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Neith stood in the doorway of the kitchen, breathing in the sweet smell. The Inquisitions kitchen was a small room located off the side of the Chantry, not much to look at by any means, as was so often remarked by visiting dignitaries. However, Neith knew the truth of their kitchens went far beyond the ordinary.
This was one of the places she found the most solace in the beginning days of her service to the Inquisition as it reminded her most of home. Each person in the kitchens was set to a daily task, each in their manner bringing it to an astounding conclusion through the daily chores.
Some kitchen staff cleaned, while others gathered and butchered. Wood was cut and brought in, cloth and baskets mended as a song played on the lips of many. The kitchens were the sustaining force for the whole of the Inquisition.
Neith’s first attempts at helping were, at first, not well accepted as she brought wild game and gathered herbs to the kitchens. Looking back, she believed she knew why. The sight of a Dalish elf, covered in blood, attempting to share butchered meat and herbs must have seemed a strange sight.
In time, there was a cook sent to greet her at the doors, often ready to repay her collected bounty with currant filled sweet cakes. Soon after, cooks and kitchen staff welcomed her readily into the kitchens, where she often found herself on her rare return trips to Haven.
As the Inquisition gained in both wealth and notoriety, the kitchens no longer needed the food she brought, although she still brought rare herbs and mushrooms back with her, carefully wrapped and presented to those who had welcomed her warmly, so early on.
“Herald! I did not think to see you this early. What can I get you?”
Myra’s voice shook Neith from her memory back into the Inquisitions kitchens. Smiling, she moved forward to embrace the baker. “Myra, you do know my name.”
Myra laughed, the sound joyous and full of life, “That I do, Herald. Now, what do you need.”
Myra had been the first to befriend the Herald in the early days of the inquisition. Making it a point to greet Neith at every visit to the kitchens.
A few feet taller than Neith, Myra’s strawberry-blonde hair and fair freckled skin and was in stark contrast with the dalish elf, but it never stopped the human woman from lavishing great affection on Neith in the form of hugs and kisses on the cheek. Affection the elf had come quickly to rely on with the absence of her family and clan.
Myra rarely spoke of her past and what brought her to Haven, but from what Neith could gather, she was from Denerim originally and had lost much during the blight.
Neith treasured Myra’s friendship, even if she could never get the woman to call her by her given name.
“Actually, I was hoping to make some tea. I will need a bowl with at least four ladles worth of boiling water, two mugs...” Neith looked toward the back of the room to the hanging herbs, “And I will need some of your elfroot and mint.”
“This a special tea then?” Myra busied herself locating the items requested as Neith laid out her own collection of dried Vervain and Shepherd's Purse.
“It’s a restorative tea, a recipe from my grandmother’s grandmothers. My mother always called it a blood tea. Women in my family have made it for generations, particularly during long winters or after a hunt.” Neith thanked Myra as she placed the large bowl of steaming water in front of her.
“Sounds serious.” Myra moved toward the back of the kitchen to grab the herbs.
Neith’s smile softened as she remembered learning the technique of this tea as she stood at her mother's and grandmother's feet. “It helps to restore the blood, my grandmother made it for us anytime we felt the least bit poorly.”
Myra set the herbs down and pressed the back of her hand to Neith’s forehead. “Are you unwell?”
Neith shook her head as she continued to add portions of the dried herbs to the water. “It’s for the Commander. Have you noticed he… What?”
Neith halted her preparations and turned to Myra at the sound of the woman's hum. The baker regarded her with what she could only conclude was a conspiratorial smile exuding from the woman’s fair, freckled skin. “The Commander, eh?”
Neith shook her head and resumed her preparation, adding the last of the mint to the water. Placing a towel over the bowl while it steeped. “Yes. Have you not noticed his headaches seem worse recently? The skin around his eyes is near ashen and he holds his shoulders so tight.”
Myra leaned over, pulling the towel aside to smell the herbal brew. “And you thought to make him a special tea?”
Neith’s eyebrows furrowed at her friend's words. “Of course, he is the Commander of the Inquisition, and my friend. He needs to be at his best.”
Myra hummed as she watched Neith ladled the tea into two mugs. Once finished, the baker moved behind Neith and began pulling the braids and pins from the elf’s hair. “Myra, what are you doing?”
“It cannot be good to keep it pulled back so tight all of the time.” Myra pulled the lower braids out, fanning the wavy, black hair across Neith’s back. Leaving the two braids at the crown, she fastened them toward the base of the skull.
Once satisfied with her work, Myra grabbed a basket and filled it with sweet cakes, dried fruit and bacon. “There now, take him this with the tea. Maker knows the man barely stops to eat.”
Neith looked at the basket, confusion momentarily covering her features as she accepted it. “Thank you, Myra. I appreciate your help.”
“Of course, now off with you!” Myra shooed Neith out of the door with a single kiss to the cheek.
As Neith made her way through Haven to the practice yards, she felt the swing of her hair and smiled. She had taken to wearing her hair up so often recently, she forgot the how good it felt down.
Descending the stairs, she made her way through the gates. As usual, even at such an early hour, Cullen was hard at work training the Inquisition soldiers. She held back, stopping at the edge of the training yard as he took a shield and sword from a young recruit, showing her the proper hold for a block.
Cullen turned as the recruits noticed the Herald’s presence and greeted her in kind. “Herald. Is everything alright? I did not think to see you so early.”
Neith laughed as the Commander approached, “You are not the first to ask me that today.”
Cullen’s features softened as he approached Neith, his smile matching her own, though she could see the red rimming his eyes.
“I brought you some tea, and Myra sent along some food. Care to take a break?” Neith held a mug out to Cullen and motioned towards the lake with her head.
Cullen took the tea with a word of thanks, his eyes scanning her before drinking, “Your hair is down.”
Feeling a strange moment of self-consciousness, Neith lifted her free hand to smooth her hair down at her neck. “Myra’s doing, she thought it was not good for me to wear it up so often.”
“It’s nice.” Cullen took another sip of the tea and reached out his hand to take the basket from her arms. “As is the tea.”
Neith clutched her mug in both hands, her grin growing wide as the two made their way toward the frozen lake. “I’m glad.”