38: What the Eyes Can't See (Part VIII)
"My feelings can perhaps be imagined, but they can hardly be described."
― Yann Martel
"You crazy, crazy girl," Krem censured her affectionately, as he held the bundle of ice to the lump on her head at the infirmary.
"That Fereldan cow is the crazy one," Almira mumbled.
"What were you thinking? Never turn your back on your foes during an argument!" he said. "And you do not need to fight my battles," he told her. "Especially if I don't see the need for a battle."
"She was insulting you."
At that he couldn't help grinning.
"I couldn't give a damn about what she thinks. I'm not going to give an ignorant, hateful person the satisfaction."
"I couldn't stand it. You're my friend," she fumed quietly, glancing at him.
He almost said, "Then get used to it" but he didn't want to upset her further. Instead he tilted her head carefully to look at her poor swollen cheek. He hissed lightly.
"Think your father has an ointment for this?"
"Oh, I am sure I am bound to find out…" she grumbled. "Ah, this entire half of my head hurts!" she groaned.
Krem clucked his tongue and examined her.
"What about your face. Does it hurt?"
"Not that mu—"
"…Because it is killing me," he teased.
"Ass," she kicked his leg as he burst out in laughter. "What are you? A child?" She crossed her arms. "I have to remember that one," she muttered.
"You're just mad you fell for it."
"I'll get you back," she said quickly.
"I know you will. You always do." His hand brushed over the bruise very gently. "Some pair we are," he muttered. She closed her eyes briefly, his touch soothing and welcome. "Thank you. Just know that for you, I'll gladly tear down a tavern, anytime," he grinned, stroking her cheek.
"And for you, I'll take a frying pan to the head, willingly, anytime... But not gladly, because this fighting stuff hurts," she said seriously.
He planted a tiny kiss on her head, by the large lump.
Almira was dismissed from her scullery job.
The Fereldan cook had been sent home immediately after their altercation, but she couldn't imagine that had been much of a reprimand. She was upset and some of the other maids had complained about the decision, but the Head Cook had been unable to overlook the rules. Provocation or not, rightly so or otherwise, Almira had struck the first blow. And that couldn't be tolerated.
"I'm sorry, luv. I'll put in a good word for you with the Brigade Staff Duty officer at the barracks, though. They are looking for people to help keep things tidy," the Head Cook told Almira, in an attempt to console her.
Almira decided it was worth a try.
"How bad can it be, right?" she shrugged as she described her unglamorous sacking to Krem.
"I don't know why you won't let me put in a good word for you with the higher-ups," Krem insisted as they walked back from the mess hall. "You're going to hate the barracks."
"I think it will actually be a big improvement," she said, tilting her head at a realization. "See? I am going to find myself among handsome, strapping soldiers everyday!" she said, gripped by a sudden giddiness.
Krem checked into her shoulder playfully before sighing resignedly.
"Hussy."
"Things are looking up!" she cried out.
The tankard of ale sat untouched before Almira as she rubbed her aching arms.
"I hate it," she glanced at Krem tearfully. "It's horrible."
She slumped forward and rested her chin on the edge of the tavern table looking completely despondent.
"These soldiers are beasts."
Rocky and Stitches looked at Krem, seeking an explanation as they listened in confusion.
"Latrine duty," he stated quietly, raising the bottle of wine to his lips.
"Ah," they exchanged knowing glances.
"Is it really so hard to get it all inside the chamber pot?" she wondered.
"After a night of drinking, in the dark, it's amazing that any of it makes it into the pot at all…" Rocky offered as he shuffled the cards and began dealing them again.
"And blasted Blights, pick a chamber pot that suits your size...or output!" she complained. "I cannot tell you how many people have overflowing—"
"We get the idea. Thank you for the disgusting image; it is now searing a hole in my brain," Stitches interrupted.
"What's another hole among so many…" Dalish teased, organizing the cards in her hand.
"I hate it. I never want to go back…" she sighed morosely.
"What happened to those handsome shirtless soldiers?" Krem teased, giving her arm a rallying squeeze.
"They poop," she concluded glumly, as the Chargers burst out laughing.
"You'll be fine," Krem said encouragingly. "You won't be on latrine duty forever."
"I want nothing to do with those soldiers, ever again," she grumbled.
They snickered at her as she groused about her misfortunes as a lowly chamberpot maid.
He couldn't explain why, but her statement made him glad.
Almira clasped her hands behind her back and moved towards the training ring wearing a very smug grin.
He squinted past the sweat burning his eyes, and raised his shield again.
"Harder!" he yelled, addressing the line of combatants.
He slammed his shield into his opponent's, the clash thunderous, reverberating over the courtyard. He glimpsed the redheaded figure draping herself over the fence to observe them train.
She looked like she was up no good. Smiling for no reason. It made him feel slightly uneasy. He tore his gaze away and focused on the exercise.
"Again!" he roared over the din of shields colliding.
At the end of the practice, Almira slipped under the fence and began to help him collect his belongings: his canteen, his helm, a small face towel that she offered to him as he approached her. She was grinning unashamedly.
"You are up to no good," Krem confirmed his suspicion, standing straighter and taking a deep breath.
"Oh, I am up for all things good!" she sang.
He rubbed the towel over his face and tossed it over his shoulder, his breathing still labored.
"I am afraid to ask."
"I am attending a reception…" She turned her eyes up to him brightly.
"Will you be serving drinks or appetizers?" he zinged.
She pummeled his arm crossly. He chuckled, trying to defend himself from her furious onslaught.
"I am being squired by an Inquisition soldier to my very first Inquisition reception!" she revealed proudly, tossing her braid over her shoulder.
Krem blinked slowly, appearing disconcerted for a brief moment.
"That's…That's so nice, Almira," he told her.
"Isn't it? I couldn't wait to tell you!" she said with excitement.
He heard her babble about how she would wear her hair (loose, a flower behind her ear), asked him which of her two dresses she should don ("Shawl? Or no shawl?" she agonized) and bragged about stuffing her face with as many delicacies as she could.
He listened to her go on gleefully, responding appropriately whenever asked for an opinion. He was glad for her.
Wasn't he?
He wanted her to be happy, of course, he reasoned. She should be able to go off and enjoy herself.
But something else nagged at him, even as she gabbed on so enthusiastically.
It was hypocritical of him, he thought guiltily. Didn't he often go off on his romantic encounters whenever the opportunity arose? Why should it be any different for her?
It is fine, he thought stoically. We are friends, his brow furrowed as she spoke.
"Are you all right?" she asked suddenly, seeking his eyes. "You have this hard stare," she said, twisting her face into a serious expression in imitation of him.
He smiled weakly, distracted by her bow-shaped lips; would this soldier get to kiss her, feel her softness, savor her sweetness? He shook his head.
"I'm just tired, that's all. Tough practice today," he told her.
He contemplated her wistfully. He wanted to tell her something. Wanted to ask her if she would still be his friend if she fell in love with someone else. If she'd still care about him. Would still want to spend so much time with him. Laugh, tease each other, send ridiculous letters, not even need to agree on meeting to go have dinner together because it was a given.
Maker, I'm being foolish. It's just a reception party, not a wedding, he smirked to himself.
"So who is the poor sod who'll have to drag you away from the dessert table?" he asked her, looking away.
"He is an Inquisition soldier," she explained.
"You said as much—who is he?" he insisted, walking ahead towards the stairwell.
Almira pressed her lips. She muttered something. Krem glanced back at her.
"Sorry—what's that?"
"I said I've never met him," she repeated.
Krem appeared taken aback.
"What do you mean?"
"The girl I work with said the soldier who is taking her asked if she had a friend he could match up his roommate with because anytime they'd go out together, he would stay back in the barracks feeling sad, so she said, 'Come on, Almira! Say yes, or Harris won't want to take me and you're not doing anything and there will be free food and drinks.' So I said, 'Free food and drinks?' and she said 'Yeah!' and I said, 'Oh, the price is right!' and she said, 'I know, right?' and then I said—"
Krem rubbed his forehead as he laughed quietly at Almira's inane narratives that meandered terribly before getting anywhere.
"So what is his name? Maybe I know the guy—kicked his butt in the practice ring before."
"He's a Private," she stated grandly.
Krem knocked her lightly on top of her head.
"Is his name private, too?" he asked with exasperation.
"Ow! His name is Private Chauncey, I'll have you know," she informed him. "Isn't that a lovely name?" she said dreamily.
He looked up at her in surprise.
"Chauncey? You said Chauncey?" he asked.
She nodded enthusiastically.
He broke out into delighted laughter.
"What? What, now?" she yelled at him with impatience.
When they arrived at the door to the dispensary, so she could drop off her father's dinner, he apologized for laughing and told her he hoped she'd have a splendid time.
"Enjoy yourself! Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he said deliberately, to annoy her.
He sauntered off into the brisk evening feeling at ease…and a little bit sheepish over the relief he felt.
Later on, as he sat among the Chargers, Stitches looked around them, perplexed.
"Where's your faithful shadow?"
"Ouais—it's too silent in here tonight," Skinner teased.
Krem grinned enigmatically.
"On a date."
"And you are okay with that?" Stitches asked, shooting him a sideways glance.
Krem leaned back, folding his arms behind his head.
"She's on a date with Chauncey," he revealed meaningfully.
"Pfffff!" Rocky spat his beer across the table.
"Poor thing!" Skinner interjected.
Krem cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Almira can more than handle it."
"What Almira? I was worried about Chauncey," she corrected him.
A/N: Chauncey...He made his debut in "A Matter of Consequence," where he got yelled at by Cullen, and has made a couple appearances here, more notably in chapters 8-9, where he gets a bit too chatty with Scout Harding...