My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  More laughs broke out from the group around them. A single voice cried out, "You tell him, Cal!"

  "That why you're here? Think you're gonna be a famous knight instead of some dirt poor shit farmer like your nameless daddy before you?"

  "I am here to be a squire," Gavin hissed, his fingernails digging into his palm. He knew better than get into a scrap; his father was always distilling that into him after every sparring. A good warrior knows when to not draw his weapon, when to fight, and when to step back. The worst thing to do would be to get into it with the rest of the squires on the first day.

  Cal chuckled again, his flat cheeks whiffling as he glanced around at his fellow sycophants. That's what they were, every member flocking to the loudest, most obnoxious voice for protection. Gavin caught the shadow again by the tree, eyes watching him, to amend almost all.

  "Look here, shit farmer," Cal grabbed onto Gavin's tunic knotting the split neckline into his fists, "I get that you're new to all this. Probably ain't even seen a city in your whole life, but there's rules we follow in civilization. See, I ain't just some goat fucker from down the road like your pappy."

  He was certainly a goat fucker, but of the high class variety.

  "My mother, she's a Bann in Amaranthine. So, if you want to be smart, you best start calling me Sir. Yes, sir. No, sir. All respectful like," Cal grinned wider, showing off a line of teeth Gavin wanted to punch out one by one.

  Sucking in a breath, Gavin stared into those soulless blue eyes and made no movement. It was Cal who blinked, his eyes fluttering while he turned to his friends as if he finished his little pissing match. When Cal released his grip on Gavin's shirt, he finally spoke, "Spare or further down the line?"

  "What?" Cal spun back.

  "Spare, or third or fourth from the Bann? I mean, if you're here being sent away for squiring then you can't be that important to the line of succession." Gavin sneered, his eyes honing right in on Cal's raging face, "Every shit farmer knows that."

  "Why you son of a..." Cal moved to swing, but he practically announced his punches. Easily avoiding the first, when the boy sent his second, Gavin caught the fist in his palm and squeezed.

  Twisting it down fast, Cal yelped but there wasn't a crack. Good, no broken wrist. "It's not nice to make insinuations about other people's mothers," Gavin said to the boy who snarled in response. Cal lifted his second arm about to try and attack, which Gavin would grab again, when a loud cough whipped all the boy's heads back to the entranceway.

  Karelle stood there with a smaller man beside her. His bald plate shined in the summer sun, only a soft circling of snow flanking it. Dressed in a slightly nicer doublet than the boy squires, the man had both of his legs bent downward to give the illusion he was about to squat. "Gentlemen," the Chamberlain said in her cool voice. Damn near every boy shrunk inward. Gavin glanced once at Cal before releasing his grip and both boys locked their hands safely behind their backs.

  The man apparently in charge of the squires dashed forward and moved to inspect Gavin. He had to yank a pair of spectacles out of his pocket and place them on his nose before giving him the once over. "You came from the Hinterlands?"

  "Yes, sir," Gavin said, nodding his head.

  In a not quiet whisper, Cal said, "Shiiit farmer."

  "He says he's to be a squire," Karelle explained no doubt for the umpteenth time. She still sounded dubious of the whole matter. "As a replacement."

  "Ah right. We had that washout, remember," the man turned to her before waving his hand, "Never mind." He reached a hand out to Gavin and smiled, "Good to meet you, Squire Rutherford."

  A deathly silence thundered through the crowd as every boy's head pivoted to stare at Gavin. They all knew who Rutherford was, the great Commander who served valiantly in the templars and then in the Inquisition to destroy a would-be god and save the world. His father. Most didn't see it at first, only spotting the soft brown skin, but when they looked harder it became rather apparent. He was cursed or blessed, depending upon who said it, with his father's face. A slightly rounder nose and fuller lips, but otherwise it was a perfect replica. Some even suggested he get himself the same lip scar, as if Gavin wanted to be a copy of his father.

  No doubt Cal and the rest of his buddies were recalculating just who he took on without thinking. If this were Orlais, Cal would have been challenged to a duel for such dishonor and then, if he survived, disowned by his family for being so stupid. Lucky for him this was Ferelden, and Gavin was in no mood to use his family name. Turning to the side, he shrugged, "No hard feelings."

  "Uh, yeah," Cal gulped, the shit stirrer for once brought to his knees. He may be some third or fourth in line to a tiny Bann up by the Wounded Coast, but Gavin was the only child of a great Ferelden General...and a woman who they had no idea about. His father was one thing, but if he ever told the truth of his mother all hell would break loose.

  Karelle folded her arms and smiled, "That would explain it. Well, I assume you have him well in hand. I should return to the King's side." The Chamberlain moved to leave when she suddenly paused and turned back to Gavin. "Was there anything you needed to tell His Majesty?"

  "What?' Gavin squeaked, causing Cal and his buddies to snigger. "No, no, I'm certain my...no." He ended with, feeling a colossal fool for it. For her part the Chamberlain only shrugged and returned to her duties. Maker's breath, was he supposed to meet with the King? The last time he had he...was chastised for a half hour for kissing the man's daughter. Blessed Andraste, did he still remember that?

  "Here, Rutherford," the man ordered, jerking his head to the side.

  "Ah, I'd prefer Gavin if possible."

  He blinked at that, but shrugged, "Whatever, you'll be serving Ser Daryan."

  Behind him Cal broke into irreparable laughter, "Ol 12 bottles Daryan? He won't last the week with her."

  "Squire Calenhad," their leader sighed, "you would do well to remember your place lest your Knight teach it to you."

  "Yes, Sir," Cal feigned saluting but when the man's back was turned, he flipped him off.

  Unaware of any ill offense, the man eyed up the rucksack over Gavin's shoulder, "You should put your things down. The only open bed is with...Squire Snowy."

  Gavin braced himself to see which of Cal's goons came running for him, but it was the lone shadow by the tree who stood up. The boy had a large head and broad features, even broader than Gavin's. It wasn't until Snowy marched closer, a little hop to his step that Gavin realized he was a dwarf.

  "Nice to meet you," Snowy stuck his hand out and Gavin took it.

  "Think you can show him the ropes?"

  His new bunkmate smiled wide revealing a missing tooth, "Aye, I think I can handle that. Come on new meat, home sweet home's through here."

  Sure enough, Snowy returned Gavin to the first room. He tried to treat it as a dramatic reveal while Gavin only clung to his rucksack and nodded. "What? No gasping? No clutching tight to your collar? Ain't this the kind of room that'd send people with fancy titles through the roof?"

  "I..." Gavin tried to insert himself into the conversation, but Snowy laughed uproariously and began to walk towards the beds.

  "Shit, even Lord Cal out there practically shat himself when he learned he had to share not only a bed but a room with people. Was funny watching Bandy shout him down over that. Thinks he's got a fancy name to go throwing around, but..." the dwarf paused and turned a shrewd eye up at Gavin, "it's nothing on you."

  "I don't have a title, or any land to my name." He felt himself shrinking at the scrutiny. Why did he think people in Denerim wouldn't know the Rutherford name? At least out in the Hinterlands there was a brief moment of recognition, people asked him to sneer, and then they all moved on. Here, the way people went on, it was as if he was claiming to be a long lost son of the King's.

  Snowy drew his index finger and thumb together to perch his beard free chin upon it. "Interesting, most interesting. Is that why you left all those riches and wealth to sleep in a swe
at and piss stench-filled building with a dozen other disgusting boys?"

  "Ah," Gavin melted at the straightforward question, "I, I want to be a knight."

  "And you're going about the squire route? Your rich daddy can't just buy it for you? Well," Snowy reached over and tried to slap Gavin in the shoulder. Sadly he was far too short to reach and had to settle for Gavin's forearm instead. "You scared the ever loving piss out of Cal and for that I think we need to be friends."

  "I'd," Gavin reached his hand out and took the dwarf's, "I'd like that."

  "Bed's this way," Snowy jerked his head towards one along the wall, "And I get top bunk!"

  "Very well," he fell into step behind the more experienced dwarf and placed his bag of few belongings onto the straw mattress below. "Which is my...?" Gavin pointed at the two chests. At the right, Snowy nodded his approval and Gavin began to unpack all the shirts and pants his parents insisted he'd need.

  "Your name, Snowy," Gavin began while the dwarf scurried up a ladder to land upon the top bunk. He stretched out upon his stomach, his eyes darting down at the human.

  "What of it?" the dwarf seemed to get personal, his voice dipping into a growl.

  "Just, I-I used to have a pet fox that I named Snowy and I thought it was..." a burr of shame dug into his gut from the way the dwarf was looking at him. "Um, our barrack sergeant..."

  "Ah, he's Ser Morris if you didn't catch it."

  "Morris?" That wasn't anything close to the nickname. Confused, Gavin turned away from the cord that knotted together a pile of his folded knickers, "Why do you call him Bandy?"

  "Duh," Snowy spun in place and lifted both of his legs up, "he walks around all banded leg like. Something that happened a long time ago. Why he ain't an in rotation knight and is stuck watching us pisspots. Just, don't ask him about it."

  "A sore spot?"

  "Shit, no, he won't shut up about it. Bandy loves nothing more than droning on and on about the glory days. He ain't so bad. Do your chores, fight in the pit every once in awhile, and he goes easy."

  Gavin gulped, "The pit?"

  His bunkmate slid closer to him and winked, "Just what we call the sparring rings. Every once in awhile the fancy ones in court like to swing by and watch, place bets. Pretty sure that's how Bandy gets to live in such finery."

  Grateful for all the heads up from his new friend, Gavin returned to his laundry. It was Snowy who watched, his light shaded eyes piercing through the back of his head. "You ever been friends with a dwarf before?"

  "I," Gavin paused and dropped his head. A lifetime of isolation and loneliness washed over him as he admitted, "I've never been friends with anyone."

  Snowy's bushy eyebrows met in the middle as he stared Gavin up and down. "You ain't got a third arm, or a big pustule on your face. Could have a tail stashed down your trouser leg but I doubt it. Is every human where you're from touched in the head?"

  "They," it would be difficult to explain why he was kept in isolation. He'd meet others his own age, certainly, but there was always a distance. Gavin lived at the refuge, a place that people went when they didn't feel well. It wasn't where you wanted to stay, which kept the possibility of any friends distant. He'd thought that the blonde girl sent to stay with them could be, but... Shaking it away, Gavin smiled. It was a long time ago.

  "I think they may be."

  "Well, stick with me, kid," Snowy twisted back onto his bed, "I'll keep you from making a total arse of yourself."

  * * *

  Gavin had fully unpacked and even found time to clean some of the sweat and dirt of the road off his body when his Knight came to find him. He'd tried to get the gist out of Snowy, but the normally talkative dwarf went silent and just kept saying he'd figure it out. Knights were knights; bossy, loud, prone to quaffing, the usual.

  When riding heels clipped through the wooden floor, and a female voice commanded, "Where is my squire?" Gavin staggered up off his bed. Knight Daryan was tall for a woman, her fading red hair tucked back into one of those fancier plaits with two tendrils framing her face. Soft blue eyes whipped from one end of the room to the other, obviously trying to hunt out anything she could find. Her nose was bloated and her face rounded despite the obvious age to the wrinkles clinging to the sides of her eyes. She was dressed in simple boiled leathers, but kept a sword hanging upon her hip.

  Folding her arms, she stuck both scabbard and hip out. "Well?"

  "Sorry, Ser," Gavin scattered towards her, trying to hide the embarrassment burning on his face.

  "And you are...?"

  "Gavin, Ser. Gavin Rutherford."

  At his full name she gave a single noise. It wasn't quite a gasp, nor an exhale of disappointment. He'd almost put it as a sound of understanding overlapped with concern. "Right, well, you're squire Gavin from now on, is that understood?"

  "Yes, Ser!" he staggered up, his eyes staring right at hers.

  "That's," Daryan reached a hand over and gently patted his shoulder, "that's quite alright. You can keep it to a minimum when moving around here. I've got enough hearing loss, I'd rather not add to it."

  "Sorry," Gavin winced, feeling he'd already failed.

  "You're kinda big to be a squire," she looked fully at him for the first time. "Not sure if the usual uniform will even fit. May have to let out the pant legs, and the chest." Daryan blinked a moment before adding, "And the shoulders too."

  "Don't worry," Snowy popped up beside him, "he can take whatever I don't need." Gavin wanted to smile at the enthusiasm but his knight was watching.

  "Ah yes, the dwarf. I imagine your knight is looking for you. Best head on out and find him."

  Snowy nodded his head, but under his breath whispered, "Since it's before noon, I doubt it." Still, the dwarf skedaddled out of the room as if he was late for an appointment.

  Daryan crossed her arms and turned her head. She seemed to be staring past Gavin while also categorizing everything about him. "How old are you?"

  "Seventeen."

  "Sweet Andraste, you don't look it. Well, kid, it's you and me here on out for a couple years. You know what that means?"

  "I..." Gavin was about to launch into the duties expected of him, when Daryan interrupted.

  "You do what I say. No questions asked, no back talk. Just get out there and do it. Even if it's hard, even if it's not fun, even if it means you have to sit in the middle of a hot field all day while everyone else is in the shade, you do it. Got me?"

  He didn't blink, didn't shirk a moment, just slapped a hand to his chest and shouted, "Yes, Ser!"

  Daryan wiggled her pinkie in her ear and sighed, "Well, regardless this will be interesting."

  They didn't understand. Cal and his goons circling Gavin didn't bother him, Ser Daryan trying to scare him away wouldn't work. He'd wanted this since he could read, since he knew what a Knight was. No one was taking this opportunity from him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Flowers

  For the last few days Myra'd been busy with her mother's client list. Nothing too exciting, sadly. Just the usual -- file this paperwork, get a statement from a witness, jot down descriptions of the crime scene. It kept her busy and away from Gavin...

  The palace, it kept her away from her dad and the other people who floated around the place. Sometimes she'd swing by to talk to her brother or sister, but the age difference made it kinda weird. And the legitimate difference too. After so many years people were used to the bastard daughter poking into things, saying hi, and generally getting in the way, but they had no idea how to handle it. There wasn't really any fancy precedent. Princesses belonged here, princes should do this. Children the king fathered with women that used to be his bodyguard, uh, well, you could take up knitting?

  Myra was terrible with needles. Too much sitting in one place and counting. Maker, the counting. That was what Cailan was for. She was pretty sure the Maker put him on thedas to do all the number crunching no one else wanted to do. Even Rossie would pass her work off to him, slyly mind, but Myr
a knew what was up. It'd probably unnerve a lot of the higher up castle staff to learn how much the bastard daughter knew about them.

  She'd planned to visit with her dad, but he was in a meeting. Pretty normal, but it gave Myra time to wander. While the armory was a fun stop at times, and she liked wandering the halls filled with portraits, she found herself trailing through the servant side of the castle to winnow away time.

  This was the uncarpeted, nearly unfinished, often drafty parts that all those serving his majesty bustled through. And, contrary to protocol, Alistair would often run through it too. Sometimes to cut down on time, often to avoid people, and every now and then in pursuit of his kids. There was this great staircase that was so warped, if you grabbed a thick enough rug you could slide down it. Rosie taught her about it when she was seven.

  Myra was about to turn away, when she heard her friend Bryn's voice. It was too muffled to make out the words, but she'd know that one anywhere. Instead of in the muffled and subservient tone she used at work, it was the same high pitched giggling one her and Myra traded late at night while talking about unimportant life things.

  Cracking open a door, Myra trailed after the sound. This room wasn't anything special, one of many storehouses, but she spotted a great open window and found Bryn curled up on a box right next to it. A few of the other servant girls flocked around her, all their eyes on something on the ground.

  "Oh blessed Andraste," one of the girls, a human who always had pigtails in her hair fanned her hands while watching.

  "Was there splash back? Why couldn't there be any splash back?" the second whined, her arms crossed.