My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Shaking away the last bit of shame at daring to act like their father in front of a nob, Myra stepped out of the back door to come upon their caravan's campgrounds. Rosie and her handmaidens had their own lush rooms in the Bann's estate, as did Cailan. They offered one to Myra as well, she being of sort of royal blood, but she declined. One, she feared stumbling to the privy in the middle of the night and finding herself trapped on one of the never ending tours until her bones turned to dust. Two, she'd much rather room with her friend. They managed to score one of the smaller tents and have it all to themselves.

  There weren't a lot of servants on the trip, but enough to keep her majesty and his highness from having to fend for themselves. Heaven forbid Rosie ever need to dig her own latrine hole. Or Cailan, really Cailan doing anything. If someone put him in charge of getting food he'd probably wander to a tavern, drink the biggest brute there under the table, sleep with the proprietor's daughter, and fully forget why he was even sent.

  As Myra jogged down the steps onto the cleared out gardens fully swarming with people, she spotted a line of young men and women all in their livery tunics. Some were patching leathers, a handful were having an arm wrestling match, and the rest were doing pushups for no obvious reason beyond boredom. Surveying it all was the knight left in charge of them. There was another one for this trip, but he was barely a knight-errant at best.

  "Hey there, Lady Knight," Myra called, waving a hand at Ser Daryan.

  The woman turned, her eyes pinching together as if she had to stare into the sun to see Myra. Too bad it was overhead of them. "My Lady," she tipped her head, those tight lips giving nothing away. That was Daryan. Myra didn't know much about the knights, having never had a reason to care, but in asking around people didn't have a lot to say about her. She was quiet. She didn't brook failure. She was, as they colloquially put it, 'a real hard ass.'

  "So," Myra stopped beside the woman who was a bit shorter than her. Did it bug the knight? It sure as hell bothered the Bann. His eyes kept glancing over at the towering Myra as if in shock that some young girl would dare be taller than him. If Daryan cared, she didn't let on. "How's things?"

  "Things are well, my Lady," she said, all but spitting the latter part out as fast as possible. Myra was used to it from people who had no idea how to address a bastard but didn't want to piss off her father. With him a good four days travel back at Denerim, that was probably Daryan's default setting.

  "Good, good. Bring a lot of sharp bits?" Myra asked. When the knight glanced at her, she continued, "And flat bits to stop the other sharp bits?"

  "It is unnerving how much you share with your father," the woman sighed. Myra took it as a compliment. People may not like having her around, or know what to do when she was, but they couldn't act as if she wasn't clearly the king's kid.

  Groaning, Daryan stuck her hands behind her back, "If you are looking for him, he's in his tent with the dwarf."

  Myra blinked madly at that. "Wh...who? Who would I be looking for?" She stumbled around, feeling as if someone kicked out the back of her knees. "Wh-why would I be looking for anyone?"

  The knight's thin lips lifted in a smirk and she shrugged, "My mistake."

  Damn it. She could show the woman she didn't care, that Daryan was jumping to foolish conclusions about Myra, and head back to her own tent. Or try to find something else to do in this backwater berg. Too bad Bryn was busy actually working.

  No. No, that'd let Daryan win. Squaring her shoulders, Myra marched towards the furthest tent in the cluster around the squires. The entire area stank of moldy sweat-stained boy, which was impressive as nearly half the squires were girls. Somehow the boy parts overwhelmed the girl ones...which sounded really dirty. Myra tried to shake the thought off while also mentally jotting it down to tell Bryn later.

  When she reached what she assumed was the tent, she paused. How did one enter a tent? Did you knock? Maybe call out a greeting? Make a loud bell noise? Um, excuse me people inside of there. I would like to come in and say hello. Maker's breath, that was stupid. Just, go in. It's a tent. What's the worst thing they could be doing?

  Myra yanked up the flap when the idea struck her that anyone inside could be naked. Her eyes instantly dropped to the ground, her head jabbing in as she spoke, "Um, uh, hello?"

  "Good afternoon," Gavin's cheerful voice spoke. Okay, he's not shrieking for the girl to get out so probably not naked. Why would he be naked in the middle of the day anyway? Who knows. Boys are weird.

  Getting her bearings, Myra let her eyes lift to find a pile of fur stretched across Gavin's lap. He sat upon the ground and had, of all things, a needle in his fingers. A spool of thread stretched out from off the needle to a spindle that the dwarf kept pinched between his palms.

  "Well, well, if it ain't the lady that ain't the fancy one," that dwarf said. Ah shit, what was his name? Something cold. Icebeard? Icebeard was a good dwarven name.

  "What," Myra had to come to a knee, her full height easily clobbering the tiny tent. They weren't really built for people to go running around inside of, unless you were of old Frostaxe's height. "What are you doing?"

  "Holding shit," the dwarf said.

  Gavin rolled his eyes, "Pretty sure she was talking to me, Snowy."

  "Oh, I see. Any girl wanders into our tent, has to be for you," the dwarf huffed.

  "Well, the next one to come in and ask what's happening I'll leave for you to answer." He seemed relaxed. Really relaxed. Like a lake on a still day kind of relaxed. Nearly half the caravan was twitchy as a cat's tail right before it sunk the teeth in but not Gavin. Blessed Andraste, she was never going to understand boys.

  He lifted up the pile of what she recognized as rabbit fur. "I'm sewing these onto a backing to try and make a warm coat."

  "You can sew?" she gasped, reaching her fingers out to try and ruffle the fur. Myra paused before making contact, afraid one touch of her finger could cause the entire thing to collapse apart.

  Gavin blinked a moment, "Not that well. I fear that at best this may be a wrap. Sleeves are...tricky. And I'll need a lot more rabbit furs."

  "Unless you give it to me," Snowy spoke, then cracked up. No doubt a rabbit fur coat was meant for Gavin, especially given how much effort he was putting into it.

  "How did you," she started, still confused by what was before her, "why did you learn how to do this?"

  "The caravan needed the meat, but letting the fur go to waste seemed impractical. Not a lot of call for rabbit and I thought," the easy manner slid away, a blush rising upon those sienna cheeks. "Wanted to..."

  "It's amazing," Myra interrupted, honestly gobsmacked. She never thought to do something like that. Her mother tried to teach her how to hem up clothing, but it ended in Myra pooling her coppers to secretly hire someone else to do it. Then she shot up six inches seemingly overnight and it didn't much matter.

  "No," Gavin shook his head, already trying to roll the fur up in an attempt to hide it away, "it's nothing. Simple way to use up extra, um...Oh!" He snapped his fingers and then reached behind himself.

  What was going to come out next? An entire rocking chair he carved from a tree that was downed in their path? She knew their knights were supposed to be well rounded but she wouldn't trust the rabble outside with anything more complicated than carving a set of dice.

  A beautiful, fluffy, and white as snow rabbit fur appeared in Gavin's fingers. He must have sewn it to a felt backing, this one too pretty to be wasted upon a simple coat. Myra reached down, her fingers stumbling themselves through the thick tuft of fur that looked as if it'd been washed of any blood and then combed. Great, he combs rabbits too. Dead ones, but she wouldn't be surprised if he regularly feeds birds from him palms or something.

  Gavin smiled a moment at her reaction, before passing it over. At Myra's confused look, he explained, "Could you give that to your sister?"

  "My what?" Broken glass dug through her skin, the once soft fur scratching gashes into her hands. She felt red burning at
the sides of her eyes while staring down at this gift. Fit for a princess, of course.

  "I'm certain you see her far more often than I do," Gavin explained as if it was all a simple matter. Make Myra hand deliver all those gifts, and presents, and love tokens. Great way to make your intentions known to both the crowned princess and the wasted bastard on the side.

  Snarling, she dug her fingernails into the precious fur, Myra tempted to rip it apart at the seams. But that wouldn't be nice. And damn it, she was doing her best to be that. "Should I," she blinked like mad, attempting to shake a burn in her eyes away, "should you include a note? Maker certain she knows it comes from you?"

  Gavin smiled, "I assume she'll know."

  That was the wrong response. Enraged, Myra staggered up to her feet, fully forgetting she was far too tall for the damn tents. Before her forehead collided with the bar and brought the entire thing down, she hunched over. The dwarf caught on quickly that something went wrong fast, while that stupid boy just sat blinking wide eyed. Maybe he didn't even know...

  There was nothing to know. Not a damn thing at all.

  "Fine," Myra shook the fur trapped in her fist. No doubt her always filthy fingers already stained it in dirt. Well, if it mattered so much to Rosie she could clean it herself. Turning on her heel, she tried to march out of the tent even while bent over. It was pathetic. She was pathetic, having to rely upon rage to stampede over... Damn it! Nothing.

  "You know," she spat over her shoulder, "I don't think a princess will have much use for a single, puny rabbit fur." Myra put all her teeth into that, trying to use those political skills others wielded the way she did a sword. And they all fell fully on deaf ears.

  Shrugging a shoulder, unaware of any wrong doing, Gavin picked back up his sewing. In a soft voice he muttered, "It doesn't matter what she does with it. She deserves it."

  What? What did that stupid boy want? Weren't gifts of love supposed to be cherished like a damn stuffed animal that's kept upon a girl's bed? Or locks of hair wrapped in ribbon which always struck Myra as blood magic. He didn't even care if Rosie did more than glance upon it once?

  Out of everything stupid he said, that seemed to give Gavin pause. He glanced up from his work to blink in confusion, "It's her kill, it's her choice."

  Gah!

  Myra didn't respond, her brain wanting to shout too many incoherent things at once. Instead she dashed out the door, leaving Gavin to futz about with whatever other secret gift he was making for the future Queen. Get on her good side. She could be his future boss. Made sense.

  Or...

  Not like their dad didn't already approve of him and his family. He may not be a Bann's or Arl's son but certainly not too many would make a fuss about the kid of the great General sitting on a throne. Myra clawed at her arms, her skin prickling at the thought. It made sense. Her mother would call it a potential conclusion leading to forgone once one gathered more facts.

  "It was her kill." Damn it! He was either blisteringly stupid to the point of an infuriating naiveté, or Gavin Rutherford was playing some kind of inter-dimensional version of the Game no one even discovered yet.

  Myra ran her fingers over the fur, unable to stop how soft it ruffled against her skin. It'd be a good gift to receive from anyone. He put a lot of time and effort into getting it pristine. Too bad she wasn't the sort of person to be worthy of giving such things.

  Staggering to her feet, Myra decided to march right into the middle of Rosie's little meeting and drop off the gift. She'd either blush a storm at it, or be so mad at Myra interrupting that she'd take it out on the fur. Either way, it'd be interesting to see her sister's reaction.

  Before she left, she heard Gavin ask, "What is it, Snowy?"

  "I'm suddenly very grateful that I don't look like you," the dwarf snickered.

  "Wh...why?"

  The dwarf took his time before sighing sagely, "Cuts down on a lot of problems."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Promise

  By the time it was light's out, Gavin was content to stretch out upon his pallet. Well, he would if he weren't so damn tall. Best he could manage was scrunching up with his knees tucked near his chest or else his feet were left exposed to the mud below them. His tentmate on the other hand was free to stretch as wide as he wanted. But Snowy wasn't in the mood to sleep. Even while their Knights paced back and forth through the small campsite shouting for everyone to get to sleep, Snowy refused to stop talking.

  "So, fur making..."

  "It's not really fur making," Gavin sighed. He was getting exhausted from everyone's surprised looks. It wasn't that difficult to figure out. There was a book on it. There were books on a lot of things. "I don't exactly grow the fur."

  His roomie snickered at that. "Right, you'd look a right pillock if you sprouted fur all over your face." Pausing a moment, Snowy sighed, "No, knowing you, somehow a thick coat of black fur would send even more girls chasing after you."

  "What?" He was flabbergasted, and more than a bit confused. He couldn't even get anything other than a sliver of hair to sprout upon his upper lip. Fur everywhere seemed...confusingly impossible.

  Snowy turned onto his side, his hard eyes traveling up and down Gavin's form. "Aye, add a fluffy tail and you'd be in business."

  "I...I have no idea what you're talking about."

  "Ain't you lucky," he flopped back over a hand across his eyes. "Got me a sis that's not afraid of sharing stuff we all really don't want to hear about. And big into drawing." Snowy shuddered deeper into his thin mat as if trying to burrow through the earth.

  Gavin twisted up, about to ask a question when he caught Daryan's lantern light swinging past. As the arc of the yellow circle drifted further onward, he whispered, "You have a sister?"

  "Yup, and another two after that, and three brothers."

  "Maker's breath," Gavin gasped. "That's a lot of...people to be related to."

  Snowy snorted out the side of his nose. He'd shattered it once, which caused the side to heal wrong. Whenever he laughed a blast of air would shoot from the single nostril like a bolt out of a crossbow. "Way you talking I'm guessing you've got...what, one sister?"

  "Uh," Gavin glanced at the ground, his fingers stirring up the dirt he'd tried to stay out of. "N...no, it's just me."

  "Only babe. Ain't seen one of them in awhile. Ah shit, don't tell me, miracle baby. Nah nah, it totally fits. Older famous dad sends his only son out into the world. Shit, yer even a farm boy too."

  "I am not a farm boy, regardless of what Cal claims," Gavin sneered. He was growing exhausted with the incessant assumptions about his past. Everyone just decided what he was without daring to ask him. "If anything I'm an abbey boy."

  "So the chaste, deny all the best bits about living type?" Snowy rolled the words around in his mouth like he was sampling them. "If yer smart, you'll stick with farm boy. Gives you a good salt of the earth thing going on. The girls'll eat that stuff up."

  His roommate was never far from that subject. Somehow Snowy could turn the most innocuous subject back to romance. It was growing tiresome. "Your name, Snowy, does it have any special significance?" he scrambled to change to anything other than girls and the art of getting one to give you the time of day.

  "Why?" the dwarf fully rolled over now, his eyed piercing through the darkness to strike at Gavin. Slivers of the bonfirelight reached through the thin canvas, granting them twisted shadows. "It's a name. Got to have a name. All people do. What about you? Gavin. Keep expecting you to wear a plaid skirt and shout how there can only be one!"

  "It..." Gavin sighed, "it's what my parents chose. I don't know why."

  "Yup, that'd be pretty much everyone's story. We don't get a lot of say in it, but live with what we got," he declared the conversation over, Snowy flipping onto his stomach. That was how he slept back in Denerim, both arms dangling off. The bunkbeds were built so low, Gavin would watch the boy's hands slipping in and out through the air as he seemed to be swimming in his sleep.


  Accepting that the conversation was closed, Gavin turned his back to the bonfire and tried to stare at nothing. Sleep skirted through the air like a dragonfly with effervescent wings. He would reach out to grab it, only to have the creature skitter away and nearly vanish into the dark shadows. If he was busy that day and had exhausted himself mind and body, he could pass out fast. But after calmer days, or...sometimes more emotionally confusing ones, Gavin would toss and turn for hours. He feared this would be no different.

  Why had Myra been so cross with him? He didn't catch it at first, glad to have her stop by, but Snowy explained the turn and Gavin had to agree with the dwarf that something was off. It had seemed a simple matter. She was likely to see her sister again, she could deliver the fur back sooner. Gavin didn't want to have to cart it around any longer than necessary. The extra coat was bad enough. It wasn't as if she...

  Light burst against Gavin's wandering eyes and he hissed, sitting upright. But instead of an invader, or his knight, the cold eyes of Cal stared directly back at him. "Hey, farm boy, get up." Well, at least he wasn't calling him shit farmer anymore. Step up.

  "Why? It's lights out," Gavin tried to explain. Beside him he caught Snowy's eye open and wander back, but the dwarf remained appearing comatose.

  "No shit," Cal sighed as if Gavin was an idiot of epic proportions, "That's when we head out. Come on." Without any explanation the boy vanished out of the tent, taking the light with. Gavin scrabbled forward on his knees and plucked up the flap to find a few other squires rushing around gathering up the rest.

  "What's going on?" he mused to himself, when a hand landed upon his shoulder. He turned to find Snowy with his boots on. The dwarf was trying to slick back his hair into style.

  "While the darkspawn's away," the dwarf smiled wide, stretching out his hands. "Get some nice clothes on."