Blueprint

3: The Common Folk

"Princess," Astrid began, "I don't think this is a good idea."

"You don't think anything's a good idea," Jharvelle replied, looking at herself in the mirror. It was strange for her to wear commoner's clothes; the brown dress was farm more comfortable than her typical green ball gown, but she didn't love the look of it.

"I don't think any of your ideas are a good idea," Astrid hummed, "because you only have bad ideas."

"Shut up and lace me up, Captain."

Astrid sighed, picking up the ribbons at the back of Jharvelle's dress and weaving them through each eyelet. "You really think none of them will recognize you?"

"Oh, I'm sure they will," Jharvelle wheezed as her dress was pulled tight, "but I have the perfect cover story. It goes: I'm actually the bastard daughter of the king who was cast out because I'm so much prettier than the actual princess."

"You're an idiot."

Jharvelle gasped. "Rude! I could have you beheaded for that!"

"No, you couldn't," Astrid said smugly, and Jharvelle could see her smile in the mirror. "Your mother or father could, but not you. I'm above you in the hierarchy."

"I'm sure father would decapitate you for me."

"Maybe," Astrid agreed, "but probably not. I'm the best Captain of the Guard that Isle Verborne's ever seen."

"Please!" Jharvelle scoffed, turning so that she could see each facet of her dress, "you're actively helping me break the law."

"Who said this was breaking the law?" Astrid hummed, "you're not a prisoner, and you're an adult."

"Father forbade me from going to the outer district. The king's word is law."

"Well," Astrid replied coolly, "I didn't hear him say that."

Jharvelle grinned. "Me neither."

They were an eccentric couple of people, to be sure. Astrid tended to be worse than Amari was about doing her job; she was strict about everything. If a single guard missed report time by even a few seconds, she'd be yelling at them for half an hour.

But when it came to Jharvelle, Astrid was soft. Jharvelle and she had been best friends for years; when Jharvelle was 14, and Astrid was 16, Astrid became Jharvelle's bodyguard. Initially, Astrid ignored Jharvelle's antics, but the princess got to her eventually. Now, ten years later, Astrid was the Captain of the guard, and yet she still stayed attached at the hip to Jharvelle half the time.

They employed the use of an exit through the barracks to sneak Jharvelle out of the castle unseen. Once they made it outside, they would begin their long walk to the outer district, and they would finally visit one of the 'commoner taverns' that Jharvelle so often insisted on seeing.

It was a beautiful night. It often was, ever since Amari Alantar's oil street lamps and strung lanterns were placed throughout the city. The oil lamps burned brighter than their torches and sconces ever had - and instead of being harsh and angry lights, they emitted a soft glow that made the city feel homely.

Astrid stayed close to Jharvelle, and though she was not in uniform, it was clear that she was the captain of the guard. She held herself stiffly and had an air of authority about her that most of the city's denizens would never hope to match.

"Hm," Astrid hummed, "It's a bit chilly, isn't it?"

"Probably just your cold heart," Jharvelle shrugged, receiving a swift punch in the arm. "That's assault of a royal, Astrid. That's really illegal."

"Shut up." Astrid replied, playfully thwacking Jharvelle atop the head.

"Fine." Jharvelle crossed her arms, but she was smiling.

The outer district was not as beautiful as the inner districts, and certainly didn't have anywhere near the grace of the palace district, but it had its own charms. Street rats and bar brawls were a plenty out there, and Jharvelle loved each of them. Things like that never happened in the palace district. There were too many guards, and no one was man enough to have a physical fight over their honor. Duels happened on occasion, but not once did the swords pierce flesh. It was boring up there.

"And if you ever, ever set yer eyes on me brother again, I'll bloody more than just yer nose, aye?!" A woman yelled as a smaller woman slunk away, holding her bleeding face. Jharvelle could just imagine all the events that led up to that altercation. Maybe the smaller lady had tried to sleep with that woman's brother. Or maybe it was a misunderstanding. Maybe that woman was jealous of her brother and actually wanted to date that lady instead. Oh, the possibilities were endless!

"Velle, we're here," Astrid muttered, and Jharvelle found herself at the stoop of a bar that she hadn't yet been to — 'Blind Sparrow's Bath', it was called. She liked how dirty it looked.

Jharvelle grabbed the handle before Astrid could open it for her, pushing open the door. She relished the long creak it made.

Inside wasn't much different than the other taverns she'd been to. Beige tablecloths dotted the room, and various mean looking people sat at each table. The bar had been, at the moment, left unattended, and she could see the barkeep bickering with an elf. She had her hands on her hips, and her mouth was pursed in an angry fashion; meanwhile, the elf had a rather sly expression on his face, with his blue eyes half lidded and a small smirk on his lips. Jharvelle decided she'd sit at a barstool and wait for the bartender to return.

"That's a high elf," Astrid noted as she sat down beside Jharvelle, "notice his curved ears. Also, greying hair at such a young age is common for them."

Jharvelle sighed at that. She knew that Astrid was trained to be able to spot Wallendian spies on sight, but the fact that every high elf put her on edge was... exhausting, and certainly unpleasant for each high elf that truly was a Verbornian citizen.

"Let's just enjoy our night, Astrid. He looks harmless enough."

"Sure," Astrid cleared her throat, "until he tosses a fireball through the castle window and burns it to the ground."

Astrid had a particular dislike of high elves, and further than that, she hated their grasp of magic. Jharvelle would never be able to even hope for magic - she was a human- but as far as she was concerned, the magic of wood elves was far more terrifying than the magic of high elves. High elves did have an innate ability to cast, sure, but their elemental magic paled in comparison to the blood magic that highly disciplined wood elves could cast. Sanguineous magic was far more powerful than any fire spell a high elf could hope to cast.

Even with that, though, Astrid was suspicious of high elves.

"Just leave him be."

"Fine." Astrid said, not sounding too angry, but certainly not sounding pleased.

The barkeep eventually returned to the bar, made some off comment about "those high elves, huh," and proceeded to take their orders. Jharvelle ordered the special - a certain 'Juniper Birdbath' - and Astrid went for the far more boring choice of an ale. They drank their drinks, and Jharvelle mingled with the common folk as much as she pleased. Occasionally, someone would comment on how similar she looked to the princess, but Jharvelle would just take it as a compliment and move on without arousing any further suspicion. She was getting good at that.

"Velle, something ain't right," Astrid whispered after hours of drinking. By that time, Jharvelle was absolutely hammered.

"Whatsyou meanin?" Jharvelle asked, surprised by how slurred her speech had become. She wasn't used to her thoughts coming out of her mouth so... stupidly.

"I mean, something's not right," Astrid repeated, standing up. Jharvelle tried to follow, and ended up only falling into Astrid. The wood elf did not struggle to catch her.

"What's not right," Jharvelle grinned, already plotting her next course of action, "is thats your lips aren't on mines." She got up on her tip toes sloppily, bringing her face close to Astrid's. "Gimmes some sugars, baby."

Astrid groaned and, begrudgingly, gave Jharvelle a peck on the lips. "I need to get you home."