37: What the Eyes Can't See (Part VII)
"We are all in the same boat, in a stormy sea, and we owe each other a terrible loyalty."
― G.K. Chesterton
A/N: Trigger warning for harassment in the form of verbal intolerance and discrimination.
"Won't you come for dinner tomorrow? Baba is cooking a traditional Dalish dinner and inviting some of the other vendors before we move," Almira asked Krem later on, as they meandered back to her tent.
Krem hesitated, peering down at the cobblestones.
"Ah," he began, scratching his head. "I would, but I already have plans…" he said awkwardly.
"What could be more important?" she ribbed him.
"It's not that," he protested. "I promised…someone I'd go somewhere…" he said evasively.
"I see…" she said, not duped at all. "Someone and somewhere…Sounds like a good time."
He grinned wanly.
"Maybe."
Her eyes widened.
"What? You didn't want to tell me? You can tell me, you know!" she said frankly. "Did you think I would throw a fit and be all jealous?"
He smirked and shrugged.
"I guess this is all new to me, too."
"Weeeeell…"Almira scratched her chin. "You did ruin me for all others," she confessed.
Krem looked up at her in alarm.
"Now I expect a man to offer me drinks, dinner, and then destroy a tavern…" she teased.
He laughed again. Maker, she could make him laugh.
"Enjoy!" she waved him off after he saw her to her tent. "I'll write to you while you are away on your mission!" she told him.
He stepped away from her that evening with a smile on his face.
"The most fun I've ever had with any woman who ever rejected me!" he'd joked later on with Rocky.
"Lucky lady," she whispered to herself long after he'd left.
She was happy for him and she meant it.
She told herself so, even as she chased the memory of how closely he'd held her against him, his hand caressing the nape of her neck slowly as they kissed in the dark.
She shook her head vehemently.
"Lucky, lucky lady…"
She heard her father's voice from inside the tent.
"What's that?"
"I was wondering what was for dinner," she lifted the tent flap and peeked in.
Her father was lying on his pallet, gazing back at her sleepily.
"Ah, venan…I lost track of time…Fell asleep…Nothing is ready yet."
"Oh no? And you are going to cook up a feast for the entire courtyard when you can't produce a decent dinner for your only child?" she cried out. "Dalish dinner my ass!"
But her tone was lighthearted.
Nothing could bring her down. Her days of errant wandering were over.
She finally had a home.
And a new friend.
The Inquisition's supplies arrived at the away camp at dawn and the Chargers helped the soldiers unload them. Bull waited for Scout Harding to riffle through the courier pouch for any instructions.
"Nope. Nothing for you today…Just a few letters," she noted, turning an envelope sideways. "Oh, wait. There is something here for one of your men," she stated, waving an envelope beneath her nose. "Perfumed, too!"
She glanced down at the writing upon it and began to chuckle. Bull had to pry the letter from her gloved hand.
One look at the letter revealed why.
"Oh, this is rich!" Bull interjected. He looked up and located his crew, standing near the heap of supplies. "To Lieutenant Cremiscius Aclassi," he called out with exaggerated solicitousness. "Spelled out very creatively," he added. Krem turned to Bull. "To Lieutenant Cremisius Aclassi, Second-in-Command to The Chargers, Brave Warrior and Conqueror— spelled with a 'k'—of Beautiful Women, with Great Respect and Lust from His Secret Admirer. Warning: the contents of this letter are explicit and intended to be shoved down the Lieutenant's pants only."
Krem quickly seized the envelope out of Bull's hands beneath a volley of ribald laughter.
Almira! he thought, amused and annoyed at once.
He was going to get her back, he grinned mischievously, eagerly tearing the envelope open.
"To Almira Elanan, Exiled Princess of the Dales and Her Majestically Bouncing Twins, Her Most Noble and Generous Contribution to Thedas' Landscape, from Her Loyal Retainer, a Missive to Keep Her Highness 'Abreast' of Affairs," the postmaster, a blue-eyed dwarf, announced in an even voice as he retrieved her letter from his sorted rows of correspondence in Skyhold's mail room.
Behind her a few guffaws and chuckles broke out.
"Oh, that's so terrible!" she cackled. "But honestly, I think mine was better, don't you all think?" she addressed the small crowd lined up behind her.
"Undoubtedly," the dwarf sighed, trying to catch the eye of the next customer in line.
Almira grabbed the envelope excitedly, hurrying off to read the message.
Almira spent her mornings and afternoons scraping pots of dried or baked on food in Skyhold's kitchen, her hands raw from the warm soapy water and coarse scrubbers. Sometimes, as she wrestled with particularly tough, burnt gobs, her nails caked with grime, conversation subdued among her coworkers, she missed the freedom of the road, the hours of simply sitting back and enjoying the views of fields and towns passing them by during their travels. Running the stall had never been that much work.
She had wondered if she would grow bored of remaining in the same place—and sometimes she did—but she liked claiming familiarity with the fortress, the reassuring shelter of her room, the guarantee of daily meals, and the small rituals she had embraced: drinks at the tavern with her fellow maids, dinner with her father on the nights he didn't work, and trudging back to her room after a long day, seizing the handle of her wash bucket, a fresh cloth, a brick of soap inside, and going off for a lengthy soak in the bath house. Her favorite, though, was whenever the Chargers returned from wherever they'd been sent. One of the first things Krem would do, if they had arrived early enough, and once he had overseen the unpacking of their equipment and weaponry and properly submitted his reports to the appropriate channels, was to saunter down to the kitchen, where he was feted by the kitchen staff, where the Head Cook would slip him a small dish of whatever delicacy she was preparing for the Ambassador's frequent diplomatic dinners, soirees, and meetings. He would sit on the edge of one of the tables closest to Almira's marble wash sink and regale them with the stories of his latest adventures. The maids would laugh and flirt, snap their dishtowels at him as he made comical innuendo, but no matter how often his attention was diverted, it always returned to Almira. Sometimes he waited for her to end her shift and other times he would tousle her hair and plan to meet up with her later.
"Look: there goes Kremira!" the assistant head cook cried out one afternoon as the two began to leave the kitchen at the end of her shift. "Those two are joined at the hip bone!" the man joked.
Krem and Almira exchanged amused glances and burst out laughing before jaunting up the stairwell together.
One day, a delegate from Ferelden brought her own cook to Skyhold.
"Her excellency has a delicate stomach," the cook explained haughtily. "She has much important business to attend to and cannot be expected to manage any dietary concerns on top of all else. I am here to ensure her meals are no different than the fare she consumes at home. I'd appreciate it if my workspace were dedicated to my Lady's needs alone," she declared, clearing the Head Cook's worktable.
Almira rolled her eyes and tackled the previous night's baking pans with renewed vigor.
When Krem stopped by, stealing an apple from around the pantry boy's shoulder, he brought their beleaguered group a much needed dose of levity and cheer. On top of their usual load, the Ambassador had requested they use new, imported china at the banquet that night, and the many dishes had arrived tightly packed in dusty crates. Stack after stack of plates of different sizes, for the various required courses of the banquet, needed to be properly washed, dried, and set upstairs on the tables at the Main Hall. She and her fellow scullery maids, all summoned to lend their hands that afternoon, remained painfully hunched over the gradually greying tubs of water.
He made them giggle, helped move stacks of plates around, and eventually stepped out of the way to savor his apple, all under the scrutinizing eyes of the Fereldan cook, who had demonstrated interest in him since the first day she had arrived.
"I say, keep it simple," Krem explained, talking about how an Orlesian representative had taken a nasty spill out of his carriage after getting tangled in his flowing cape that morning.
"You should know, you always look dapper, don't you, Lieutenant?…" one of the maids chopping frilled cabbage for garnishing saucily stated.
"Yeah," another maid quipped, looking up from her ball of kneaded dough as she wiped her forehead with her arm. "All the lads should take a cue from you. You always look proper, even when just in your tunic and trousers," the woman said approvingly.
The Fereldan cook had been observing everything in silence until then. Diverting her gaze firmly to Krem, she began speaking in a cloying tone.
"It is so ironic, isn't it? That our Lieutenant here should be considered an example to our men; yet, she isn't even one."
Silence fell over the kitchen. Only the sound of the bubbling pots boiling on the stove manifested themselves. The cook glanced around the room, trying to determine the effect of her revelation.
Krem shrugged his shoulders indifferently.
"I don't need to explain myself to you," he stated. "Believe what you want."
The cook appeared a bit deflated when she noticed all the censuring stares had been directed at her, not at him, as she had hoped.
"Such a thing is not right," she continued. "You are a woman, you shouldn't go around pretending to be—"
The clatter of a stack of plates landing heavily on the floor resounded behind them. Wiping her hands over her apron, Almira jutted her chin at the woman belligerently.
"And who are you to come here and tell us what is and isn't?"
"What? Am I lying?" the woman asked insolently.
Krem smirked.
"Just ignore her," he advised in an appeasing tone. "I know I am."
"Krem is a good man," Almira said angrily.
"Her body says otherwise" the woman crossed her arms.
"His mind and his heart know the truth!" Almira stated, pointing to her head and then her chest.
"Her body says otherwise," the woman repeated in a sing-song way, lewdly pointing at her crotch.
Almira couldn't articulate her anger. She didn't have the words to explain the feelings that emerged when she thought of Krem. She felt him place his hand firmly on her shoulder. Someone else—one of the pantry boys—had scurried off in search of the Head Cook before things escalated further.
"Stop referring to him as 'her,'" Almira growled.
"Why? Just because she wants to pretend to be a boy, I have to play along too?" she mocked, her eyes wide.
Around them mild protests erupted, urging calm, calling for them to stop.
"If that is the case," the cook said sassily, "Then I want to be the Empress of Orlais!" she declared, tossing her head back glamorously. She examined Almira again maliciously. "What say you?"
Eyes turned to Almira, the atmosphere in the kitchen tense. To everyone's surprise, Almira suddenly dipped low, curtsying graciously.
"Your Highness," she said solemnly.
The woman laughed scornfully.
Krem watched in amazement as Almira then rushed her, knocking the cook forcefully to the ground, and began slapping at her with her hands. The woman began to scream.
"What are you doing?" the woman shouted.
"This is for how Your Majesty treated elves!" Almira yelled, aiming another ineffective swat at the woman's defensively raised arms.
"Are you mad?" the cook bellowed, trying to still Almira's hands. "I'm not really the Empress! I did nothing to your people!"
"And that," Almira shouted, "is the difference, isn't it? You can stop when you are pretending, whenever convenient, if you choose to do so…But Krem is not pretending. You cannot stop being who you really are!"
She pushed herself up and off the cook, who'd fallen silent at her words and as she turned to face Krem, she glimpsed in his face a sad but tender smile. She returned it, just as his smile suddenly vanished.
"Almira, behind you!"
She did try to heed the warning, but the frying pan landed heavily on the side of her skull regardless.
A/N: Ask and ye shall receive. You guys rock. Seriously. I was worried about lingering too long on this arc, of boring everyone and you guys made me so happy with your comments and PMs. Let's move right along then! A special thanks to Cullenfreak, who was the first to respond and cheer me onwards -aaaand- the 69th person to comment! There has to be a mention of that important milestone. Balloons, cake, and confetti for all! Also, cheers to rhokesh, who referred to "Kremira." I hope you continue to enjoy this!