Damn it.
Myra rose to her feet, feeling like she gained another stone in both her legs. Her shoulders cramped up against her neck and she tried to tug them down out of their shame turtling. It didn't really work, but she headed back towards that blighted well.
One part of her expected to find Gavin long gone, back to his beloved Knight's side. Myra had flounced off for quite awhile. The other part, the one that often watched the squires toddering around from outside her father's windows, knew that wouldn't be the case.
The extra hour or so had taken its toll on the athletic man. Sweat drenched his back, sticking the tunic tight enough she could see spots of his skin below. There was a good sized mole prodding out of one, momentarily distracting Myra as she stepped lightly towards him.
Her head hung low but not low enough as Gavin turned, caught sight of her, and spun back around. "If you have come to gloat..."
"No!" she shouted over top of him, then at his glare faded back. Myra's eyes darted up to the second story windows. Surely Bryn and her troop had to get back to work by now. Though, Maker knows, Myra's continual humiliation would be a fun subject for them.
"I came to say I'm sorry," Myra mumbled, her eyes honing in on the ground. It was a lot wetter than she remembered.
Gavin paused in his methodical movements to glance over at her, "You're sorry?" His reprieve didn't last long as he plucked up the bucket and resumed watering the mud.
"Yes," she stomped her feet through the watery soup finding it oddly relaxing, "I'm sorry for what I said to you. It wasn't...it wasn't nice."
She didn't know if he'd forgive her or say that it was best if they never spoke again. It'd been a few years since she last saw him, not like it'd be a big loss for either if they treated each other like strangers. But as Gavin tipped the bucket over onto the stump, he left it upside down and placed both weary hands upon it.
"I'm not an idiot," he said in a struggling breath. "I know that this is pointless, I also know that it is done to break down a person's spirits. To force them to prove that they are loyal to their commanding officer."
Myra shifted on her toes. She had no intention to call him an idiot. Okay, she thought it, but more because of what he was doing not the... Damn it. "Your dad," she said, pointing a finger at the bucket. Gavin glanced over and his eyes narrowed. "Did he, ya know...he was always on about the rules of proper stuff and what not. Thought maybe he'd make you do that."
A laugh shot out of Gavin's nose. Just one, but it brightened Myra's hopes. "No, no my father never expected blind loyalty from me. I think he...he feared it, in some ways. Not that I could talk back whenever I wanted."
"Yeah," Myra whistled, "no kidding." His father was so intimidating even her wicked tongue was often held in check, at least until Cullen Rutherford was out of earshot.
"Books," amber eyes landed upon her as he confessed, "I read about it in books. Not just training regimes from decorated generals, but adventure stories as well. It seemed a popular breaking point for recruits. Keep going until you can't stand, then the knight swoops in to rescue you. The fear that you could be cut at any moment for not measuring up always hangs in the balance."
He folded a moment, a knee sinking into the mud. Sweet Maker, how long had he been at it? Myra shifted towards him, but Gavin waved it away. "It's what they use as a sword to keep squires loyal and in check."
"You..." her mouth hung down in shock, "you know all that, know the crap they pull and you're still willing to stick around? To do all this shit?"
A hand wiped mud across his brow, the matte earth hiding away his glistening skin. "I do, because," Gavin shrugged, "I want to be a knight. And if this is what it takes to learn, to better myself, then I'll do whatever is asked of me."
With that he rose to his feet and plucked up the bucket. It looked like it was one hell of a struggle, Gavin sliding around in the mud he created as he returned to the well. His damn certainty struck hard against Myra's heart and she dashed after him.
Exhausted beyond measure, Gavin struggled to reach for the rope dangling in the middle. Afraid he might fall in and hurt himself, Myra grabbed onto it and hooked up the bucket. Those sweet eyes she remembered peeking at her over books turned to offer up his thanks. Trying to ignore the burn on her cheeks, Myra dropped the bucket down the well to fill it up. Would he keep going until the well ran dry, or would he seek out another one and continue on?
Silence fell between them while Myra more slowly drew the bucket up. Some of it was lack of practice, some of it was her terrified she'd mess it all up and make a fool of herself. It was highly possible as Gavin stared at her in anticipation.
When the lip of the bucket bounced against the well's edge, Gavin reached for it. Words slipped from Myra's mouth, "How'd you know you want to be a knight?"
He pursed his lips, unhooking the bucket off of the catch and sliding back. "I want to help people. To live that life I read about in stories. Perhaps that is childish, to cling to a dream like that, but...it's all I've ever wanted." Gavin sounded exhausted, not just from the work but of having to explain it over and over.
Myra chased after him, not that it was hard in his state. "No, I mean...how did you know? How'd you know out of every possibility in the world that was what you wanted to do? You're sure as shit dedicated to it."
A bright blush followed Gavin's lips rising in a smile. She hadn't meant it as a compliment, just an observation, but she was glad he took it well. Lifting a shoulder, Gavin tried to shrug but his arms were too weary. "I don't know. I always have. Any other option put before me I didn't wish for. Just this. Only this."
His cheap shoes slipped in the mud, unable to get any traction. Myra quickly slotted an arm under his, her fingers grabbing onto his hard bicep to keep him upright. Hard, firm, muscle filled bicep. Before she let the idea drip down to her heart or other parts, she slid a hand under his arm and tried to provide a bit of leverage with the heavy bucket.
Gavin turned to her, no doubt to tell her he didn't need help, but Myra cut him off, "I wish I had your kind of assurance."
He snorted, "Really? I thought you said watering a stump until flowers grew was stupid?"
Together they dumped the bucket onto the dead wood, watching the runoff bubble up through the already oversaturated ground. As Gavin leaned back, Myra picked up the empty bucket and they both turned to the well. "I guess it's not so stupid if you've got a good reason to do it."
* * *
In the end Myra remained by his side for a good half hour more. While Gavin felt exhausted beyond measure, as if someone flayed half the muscles off of his bones, having her help lightened the load. She told him a bit about Denerim, her mother, how her life had gone since she returned from the refuge. And he filled her in on how he wound up out here and that the plan his family made for his future was thrown fully into chaos.
When the dinner bell rang, Myra glanced around guilty and said she had to get back home or her mother would send an entire squad out to find her. It seemed a rather funny joke until Myra began to list exactly which member of her mother's agency would kick in which doors.
As she was about to skip away, leaving Gavin hungry, sunburnt, and alone to handle his task, he called out, "I forgive you." Perhaps it was the delirium of his exhaustion, but he could have sworn her cheeks lit up red when he did.
In the end, his Knight came for him once the supper hour had ended. She cast an eye over the muddy ground and the flowerless stump before handing him a bit of blackened bread and telling him to get to bed after he cleaned all the mud off himself. The next day, as Gavin was walking around the palace with Ser Daryan's spare kit, he happened past the old stump.
Most of the water around it had dried up, but sitting inside a knot as if they grew there by themselves was a bouquet of vibrant wildflowers. Unable to help himself, Gavin stopped to smell them before heading off to finish his chores.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cattle Call
Piles of unguents sprea
d across the vanity as Rosamund honed in on a stray red spot square in the center of her forehead. She'd already gotten her lips done up, and the eyes. Evie had to handle the swipe of kohl, Rosie's hands so steady when holding an arrow somehow shook like a rattle when it was a makeup brush, causing the line of black to twist like a river. Sticking her bottom lip out wider, as if that might plump them up to fit the style, Rosie kept flicking at the pimple. It didn't help the blasted thing to go down, only enflamed it further, but constantly messing with it made her feel better.
"My lady," one of her handmaidens tried to get their future queen to knock it off. Appearance, which on the surface people claimed to not be important, was in fact everything.
"I hope everyone in here is decent," a male voice echoed from the door outside. Rosie cast a quick eye out of her mirror to spy that they were already in their gowns for the evening.
Not waiting for an answer, Cailan cracked open the latch and peered inside. His ice blue eyes darted around the room, the twenty year old tipping his head to their various cousins and Rosie's older friends. Some of her handmaidens had been chosen by the princess, Tess being one of the longest standing friends -- daughter to a Bann near South Reach. The rest were forced upon her by her mother who thought it was in her daughter's best interest to share her good fortune by giving all her cousins jobs. At least until they too married off to high positioned men angling for knighthoods and the like. It seemed superfluous, but Rosie'd be happy when they were all gone.
Evie cast a snarl at the prince sliding into the room, while Tess turned and smiled, "Why, my dear lord Cailan, is that doublet new?"
Running a hand down the silver trim upon wool as blue as his eyes, he smiled with a tip of his thin lips, "You have an excellent eye, lovely Tess." Before he could surge forward, scoop her giddy hand into his, and kiss it, Rosie cast an eye back at him through her mirror.
He knew where she drew the limits and Cailan only shrugged. Sliding in beside the vanity Rosamund remained rooted at, Cailan plucked at a few bottles absently before sighing, "Is this going to take any longer? All of your damn escorts have been chucking rocks at the walls."
The girls tittered at the idea of their escorts, chosen purely happenstance for this ball her mother put on. They all tried to take a guess at who they'd have stuck to their arm during the night, as if neither gender could be trusted alone, but Rosamund waved her hand through the air cutting it off. "Where's father?"
Cailan shrugged again, "How should I know? At least your escort will bugger on out once he's ransacked the cheese tray. Mother's certain to be hanging off my arm for the entire thing."
Chuckling at her brother's discomfort of having to do what he was told, Rosie picked up a puff and dotted her forehead to try and disguise the bump. "As if that will in anyway hinder you from charming the garters off most of the women in attendance."
He was focused on a little music box Rosie had since she was little, Cailan turning the crank in a series of threes, but she caught the twinkle in his eye. Her brother wasn't hideous, a fact that was sometimes difficult for her to admit, but he wasn't particularly handsome either. His eyes were a bit too far apart, his lips thin, his chin not as strong as it could be. But while lantern jawed knights in shining armor could strike out, Cailan would slide his way into the most beautiful woman's bed with a simple smile and lift of his shoulders. He had a confounding magic all of his own.
After placing the music box down and watching the tiny bear twirl in a circle before mauling a ranger, Cailan sighed, "Mother's been after me to 'clean up my act.' I'm the height of cleanliness. I even wash my hands before every meal, and take a bath more than once a week."
Rosie chuckled at his strain under the collar growing tighter. He acted the unaffected cad, but Cailan would always do whatever their mother asked of him. "Isn't your bride nearing the marrying age?"
"What?" he seemed to panic a moment before shaking it away. "No, she's only 16 now. I've got a good four years before they start slapping those shackles on."
"I don't know why you agreed to let mother select your wife for you," Rosamund clucked her tongue at the idea. While Queen Beatrice adored her children and would often break a few formalities for their comfort, she seemed to adore courtly matters even more. Especially those involving ones that would get her grandchildren. "Have you even met her?"
"Nope," Cailan's sight honed in on one of their not related handmaidens who was skirting in the background. "Don't care either."
"You don't care? She'd be your wife."
"A wife mother picked for me. If I like her, great. If I hate her, it's mother's fault not mine."
Rosamund shook her head, feeling the tug of the crystals woven into the braid circling the crown of her head. "That's terrible."
"That's practical, there is a difference, Sis. But so unlike you to take it. I don't know why you don't let father do his duty, marry you off to some fancy lord in another country that can't even speak our language. It's so much easier than your mess."
"Ha," Rosie rolled her eyes, "easier. You have no concept of what would be easier in such matters." While Cailan had someone try to drill policy into his head, all of it dripped out the other side. He had a vague concept of what ruling required, but didn't really care to ever practice it.
"Perhaps," Cailan twisted back from the vanity and crossed to the middle of the room, "but all I know is tonight I am free to take my pleasures wherever I wish."
"Provided our mother isn't looking," Rosie added, tipping her head at his annoyance. Abandoning her toilette, she rose off the seat and tried to smooth down her golden dress. Ivory roses circled up and down the bodice that clung in a tight and revealing V. There was a lot of dragon bone inside the corset to support her bosoms, the things practically shoved up to her chin. She had a few favorite dresses in her closet she'd have preferred for the evening, but mother insisted on this one. It was the most stunning for her figure even if she could barely breathe.
"Are you finally ready?" Cailan groaned, clearly wanting to get this over with. He bent over to fiddle with the ties around his calves, then mussed with the white tights.
"I am," Rosie nodded, "but we're missing someone."
He finally took stock of every female face in Rosie's room to notice one tall one missing. "Damn it. She's always late."
On cue, the sound of feet clopping through the hall and a loud call of 'sorry, sorry,' echoed past. Both siblings turned as the door opened to reveal their half-sister standing there. Her face was beet red from a no doubt sprint through Denerim itself to make it in time.
"Sorry I'm late," Myra gasped before tugging off her cloak and moving to toss it onto a sofa. Some of the cousins glared at her intruding, but Cailan and Rosie chuckled.
"Let me guess," Cailan spoke first, "there was a dastardly murder in some back alley."
"More a turned over fruit stand and escaped chickens eating all the profits," Myra grumbled before trying to smooth down her dress. "Do I have any feathers on my ass?"
Cailan didn't answer, but Rosamund stepped closer and checked, "No. Your dress is quite lovely." It was a simple yellow a-line with lace ruffles at the quarter sleeves and the hems.
"Uh, thanks," she batted at her hair, trying to shove the downed strands behind her ears before gulping in more air. "Yours is...really shiny."
Rosie laughed at the fact, "I hate it." Her half-sister took after her mother with a body type perfect for shapeless frocks that wouldn't pinch or pull and keep the wearer from being able to sit or take in a breath. She was often jealous of how easily Myra could yank out an old tunic, knot ribbon around the midsection and call it good.
"This one's nothing special," Myra confessed to Rosie. "Mom got it off a rack at..." Someone scoffed behind them, and Myra's eyes deadened a moment. She glanced towards the offender but didn't point them out.
"If we're done admiring each other's dresses," Cailan interrupted the awkward moment, "I'd like to get a move on before all the good wine's taken."
<
br /> "Is it the good wine you're worried about missing out on or the good jugs?" Myra asked, then nudged an elbow towards Evie to see if she got the joke. The woman scoffed, twisting away before falling into line behind Rosie, as if the princess would protect her.
Rolling her eyes at the entire proceedings, Rosamund turned to the others. "Go and find your escorts." The girls squealed again, all of them dashing through the door to be assigned their would-be courters for the evening. If Rosie was lucky, it'd be for life.
"I assume father is waiting at the stairs," she asked Cailan.
Her brother shrugged, "When isn't he?"
"I'll, uh, head down on my own," Myra said, jabbing a thumb back in the direction of the ballroom. Father always invited her to every one of the dances and banquets at the palace. She didn't attend them all, and earlier came along with her mother, but there were very explicit orders to not treat Myra like a pariah. Unfortunately, there also wasn't precedent to get her an escort or a place in the royal family line either. At least she seemed to be able to roll with it. Rosie wished she could say the same for herself.
After smoothing her skirt one last time, Rosie broke away from Cailan who headed in the direction of their mother's apartments. No doubt she'd have to give him the once over before letting him out into the world proper. The princess took the first stairs which led to the full case. Her gloved hand skirted across the railing, trailing it to make certain her heeled shoes didn't wobble. Even in them, Rosie had to look up most people's noses. She had to be blessed with not only her mother's looks but body size as well.
Turning a corner, Rosie caught a servant standing beside the wall. The elf held a tray in his hands and kept rocking back and forth on his feet while fingers were constantly swiping at the piles of pattéd crackers without thought. There was only one person in the entire castle who could get away with usurping a whole serving tray before the official party began.
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