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All content of this story is copyright {2014} by Returning_Writer_Guy and is my intellectual property. This is purely a work of fiction and fantasy and not based on any truthful events. No individuals were harmed as none of the individuals in these stories exist. This story is not to be redistributed under any circumstances without my express written permission.
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In the late morning hours the sun shone bright and glorious on Trelling's Rest. The overcast clouds of yesterday's snowfall had fled in the face of a clear and temperate day, the sort of mild and cheerful day DarkFyre Dale rarely saw this deep into winter. The snow underfoot gleamed pristine white under the sunshine, a blanket of innocence and purity cast over the countryside, a beautiful thing to behold.
The Bear's Maw was Trelling's Rest's main gate and the site of the majority of traffic in and out of the city. The thick oak and iron gates were thrown wide today to admit travelers, merchants, tradesmen, crafters, Nobles, herdsmen, and paupers of all kinds. The crowd gathered at the gate was vast on this clear and pleasant day, a sea of humanity, Human and DemiHuman alike. All sorts of folks and classes mingling in a great press of raised voices, stinking bodies, and impatience to be on their way.
Of the three city gates, the guards were heaviest at the Maw. Even still, they struggled to maintain any remote semblance of order, and only succeeded if by 'order' you meant anything short of outright pandemonium. They kept the crowd moving out the way when a cart laden with goods made its way up to the gate, and swatted the peasants aside when a Noble came riding up the muddied road.
Rael gazed up at the ramparts of the towering stone walls flanking either side of the Maw, studying the guards stationed and patrolling upon them from beneath the hood of his cloak. There didn't seem to be any more men on watch than would be expected, but that was plenty still. The risk of increased security was worth it. At the Maw, the crowd was so great that it became much easier to blend in with the multitude of folk coming into the city for a vast array of reasons. Their presence wouldn't be noted as strongly as it would at the less crowded and secure gates. With luck, if the gates were being watched by unfriendly eyes, the crowd would help them slip by unnoticed.
A herd of pigs nearly ran Silmaria over. The pig herder tending his squealing charges waved a gnarled walking staff in her direction, as if she were about to snatch one of the piglets up. Rael gripped her upper arm and steered her in front of him and out of the pigs tromping path. The press of people around them was claustrophobic and chaotic. Rael kept his hand on Silmaria's shoulder. He could feel her tension through that touch, though she did well at appearing to be impatiently bored and unconcerned.
They moved in closer to the guards stationed in front of the gate, moving with the flow of people surging forward and shuffling back like the current of a vast, living tide. There was a group of street performers from the south clustered to their left, brown skinned Human's mostly, with a tall elf and a dwarf, both of them as swarthy as their Human friend's, all of them speaking in a rapid, undulating tongue he didn't recognize.
A grimy-faced street urchin crashed into him from behind, stumbling against his big frame and falling into the muddy snow. The child picked himself up, made a show of wiping off the newest smears of mud collected on his knees, and then ran shrieking and laughing into the crowd. Rael had shifted and moved as the child flopped against him, and the would-be pickpocket ran off empty handed.
Rael's reminded himself to let his posture sag and keep his eyes to the ground before them. Inside he was full of apprehension and highly strung nerves. It took an effort of will not to constantly look around and scan his surroundings for any sign of watching eyes. Appearing casual was extremely difficult; though everything appeared normal now, he was ready for things to turn ugly at any moment.
Silmaria stumbled a bit as her foot caught in a muddy pothole. She cursed under her breath as she yanked her foot free. Her slipper, already in bad shape as it was, was now pretty thoroughly ruined.
"Are you sure you can do this?" Rael asked her not for the first time, pitching his voice just loud enough so she could hear over the din of the crowd.
"I'm sure," she replied irritably. "Why do you keep questioning this? It's your plan, after all."
It was his plan. It was the best one he could devise, given the circumstances.
Rael's idea called for them to be a shabby, run down pair, peasants and beggars like any other who came and went from the city. It wasn't a hard disguise to pull off; they were both covered in dirt and grime from a night and day trekking through the Turan Wood and the Greensward, and their clothing was travel worn and looking the worse for wear.
Silmaria's dress was especially convincing. They'd had to hack her skirts short so she could better keep pace with him, and her legs were exposed to her knees, her butchered skirts swirling in tatters around her thighs. The pelt of her lower legs was a vivid orange with the striking black slashes of her striping along the outside of her calves. She'd scrubbed the bloodstains from the front of her dress as best she could in the stream they'd followed, but it wouldn't fully come out, so she'd smeared some dirt and mud into the stained spots to make it look like she was caked in filth instead of a man's life blood. Her hair was a wild tangle of snagged and knotted curls that hid most of her face. What could be seen was a mess of matted fur and dirt.
For his part, Rael had to hide his clothes a bit more carefully; though his clothes were the same simple, practical garb he always wore, anyone looking closely enough would still be able to tell the quality and cut of his clothes were far above anything a peasant would wear. He hid this as well as he could by further tearing and fraying at his clothes, making them appear more worn and aged than they were, and caking dirt and mud into the fabric. Over this he pulled his old traveling cloak, which was suitably beaten and worn out that, with a few minor rips and tears added, made for a convincing beggar's garb.
"It's no good," Silmaria had told him. She'd regarded him critically at dawn that morning while they prepared to enter the city. She'd said little the past day, and most of their communication had been about matters of survival and their plan of action as they continued to flee toward the Capitol.
Neither spoke of that night in the forest.
"Why not?" Rael asked as he carefully examined his battered and ragged clothing. He seemed a fit enough pauper, he thought. Even his hair and beard looked suitably scraggly and unkempt, and he'd rubbed enough mud into both to hide the distinct burnished copper tint.
"You look the part just fine. But there's no hiding those," she motioned meaningfully toward his eyes. "They're a dead giveaway. I've never seen eyes like yours, never even heard of them. I know I'm not much of a world traveler, but something tells me no one else has, either."
She was right of course. Anyone who took one look at his eyes would mark him as unique and memorable. If their hunters questioned anyone who took note of him, or worse, if they had agents among the guards...
With these fears in mind, Rael had mulled it over at length and finally devised a plan he thought was viable. His hood was dragged low over his head, and he'd tied a strip of cloth cut from his cloak over his eyes. He could see out the bottom just enough to keep some perspective of his surroundings, but for anyone looking at him, it appeared his eyes were obscured.
