"I don't think..." Gavin began, when Snowy patted against his back.
"Just keep your wits about you," the dwarf said. He fished a copper out of his pocket and began to slide it against his knuckles. It bobbed and weaved like fish leaping out of the stream to catch flies. "You're on a much thinner blade than the rest of us."
Was that why he stopped the fight? Gavin whipped his head over at Cal who was jabbing a finger at one of the smaller boys and laughing at something. When the boy tried to wipe it away, clearly growing tired of the attack, Cal laughed harder. He was a nuisance, the type of bully in the herd they'd cull on the farm. But he was allowed to thrive here because he had connections. Why didn't the Knight hate him instead?
Shaking the thought away, Gavin smiled, "I'll be fine. I should return to her Majesty's service."
"Okay," Snowy waffled on his toes in thought. Suddenly, he popped the copper right off his undulating knuckles and it flew through the air until the coin landed into Gavin's palm. "For your thoughts. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think the beard trimming set would suit me well too."
While the dwarf sauntered back to Cal, no doubt to fleece the rich boy for all he had, Gavin swirled the copper back and forth in his palm. Why would anyone hate him? He hadn't done a thing to hurt Daryan or anyone else close to him. This world made no sense.
By the time he reached the Princess who was seated in the garden, the assassin was standing near her Majesty, her eyes closed as she whispered something. Rosamund smiled a moment, her sight darting towards the potential threat for a breath before she sighed and turned to one of the ladies in waiting beside her. With her toy distracted, Anjali rose up and stared dead center at Gavin.
He could read the 'What are you going to do now, baby Knight?' scrawled across her lips. Groaning internally, Gavin folded his arms and leaned into a slump while this makeshift court occurred around him. In truth, he had no idea what the real court was like. Books didn't go into the matter as much, preferring all the drama behind curtains and doors instead of whatever the King or Queen would do while on the throne. Judging by the times he listened in while Rosamund sat in judgment, it was a lot of talking.
The Teyrn had rolled in a few outstanding cases that intersected with Ferelden law, mostly those of his land that dared to tamper with the crown itself. If any of it surprised the Princess she gave no hint, trying to explain her decisions in a minute detail while the accused looked on from their chains. That ate up most of their time here, Rosamund always being plucked in ten different directions. Gavin only drifted into her orbit when the assassin woman did, and even then it seemed to be less and less.
Absently, Anjali's fingers skirted up to behind her shoulder. When her eyes darted over to Gavin, his body tensed up. But it wasn't the dagger she was gifted use of that she was reaching for but a scratch upon her back. She's messing with you. Myra mentioned it a few times, off handedly as if it should be obvious to all. Trying to keep him off kilter. Here he just assumed Anjali was a royal pain in the ass who delighted in the mistreatment of others. Did she do the same to the Princess, and if so, how did Rosamund deal with it?
"Tess?" the Princess sat up a moment and turned to one of her ladies. It was oddly hard for Gavin to remember which was which as they all wore the same hairstyle and generally kept their wardrobe similar too. Were they trying to confuse vengeful spirits? Was that the point of handmaidens?
"Yes, my Lady?" the woman directly to her right turned to Rosamund.
"I can't seem to find the itinerary. I swear to the Maker I just had it here and..."
"West Hills, say hello to our good friend Bann Loren, then skirt down around Lake Calenhad, arrive upon our dear great-uncle's doorstep, before finding ourselves in the New Dales." Cailan turned from a potato he'd been free carving a lion into to look to his sister.
"Thank you, dear brother," Rosamund tried to force on a smile, which caused her brother to mock it.
"Destined to be queen and she can't even remember what the lands she will rule over look like. Not without a map, at least."
The Princess didn't bristle at her brother's prodding, merely sighed. "Perhaps I have more important things on my mind than a matter I can easily view upon a scrap of parchment."
"You say that now, but..." Cailan skidded his blade across the tender white flesh of the tater, shaking the shaving to the ground, "what if you're fleeing through the woods and come to a pass. Do you go left? Do you go right? Which way is freedom? Which way is death?"
Standing up, Rosamund walked over to her brother. She looked upon his little time waster with distance. "If it were me, I'd turn around to fight, or find higher ground. But if it were you..."
Cailan snorted, "As if I'd be in the woods in the first place. Bears poop there, ya know."
The Princess laughed at her brother's nonsense. "As you say. When you're finished, give me your numbers on supplies necessary to restock before we set out. I'll need them before..."
Jamming both potato and knife into one hand, Cailan tugged out a scrap of vellum and passed it over to his sister. As she took it and sat down in her makeshift throne, he resumed his carving. Rosie read over the list a moment before handing it to Tess, "Share that with Avery, he can determine who will need to handle such matters."
"Yes, my Lady," Tess bowed deeply, scurrying away to do as her princess commanded.
Without any pressing concerns, Rosamund slid over a small table and began to hunch into her work. She never seemed to be far from a quill, her fingernails stained in ink as she kept recutting feathers to keep them sharp. It reminded him a bit of his mother. She would jot notes to herself on any scrap of paper left out. When he was older, Gavin found a forgotten picture he drew that was covered with some formulas to create a potion etched into the margins. It was hard to say which went down first, his take upon griffins who now had six legs, or his mother's need to remember her big breakthrough.
A strange aching picked up speed inside his stomach and he shifted upon his toes. He wanted this, wished to be at the heart of the action, to travel the roads and highways helping to protect Ferelden, to meet new people. Why did he keep finding himself missing what he put behind?
"You're looking rather thoughtful, baby Knight."
He snarled, his jaw clenching from Anjali darting closer to whisper to him. Naturally, she found his reaction hilarious and let her rasping chuckle loose upon the world. Not in the mood to be more fodder for her jokes, Gavin tipped his head higher to stare above nearly every eye in the garden. Only a statue could meet him, the hound challenging him with a singe look.
"Come on," Anjali shuffled even nearer, falling into position beside. Did she not have anything more important to do, like stopping an assassin that she intimately knew? Flashes of her behavior on the archery range drew a curious thought to Gavin. Just how intimately did she know this second dangerous assassin? Would the Princess care for that answer?
"Don't go all sour puss on me now, baby Knight," she continued to wheedle.
"Perhaps," Gavin spat, her lips lifting into a sneer, "I would respond more readily if you used my name."
"You're saying baby Knight isn't...?" she began when he turned his full glare upon her. "Right, fine," Anjali lifted up her hands in submission, "just seemed fair with you always calling me 'assassin.' Assassin do this, assassin rise. Assassin, finish in the bushes, I'm tried of pretending I'm not watching."
"I do not...!"
"You call me by my name, and I might afford you the same dignity."
Maker take her, but it seemed fair. He despised the fact that she saved his life. It was a minor matter, and potentially one she used to her own advantage knowing full well how it would play out, but he did owe her for it. "Very well," Gavin chewed through the gravel in his voice and dignity, "Anjali."
She laughed, "Was that so hard...baby Knight?" Whipping his hand at her, she laughed more, "I did say might. Gotta watch the fine print."
Why was he everyone's punching bag? Did he wake one morn
ing with an invisible sign that read 'Please, take the piss out of me. I will not fight back' stuck to him? Cal, the assassin, a few of the ladies of the teyrn's court who -- upon realizing he wasn't as charming as they hoped -- turned on him. Ser Daryan. The latter stuck in Gavin's throat, his eyes blinking like mad against the burn of deception. Knights were supposed to befriend their squires, mentor them, care for them, guide them into becoming something greater. Not belittle, bash, and break them.
"You should know," Gavin whispered, his voice cold as the grave. With just the edge of his eye he looked over at the assassin, "people are talking about you."
She shrugged, "When aren't they talking about me?"
"And your undue influence upon the Princess."
At the mention of Rosamund, Anjali did the last thing he expected -- she flinched. Her cruel lips slackened and she swallowed a beat. "If they think I have any push with a princess, or prince, or duke, or whatever it is you have here in the backwaters...they're even dumber in Ferelden than I thought."
As if to cut off the thought, Anjali folded her arms tight and began to walk away from Gavin. But in doing so, her gait wobbled a bit, and her teeth grazed over her bottom lip. His words struck her deeper than anything he'd managed before. Interesting.
"My Lady," Tess' voice echoed through the garden's shrubbery, breathy from exhaustion as the girl came dashing back to her mistress. As Rosamund sat up in her chair, her head held high, her handmaid collapsed to her knees, sucking in air like she was drowning.
"Maker's sake, Tess. You didn't need to run all the way to find Avery. It's not that important," she chuckled.
"No," Tess shook her head, then turned to cast a finger back towards a man stepping into the private circle. "I met him, and..." whatever she wanted to tell the Princess was cut off by the man dressed like a more pompous messenger. Rather than wear proper trousers to make it through the backroads and brambles, he had on knee high pants and white hose that glowed like the moon.
"Your Excellency," he began, tugging off a small red cap and bowing so deeply his nose could have scrapped the ground. At that Rosamund sat up even higher, her eyes narrowed in shrewdness.
"Yes?" she asked, extending the final consonant for emphasis.
The man stepped forward and dropped a letter into her fingers. With only a slow lift of her eyebrow, she drew a finger along the seal and popped it open. Rosamund didn't even unravel the paper before the messenger spoke up, "I come on behalf of Lord Eldon."
"I see," she said, her eyes quickly tearing through the missive. For a beat, they opened up wide, before diving back to the meat of the matter. While everyone in the clearing was on pins and needles to learn what was in that note, they need not wait for their Princess to tell them.
"My Lady," the messenger dropped to one knee and bent his torso over the extended leg. "Lord Eldon, son of Bann Winthrop, humbly asks for your hand in marriage."
All sound died in an instant, breaths clutched in throats, fingers freezing from their twitching, as every eye turned to their Princess. She was not visible through the paper, her face fully obscured as she seemed to be taking her time reading through the betrothal letter. While the girls that handled dressing her Majesty seemed to be all a titter at the possibility of a betrothal, Tess looked clouded brows and nervous glances. The most curious one was Cailan; at the announcement his thumb froze, but with barely a shrug he resumed digging into the potato that was now being whittled down to a fish. This could be his brother-in-law, future family, and his king. Surely he would care.
Out of the corner of his eye, Gavin caught the assassin drifting back and forth on her feet. Her face was neutral, as if she didn't give one whit to the potential engagement. It was such an act of nonchalance, it was a wonder she didn't start whistling and kicking at dirt clods.
"Well," the Princess finished the letter, folded it up, and placed it upon her stack. "That is a most interesting development."
Poised like an icy mountain framed against the sunrise, Rosamund lifted her head higher and then waved at the messenger. "I think you can rise, there's no need to strain yourself. Tell your Lord that while I appreciate the sentiment, I cannot in good conscience make such a deal at this time."
"Your Majesty...?" the messenger stumbled up to his feet. His head twisted like a dog given a confounding command.
"The crown is not taking suggestions under advisement at the moment, but should the position open up I'll be certain to keep his..." Rosamund glanced down at the letter, "words under consideration. Thank you for your time."
It was amazing to watch, the man stumbling away in a cloud of uncertainty while the Princess calmly sat back down in her chair and resumed her work as if nothing happened. A few of the handmaidens whispered with each other, "What in the Maker's name just happened?"
"Does this mean there's not going to be a wedding?"
"Bugger it all. I love weddings."
With barely a flick of her wrist, the Princess scooped up the letter and extended it towards her brother. She didn't even lift her head as she said, "Cailan, please dispose of this as you would any trash."
Laughing, he scooped it up and seemed about to scrape the parchment clean before pausing, "You know, mother's going to be pissed."
Rosamund didn't respond, but the smile overtaking her lips said it all. With another laugh, Cailan finished drawing the flat of his dagger against the paper, erasing whatever flatteries the Bann's son ladled upon their Princess. She was far too enthralled with her work to look up at the reaction, but Gavin caught their assassin with a red tint to her cheeks and a smile in her eyes.
* * *
She stood leaning upon a balcony railing, her body appearing to be staring down at the troops shuffling through the final motions of packing up the wagons, but her eyes were elsewhere. Gavin tried to track the direction, but they seemed to be landing upon empty space. A mug sat beside her on the table, her shoulders slumped in exhaustion. He didn't want to disturb her, but...
"Ser Daryan," Gavin muttered softly. She turned on her heel and it took a moment for her eyes to focus upon him. "I've finished loading up the last of the armor for the walk."
"Organized?" she asked, "Because if we run into bandits, the last thing we need is someone fumbling through crates of wine to find a stack of arrows..."
"Yes, fully organized and in the properly labelled crates," Gavin stuck his chest out. His arms wobbled like jelly and burned of fire after the challenge of it, but he'd finished. Sleep was all he wished for now, even with the sun an hour before setting. For once he was glad that the assassin was on Rosamund's good side. It meant he wasn't expected to be at her arm's length until the woman was unconscious.
Daryan sneered a moment, a hint of her canines showing before she waved a hand at him. "Go, go to bed. Wait until dawn for the rousing call. I have no more need of you."
It was the most curt dismissal he'd received so far, the woman barely able to glance in his direction before she resumed glaring at the world instead. Snowy's voice twisted through his thoughts, always bobbing to the surface for every interaction he had with her now. He wanted to know, but he shouldn't ask. Why did she hate him? Why was she harder on him than anyone else? Gavin knew he dare not raise the issue, but he had to know.
"Ser, if I may..." he began when her hard blue eyes swung back to him. By the softening light of the sunset, red burned at the edges as if she was about to transform into a demon. Gavin's backbone faded in an instant, "Is there anything else you will require of me?"
"I already said...!" she roared before chuckling mirthlessly. Her shoulders shook the pauldrons upon them, a rosette of the distinguished order bouncing from it. "You never tire, do you? Never talk back? Never groan or whine? Wheedle to escape even the most inane of order." Her cold eyes bit into him before Daryan fully swung back to the skyline. "What in the Maker's great sky is wrong with you?"
Gavin stuck his chin out at the assumption he was built wrong, "I do grow tired, but..." His knight tensed, h
er fingers digging into the railing. At the sight of her bones practically prodding through the thin skin, he backed down into a soft voice, "But wish to do my best."
"Your best?" Daryan scoffed. "He's here to do his best, give 100% of himself to the cause." She seemed to be speaking to something else beside her, not caring that he overheard. "Go! Go and get out of my sight!" The Knight chopped her hand through the air, trying to rid it of anything Gavin related.
Unable to wipe the scowl from his face, he turned on his heel and prepared to find a bed, when the woman's cold lips began to snigger. It was such a disharmonious laugh, Gavin's blood ran cold. Daryan wiped a palm against her eyes as she muttered, "Do you know why I let this farce play out? Why I'd allow the King to dictate slotting some unknown, unwanted, untested squire into my service?"
He froze in place, fearing she'd turn over to look at him and he'd find a demon lurking inside her eyes. But the woman was still as human as before, and she remained gazing out at the horizon. With a laugh, she said, "I wanted you to fail."
"What?" escaped out of Gavin's mouth, the man wanting to rush forward and shake her for the nonsense she was speaking.
Daryan snorted and shrugged, "The only son of our great Commander Rutherford. It was so... I could see it all. You'd come in all soft hands and softer heart, skin as thin as parchment. Whining about the cold, or the heat, or the fact you had to do real work. You'd come under my care expecting coddling and receive the lash of reality instead."
Her head swiveled around, but to the empty bottle upon the table and not Gavin. With another snort, she laughed, "Jokes on me. You can't even fail properly. You're so...it's like trying to wear down a mountain! Drop the impossible in your lap, you smile and grit through it. Add even more to that and there you are, sweating and grunting but pulling it off. I'm tired of your face."
"Why?" he asked, the world tilting away from below him. Why would someone, someone who could have easily turned him down, behave so cruelly? She'd never even met him before and she already hated him?
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