Chapter 6: Married Life - Imps and Weddings

On the bottom floor of the apartment building an old woman called out to Nesiara and Shianni. “Shianni. Come in for tea.” Inside the humble one room apartment, two grey haired matrons with sharp eyes and wide grins sat together at a small table.

Head lowered slightly as if in for a rebuke, Shianni led the way. “This is granny Drioni,” she said, indicating a handsome, oval faced woman with a sly glint in her dark eyes, “and granny Eolas.” She gestured toward as woman who had the same dark eyes in a heart shaped face. “They’re sisters. This is Nesiara.”

“Oh we know who you are,” Eolas said. “Trean couldn’t stop talking about the new elf.”

“And did you see that young buck prancing down the stairs?” Taking Nesiara firmly by the arm, Drioni led her to a chair. “Looked like the Maker’s light was shining out of his ass, he did.”

“He was late for work, he was,” Eolas said. “Never been late before.”

“Didn’t take him long, but of course it wouldn’t,” Drioni added with a knowing grin. Nesiara blushed at the two dames’ chuckles.

“That’s nothing against your character, dearie.” Eolas busied herself at the little stove. “Just we know that boy. Even one of those Chantry virgins wouldn’t stand a chance if he had a mind to it.”

“So much trouble that boy,” Drioni said wistfully.

“So much good he does,” her sister replied and set two small cups in front of their guests with bowls of cream and sugar. “I take it then that you’re happy with the match.”

Nesiara folded her hands in her lap. “I am.”

“And you’re sleeping in the same bed?” Eolas asked. Shianni’s wicked grin was answer enough.

“Oh, if I was forty years younger,” Drioni said with a positively wicked deep throated laugh. “That one would turn a brunette red. I’m surprised Shianni could even get you out of that room.”

Eolas poured the tea, refilling their cups in the process. “He’s got a body on him, doesn’t he. He doesn’t know it, but my sister here is always tipping over around him just to get a touch. But then, considering how he flirts, maybe he does know it and lets her have her thrill.”

“Are you any different, Sister?” Drioni asked, already knowing the answer.

“I’m much more subtle.”

Shianni put a hand over her mouth to hide her laughter. “You two are awful.”

Eolas fixed her gaze on Shianni. “One day my dear, you’ll be just like us. Too many wrinkles in that pretty face and too much knowledge. Sometimes dearie, you have to laugh or you end up crying all your days.”

“True, true.” Drioni’s eyes sharpened on Shianni. “She’s already got a bit of a mouth on her.”

“Not becoming in one so young,” Eolas admonished. “Wait another thirty five or forty years, then you’re not rude or crass. You’re just a character, and everyone shakes their collective heads at what you say, but you’ll know the truth of it.”

Drioni’s eyes gleamed over her tea cup as she took Shianni’s measure. “A child is a child still. You want more say but aren’t willing yet to grow up.”

“Shianni,” Eolas said quietly. “Do not be in such a hurry to grow too old. Knowledge is its own kind of power, just as innocence is. But don’t wait too long either. Innocence doesn’t last forever you know, and when it is gone, if you have developed nothing else, you will be alone in the world.”

“Um, yes, Granny.” Mystified, Shianni smiled nervously at Nesiara.

“And you, new elf,” Eolas addressed Nesiara, “are learning what it is to be a woman.”

Drioni gave her a toothy grin. “You’re still walking, so I think you might be able to keep up with that buck.”

Nesiara had to gulp the hot tea quickly or choke. Eolas slapped her sister’s knee in reproach. “Now Dri, she’s a new wife. Wait for it to settle a bit first.”

“So, new elf,” Drioni said taking little notice of her sister. “What are your plans for today?”

Just like gossips, it seemed every alienage had a few old cantankerous grannies around to make the children smile at their parents’ discomfort. “Well, Shianni is going to take me to the Chantry...”

“The Chantry,” Drioni said. Both women took a keen interest at that. “Do tell.”

“My parents were able to escape a purge at Highever, and I wanted to light a candle and pray for their safe passage.”

Maternal affection gentled Eolas’s smile, and she patted Nesiara’s knee. “You’re a good girl, you are. Pride of her parents this one. No wonder Rav had his chest puffed out.”

Drioni had a small smile of pure mischief on her face. “Could be that’s why, but I think the lass has other charms as well.”

“Sister,” Eolas admonished with her own grin.

“Ah well,” Drioni said without the least embarrassment. “Boy knows how to move his hips is all I’m saying, and I think this girl knows it.”

“She means dancing,” Eolas whispered to Nesiara.

“I mean exactly what I said. Oh, most young men think it’s just a matter of wiggling it around a bit, then they flop over as if they’ve got the Maker’s gift between their legs and go to sleep while their wives stare up at the ceiling and wait for them to learn better. Some of those idiots have a hard time finding the right hole and wonder why their wives don’t get pregnant.” Shianni choked on her tea, and Eolas had to slap her on the back a few times before the fit stopped. “But he knows his ins and outs, doesn’t he, new wife.” Nesiara could feel the blood rush to her face.

“Now Sister, they’re going to the Chantry. Not right to fill their heads with such things.”

“Better that then some of the Chants they harp on about,” Drioni grumbled.

“Anyway,” Eolas continued. “So you’re going to the Chantry. What else?”

“Uh,” Nesiara stumbled over her words as she tried to get her thoughts back in order. “I brought most of my equipment with me, but I need raw materials to make crafts. I didn’t see much of the Market yesterday, so I thought I’d look for materials today.”

“Oh you should see what she can do,” Shianni said excitedly. “The wedding gifts she gave to Rav and Uncle Cyrion are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Ah,” Eolas said, “then it’s a good thing you’ve come by today.”

Drioni took Nesiara’s hands and wrapped a small pouch in them. “A wedding gift. It’s not much but you’re welcome to it. Let’s hope it gets you started on your future here.”

“Oh. Thank you,” Nesiara said, “but I don’t know if I can take this. It’s not the official ceremony yet, and part would go to Rav...” Elder elves had little money to sustain them unless a younger relative was willing to care for them, and these two looked like they were on their own. They shouldn’t accept any money from someone in such a bad position, but she shouldn’t hurt their pride either.

“Oh hush,” Drioni said. As if reading her thoughts the woman added, “We make lace that a woman sells in the Market. It’s enough that we can give this, and that boy has done so much good that goes unrewarded. My sister almost died of pneumonia last year, and if that happened, Maker forbid, I don’t know what I’d do. Use it to make a good life for the both of you.”

“Go on, dearie,” Eolas said. “Use it as an investment in your future.”

Nesiara kissed each of them on the cheeks and gave thanks. Outside she and Shianni began giggling uncontrollably. “Holy Maker, it’s amazing what comes out of their mouths.”

“Please Maker, I don’t want to get the Chantry giggles,” Nesiara said.

“Chantry giggles?”

“You know when you’re supposed to be serious, but then you start giggling and can’t stop. Chantry giggles.”

“Do you go to the Chantry often?” Shianni asked, taking Nesiara’s arm as they walked through the alienage.

“Every week.”

“I’ve never been so much as inside their courtyard.”

“You’re parents never took you?” Nesiara asked. “My parents closed up shop for two hours on Chantry Day so we could all go.”

Shianni shrugged. “My father died a long time ago. My mother works as a lady’s handmaid. She travels a lot, and the family she works for lives somewhere in the Bannorn. I don’t see her much.”

“I’m sorry about your father.” Nesiara squeezed her arm. No wonder she was so invested in her cousins.

“It was a long time ago. I didn’t know the Chantry allowed elves.”

“Not as priestesses of course, but the service at Highever was quite welcoming.”

Shianni snorted. “Didn’t think the shems would want us around unless we’re cleaning up after them.”

She hadn’t paid much attention to it last night, but her husband had a similar attitude. “Humans aren’t all that bad.”

“Ha! Don’t say that around Soris, and really don’t say that around Rav. Soris was orphaned because of the last purge. The Denerim Arl, the Kendells, would have gotten rid of us if they could. Urien thinks we’re vermin. Their son is a bad sort too. If you ever hear them coming, hide fast.”

If the Kendells were anything like Howe, Nesiara supposed the elves’ attitudes made more sense. Shianni continued to fill her with gossip until Nesiara was sure that if she tipped her head, a few dozen names would slip out her ear.

Nesiara walked through the Market for the second time in as many days, but this time her fears were settled, so she could enjoy it with her new cousin. Highever had a few Orlesians merchants, but it was nothing like the bustle and diversity she found here. She heard merchants shouting for customers or bargaining with well-practiced phrases. All around her, the city was filled with foreign accents she didn’t recognize. There were sharp and brutal tongues, fluid and languid voices that spoke with a love of vowels, unctuous and sibilant tones, and darker cadences that drew out words as if they were unveiling secrets.

Their beasts were strange as well. A large golden cat with golden eyes watched with anger underlying the humiliation of its caged state. The large, black lined red spots that covered its side looked like clouds hovering in a red sunset. As its steady gaze tracked her, it licked its lips, looking as sleek and sexy as an assassin. At the next stall, she saw brightly colored birds of all sizes. Some, as long as her arm with intelligent grey eyes and plumage in primary colors, sat next to tiny bright blue, green, and striped birdies that huddled together like rows of kernels on a corn cob. Plain brown birds with enchanting, bell like songs fluttered in wooden cages. One dwarf was selling what looked like naked rabbits the size of dogs, but they twitched their whiskers and squeaked like mice.

There was even a section for horses. The two women went to the stables where nobles talked and traded the great animals. Centered in the stage was a black mare with a shimmering coat and such delicacy of form Nesiara didn’t have to know anything about horses to know she was a prized animal. “One of the Antivan Iburri’s line crossed with a Tevinter bloodmare,” the trader said to the two nobles examining the animal. “She’s a rare one she is. Smart and fast. Won’t find another her like here, ser, oh no.”

The dark haired noble said to his friend, “What do you say? A mare like that and you’d never lose a racing tourney. Put that brat of Bann Sigard’s in his place.”

The fair noble had his back to the watching elves. He was thick with muscle and had a way of drawing the eye as some nobles or generals did, a man completely used to people obeying him. “She’s pretty enough, but I want to see how she rides.”

Shianni clutched Nesiara’s arm. “We’ve got to go,” she whispered.

“What is it?”

“Shh! Oh Maker, he saw us. Come on,” Shianni started running, and Nesiara had no choice but to follow. They hurried through the maze of stalls with the more common livestock: sheep, goats, rabbits, and foul. Geese squawked at her as humans yelled and bartered.

“Shianni! Tell me what’s going on.” Nesiara stopped, forcing the other woman to as well.

Shianni looked around the mill of humans then jumped to see over their shoulders. “No. If he followed we’d hear it.” She took Nesiara’s arm again and leaned close. “I was telling you about the Kendells? That blonde one is the son. There are a lot of rumors that he has a thing for elven women. Please Ness, if you ever leave the alienage on your own, watch out for him. Only exiles work for the Kendells.”

If nothing else convinced her, that last part did. “I’ll be careful.” She shook Shianni’s arm. “Come on. He’s gone. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”

Past the livestock with the strong scent of manure were the leather goods with rich fragrances, then stalls with fabrics and ornate carpets for sale. Nesiara took a moment to admire one of the carpets made of fine wool and silk. A single carpet could take a woman two years to weave if it was done correctly. Too much weaving a day would cause the weaver to lose her sight. “Lace, elven made lace,” a woman called, showing off a cloth of gracefully woven floral patterns. If these were what Drioni and Eolas made, the two women were artists.

They passed a beautiful Orlesians woman selling imported oils and perfumes in small crystal vials. “Why are perfumes always Orlesians?” Shianni asked.

“My aunt said it’s because they don’t bathe.”

A scrawny dog was snuffling about for scraps at the fringes where he would not be chased off, and children played five stones behind the last of the stalls. As the two women passed, the children goggled at them. “Look at their eyes,” one whispered.

“Father says they’re dirty.”

The little girl, a tomboy if her dirty trousers were any indication, said, “I think they’re pretty.” The one who said they were dirty nodded in agreement.

“Here we are,” Shianni said when they arrived at the stone Chantry. The nearby buildings looked flimsy in comparison to the tall, arched structure. Time and weather aged the buildings, and to Nesiara’s eyes, revealed their true faces, just as age did with the faces of elves and humans. Age brought the lines of laughter or troubles, gave once smooth youth distinction, and showed the true life one had lived. A fine Chantry like this could take generations to build, each imposing a different style, a different will on the structure, and in its solidity stood the people’s collective faith.

Near the courtyard entrance were the criers and chanters in heavy red and gold robes to represent the fire that burned the prophetess Andraste, a tragedy for all people but one which freed the prophetess’ soul to go to the Maker. An older woman with large, low hanging breasts chanted in a powerful voice, “The first of the Maker’s children watched across the Veil, And grew jealous of the life. They could not feel, could not touch. In blackest envy were the demons born.”

Templars milled around the courtyard speaking in low tones. In their battle scared armor was etched the holy sword of mercy, forever on fire. From the waist down they wore robes of regal purple with gold trim, colors as noble as their calling. One templar was kneeling in front of a statue of Andraste, his sword before him as he prayed to her white, marble figure.

Nesiara had always felt protected when she was near the Chantry. The templars were as good if not better than guards because they were devoted to a cause for spiritual reasons rather than monetary. It was a hard life to keep apostates in check, and templars sacrificed the pleasures of this life to fill a noble cause and do the Maker’s will. Could men like the one in fervent prayer really cut down an innocent healer on suspicion? Rav didn’t like the Chantry, so it was easy for him to blame them when there was little evidence.

On the other side of the heavy oaken doors was the hushed reverence Nesiara had found boring as a child eager to be on to making her clumsy child’s crafts. As she grew older she found the peace of the Chantry to be filled with solace and quiet expectation. The way she felt with her tools before her and imagination set was how the Chantry always felt. It was the moment of readiness when everything was still and full of potential.