled.
As far as she could tell, he was all man—from the way he wore his hair to his strong features. Was it a cruel joke? Something he was saying to extricate himself from being further involved with her? She sought and sought for evidence, but could not discern anything that indicated what he had revealed to her: that he was a man in a woman's body. As she contemplated his fine features, she did recall finding his face very smooth, devoid of bristle and whisker.
He observed her as well, expectantly.
"You can ask me anything you want," he told her sincerely.
"I don't know, Krem," she finally issued an answer. "I don't know what to make of all this."
It was the truth.
"What are your concerns?" he asked, furrowing his brows.
"I don't see how we could…" her voice trailed off. "You know."
"Just because I don't have certain…physical attributes…doesn't mean I am lacking in any way. If you're worried about that, let me reassure you: don't worry. I know how to take good care of you…" he explained suggestively.
"But what…what if we ever wanted to have a child?" she reasoned.
He appeared to blanch a bit and raised his hands rapidly.
"Whoa, Almira!"
She remained crestfallen.
"First, we've just met! Second, I'm a mercenary soldier. That's not a profession that lends itself to domesticity. Third, if such a thing ever crossed my mind—and I'll be blunt with you: it hasn't— there are myriad children left parentless out there to adopt," he declared.
"But why aren't you more like those women who like other women?" Almira complained.
Why had he misled her?
"Because I am not a woman," he stated curtly.
"But you have the body of a—"
"Imagine this," he continued, patiently. "Imagine yourself as you are—Almira…dressed in your fine dress there," he said, with a nod. "Do you have any doubt of who you are right now? Anything other than a young elf, a woman?"
She shook her head.
"So," he went on, leaning forward, "when you glance in a mirror, does what you see match how you think of yourself?"
"I guess," she shrugged.
"And what if one day you looked in the mirror, but you saw something else? Not the Almira you know, but perhaps the image of a young man," he asked.
"Witchcraft…I'd imagine I'd been cursed," she reasoned.
He tilted his head and turned up both of his palms.
"Welcome to my life—for as long as I can remember. I didn't decide I wanted to be a man: I always knew I was a man. It's that simple."
Almira frowned.
"You are from Tevinter. Why didn't you just have a mage change—"
"Because I do not need to, you see. This is who I am. Take it or leave it," he said, with a hint of defiance."
"I need to think about this," Almira confessed, an expression of confusion on her face.
"That's fine. I understand," Krem told her, reaching out to pat her arm kindly.
He noticed she recoiled slightly at his touch. He pushed his chair away from the table roughly. He resented it, especially in light of the fact she hadn't been able to keep her hands off him just the previous night. He was still the same person, he gathered, smarting from the slight. But it hadn't been the first time and he was certain it wouldn't be the last. Any limitations on her part were simply that: limitations. And her problem, actually.
"I should get you back home," he offered politely.
"I can see myself back," she said sadly.
"Listen—" He loomed over her. "No hard feelings. That's why we had this chat, right? So there would be no unpleasant surprises or moments. At the end of it all, you have to be true to yourself," he winked. "But let me at least see you out. Lots of drunken folks down there displaying very poor judgment."
She nodded before dazedly making her way down the steps to the lower level of the tavern, where a fire crackled in the large hearth and despite the propped door, the air felt stuffy and damp around them. She edged past the crowd, bumping into people and avoiding tankards, sensing Krem close behind her.
"Krem!" someone yelled over the din. "Are you leaving?"
"No," he called out. "I'll be right back."
She stopped before a hulking shape blocking her way to the door.
"Excuse me," she tapped the wide back before her.
A mildly surprised face turned to examine her, drunken and watery-eyed.
"Well, what have we here!" the man slurred, peering down at her lewdly.
"Just push on through," Krem muttered behind her. "He's drunker than an Orlesian sommelier."
Almira turned her shoulder and began to push past him. Before she realized what was happening, she felt herself being pulled against the robust man.
"Let me go!" she protested.
"Not even a little kiss?" the man teased. "But you're wearing such a pretty dress…"
She began to struggle against his viselike hold when she saw an armored figure rapidly step up beside her, seize the man by the collar and slam him hard against the tavern wall. Almira stood aside in disbelief as the noise in the tavern died down to a tense silence.
"She said to let her go," Krem said ominously.
"And who the fuck are you?" the man spat angrily, shoving him away. Krem staggered back. The man's face glowered with recognition.
"Oh, it is you. That dickless bastard who thinks she's a—"
The man didn't finish his sentence. Krem cocked his arm back and rammed his fist into his bloated face. Blood began to ooze from the man's busted lip.
"I'd rather you just think of me as a regular guy, but I admit it gives me some pleasure to think how much you'll hate having to live the rest of your sorry life thinking you had your ass handed to you by a girl," Krem said with a savage sneer, his eyes ablaze.
It was as if his words had signaled the start of the brawl. Behind them, members of the Chargers held off the brute's companions from intervening. She peered towards the exit and glanced back at Krem, unsure of how to proceed.
"Go," he mouthed to her, before the man attempted to wrap his hands around his neck. The last thing she saw as she escaped was Krem freeing himself by violently banging his head into the man's nose.
She fled and made her way down a dark staircase just as a patrol passed her, racing towards the tumultuous tavern.
"Blasted tavern scuffles," one guard huffed hurriedly to another. "Feels like we break one up every night…"
She quickly found her tent out in the courtyard, and found, relieved, that her father was still awake, his lamp still glowing as he entered several receipts into his ledger. He mumbled at her, as she crawled towards her pallet.
"What?" she barked, wild-eyed.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked, not looking up. "Were you out with the Shem?" he asked, uncharacteristically so.
"Yes," she replied, also uncharacteristically.
He clucked at her.
"I rather liked him."
She remained awake into the wee hours of the night, remembering the things Krem had told her, thinking about what he had revealed to her, what it meant, imagining what it could have been like if she hadn't rebuffed him, and staying with those thoughts, which only piqued her curiosity. She recalled his arm, so strong, shooting out so powerfully when he struck the drunk. He'd protected her. Defended her. He'd invited her to dinner, sought her company beyond the confines of a bed, wanted to know more about her and acknowledged her father.
No, she wasn't used to being treated like that.
With respect.
Kindness.
No hard feelings, she remembered the roguish grin spreading over his face. At the end of it all, you have to be true to yourself, he'd said.
Be true to yourself, the words echoed in her mind.
What does that mean to me? she wondered, bothered, tossing around sleeplessly.