"Of course, of course," the woman wouldn't stop, "but I don't understand how she doesn't send the guards after your father's knife-ear whor-."
Screaming at the top of her lungs, Myra dug a handful of dirt out of the ground, scrunched it tight into her fist, and launched it right at Evie. Most of the clumps broke off, falling helplessly to the ground, but some of it struck. Crying at the indignity while she deserved so much worse, the cursed woman turned to find Myra red faced and about to do so much worse.
"How dare you?! You want to call my mother a whore? Huh?"
"Myra!" Rosie's voice rose, trying to chastise her, but Myra stomped towards the woman who was shrinking into her collar.
"Think you can get away with it behind a titter and a fan? Fuck you!" she cursed, reaching her hand back in preparation of punching the woman flat out.
"Myra Sayer!" Rosamund shouted, her voice ringing through the tent and scattering towards the small city of people around them. Every eye turned to their princess standing up as high as she could and glaring upon her sister. "Put your fist down."
Shaking her head no, Myra held it up while Evie's eyes darted around the room. She expected one of the others to leap up to her defenses, to drag the wild half-blood away, but no one liked her. No one would care. "I should kill you," she hissed at Evie who visibly gulped. "A duel! You threaten my mom, you make it...you sit there and act as if... What the fuck do you know?!" Tears burning in her eyes, she screamed at Evie a feral roar that would send most criminals in Denerim fleeing the other direction.
She wanted fire, wanted to watch the whole place burn with the same raging shame in her gut, but Myra was so angry the magic wouldn't come. Her attempts to pierce the veil only caused it to rebound back upon her. Even it was avoiding the bastard forced upon this world.
"Myra, I am ordering you..." Rosie began again, her sister whipping her head up at her.
"Order? You...you'd rush to defend her? After the shit she said? I..." Myra let her fingers fall flat as she raised both hands up in a sign of disgust with everything. With as dignified a bend to her body as she could manage, she dashed towards the front of the tent. Before reaching her escape, she spat out, "Dad would fucking skin her alive if he knew."
Her turncoat of a sister's mouth dropped open, but Myra spun on her heel and ran for it. The guards tried to reach over and stop her, no doubt figuring the princess intended to discipline her sister for acting un-orderly, but Myra easily dodged their clumsy attempt. Even with tears burning in her eyes, and her body shaking with frustration beyond understanding, Myra managed to run from the people. Bodies staggered out of the their tents, away from small fires or card games, all to gawk at the bastard. To jeer, maybe throw small rocks. Tell her the truth of what she was.
Of what she deserved.
Fuck them all.
Reaching the tree line, Myra stared deep into the dark forest ahead. She wanted to run into it without thought, but her legs wobbled and she crumbled to a knee. Damn it. Every Maker damn time she thinks that she had something, a place, a reason to be let into the group, they turn around and strip it off her. Never let her forget, those bumps on her ears are courtesy of a knife-eared whore. Didn't matter if her father loved her mother, or that she had fuck all do with any of it. Nope, pin it all on the bastard. Her fault for existing.
"Myra, for the Maker's sake..." her sister's voice gasped from behind her and she sneered. Wiping a hand over her eyes, Myra got back to her feet and began to step into the forest.
"Will you stop?" Rosie shouted, both hands striking into her thighs.
"Will you let me fight Evie?"
"You'd bloody eviscerate her," Rosamund sighed.
"So?" Myra saw no downside.
"Come back here, we can talk it through..." Her damn naive sister was going to paper it all over with fake handshakes and faker smiles. As if anything would change. Evie wouldn't be punished, she wouldn't care. She'd keep doing it over, and over, and over.
Spinning on her heel, Myra marched right up to her sister. She waved a finger threateningly at the princess and expected for a few swords to come at her for it, but there was no one else around. Did she keep them back? "No," Myra began, "no, there will be no talking it through. There will be no playing nice. There will be none of me sitting there forcing myself to nod along while she plays contrite for an audience, then gets back to stabbing behind the curtain. I'm fucking sick of it."
"Myra, you're overrea--"
"She said my mother should be killed!" Myra screamed. "Tortured. Mutilated! All because our dad...because he..."
It was the worst Maker damn day of her life. All of seven and she was left clinging to a ratty stuffed toy while the dwarf twins tried to convince her her mother wasn't missing. Her father wasn't hunting for her. Like Myra was too stupid to know everyone who ever knew Reiss feared the worst. With every heartbeat Myra wondered when they'd come back through that door. With every passing one and no Mom, she knew she'd never see her again.
When her Mom did appear, blood oozed off of the side of her head because some fuckhead, some racist, hate-filled shitheel tried to kill her. Hurt her. Took her and... They chopped off the greatest sign of her being elven, tossed it on the floor, fed it to a dog. Myra made up a dozen scenarios while she watched her white faced dad try to tend to her shaken mom. Reiss was in shock for a week, bandages suctioned so tight around her face all her daughter could see were the greens of her eyes. Even facing down a mutilated Mom, Myra didn't flinch, just wrapped her hands around her and promised it would never happen again.
And she damn well meant it.
"You have no idea what it feels like to wake up one morning without your mother where she should be, never knowing if you'll ever see her again. Only to have her returned to you mutilated," Myra spat out, "with just a flap of loose skin dangling where her ear used to be."
Her sister stumbled back a step, a hand pressed to her mouth. "No, I..." She knew, they had to know, they saw her Mom often enough. But they didn't want to know. They didn't want to look at her really. To acknowledge that she dared to exist around and outside their world. "Myra, that's terrible," Rosie reached forward to try and pull her into a hug, "but you can't..."
Batting the offered embrace away, Myra skittered further from her half-sister. "No, you can't. You can't understand. You can't know what it's like to lie in bed listening to every creak in the floorboards, every howl of the dogs, every whistle of the wind and think 'they're coming for her.' You don't know shit, Rosie, and you have no right to lecture me."
Myra sucked in a breath, staring her sister down. "Your mother still has both of her ears." With her final words, she spun on her heels and made for the forest. Pain pounded in her head and her throat ran dry. She wanted to scream and never stop, to fall to her knees and beat the ground apart. But that wouldn't help, that wouldn't fix anything.
"My," her sister shouted one last pathetic attempt. "What are you doing?"
Breaking into a run, Myra shouted before she vanished into the trees, "I'm going home!"
CHAPTER THIRTY
Meadow Flower
The trail was easy to follow. Even without the downed branches and twigs snapping from above, the continual cursing that rocked the trees guided Gavin through the underbrush of the forest. This land was wild, trees scattered wherever they fell, forcing him to have to slide over an ancient log coated in moss. As he did so, his sword nearly tumbled out of the scabbard, the end snagging against a branch and catching him tight.
Whipping above him like a bird traversing the sky, a shadow blanketed out the measly sun as she leapt to a new branch and kept going. "Myra," he shouted, legs astride in his attempt to get over the log while he struggled to fish the stuck scabbard out of a rotted knot.
Her shadow in the leaves paused a moment, the first sign she'd heard him following her. "Go away," was all she said before resuming her dash through the treetops.
Maker's sake. Gavin finished sliding over the log, his foot submerging in
to bog water that was quick to leech up his ankles. And today was already off to such a smashing success already. "Myra, wait..." he called, shaking a leg to try and disperse the muddy water while pursuing her. It was like trying to catch a butterfly, the girl only pausing a moment before leaping to the next branch as if she was born with wings.
"Did my sister send you?" The shadow in the trees turned and Gavin could spot her fingers gripping tight to a branch to keep herself upright. "She did, didn't she? 'Go and fetch her, squire. She's being unreasonable again.'"
"The Princess didn't ask me to find you," Gavin called. Technically correct. She was standing in a blustering agony while staring at the direction Myra vanished in. He took it upon himself to enter, though Rosamund did hope he'd keep an eye on her sister. It didn't really count as her sending him.
Which Myra seemed to sense. She rolled her eyes, her feet easing along the branches while her hands kept a tight grip to the balancing ones. "Yeah, right," she snorted. "I know exactly what Rosie wants. Me to go sidling back with my tail between my legs and apologize. Shake hands. Play nice. Well...screw that. And screw her too!"
The path split apart, one a more distinct deer trail, and the other seeming to have been abandoned by the animals years ago. Saplings that'd whip apart anyone who passed, stinging weeds covered in thorns, an obvious puddle that could be Maker knew how deep and full of leeches: all that and more awaited him down the untraveled path. And guess which one Myra chose to leap above.
Groaning, Gavin stomped down it, having to pull in a breath to slide sideways through two trees that when he glanced up looked as if their trunks grew together. Myra had an easier time up above, easily walking from one kissing tree to the next. Suddenly, she paused, legs astride the two trees, and stared down at the boy following her.
Was she going to finally talk to him? At least slow down enough?
Myra snorted, "If you're trying to look up my skirt, it won't work, cause I ain't wearing one."
"For the love of..." Gavin grumbled to himself before shouting, "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Yes," echoed through the trees, "I clearly want to talk about it, which is why I'm running and jumping as far from you as I can..."
Her voice froze, the branches that'd been bowing with her weight holding still. "Myra?" Gavin called, whipping his head around to see if there was any danger. Through a gap in the foliage he spotted a hint of her shirt. She moved forward, the entire branch under her bending.
Myra took another step, when a great crack broke from below her. "Shiiit!" she cried, the entire forest canopy shattering apart as branch and girl came racing towards the ground.
Bending his head down, Gavin ran full bore towards the falling branch, his hands extended. Leaves slapped into his face, sapling branches whipping thin lines against his shoulders and arms, but he wouldn't slow. His eyes were trained on the leaves puncturing apart as if a massive hand was trying to claw apart the forest.
"Myra!" he shouted, giving it one last push. Her body was a blur, streaking through the lack of anything to grab onto with a branch right below her. Tipping his foot up, Gavin slid forward, his stomach slapping into the boggy ground as he extended his reach to catch the girl only seconds from shattering to the forest floor.
His heart beat, Gavin's eyes shut to prepare for her weight. Another two seconds passed and he lifted his eye to find nothing but air in his hands. Oh Maker, did he miss? He whipped his head around, but there was nothing on the ground.
"What in Andraste's bunions are you doing?"
The voice asked from above him and he craned his head back to find Myra hovering a good six feet in the air. Her hands were splayed out with the magic, while her feet remained perched upon the branch she broke.
Sucking in a breath, Gavin's lips sputtered, "I was...trying to help, um..."
"You were gonna get smooshed by this thing," she said, emphasizing the fact by stomping her foot down on the branch and causing it to wiggle. He hadn't considered the falling tree as well, just thought to...be the hero. "Could you get out of the way so I can drop it?"
Nodding his head, Gavin scrunched back off the ground, suddenly aware of how cold, wet, and muddy his stomach felt. With a groan he looked down to find brown muck smeared all along the front of himself. It looked like someone grabbed a knife and tried to butter him but used mud instead. Even worse, the dampness was seeping in against his skin, making him feel more unclean with every breath.
A loud whumph shattered the air as the branch finally collapsed to the ground. His eyes widened at the size of the thing, easily as far around as his thigh. If it'd hit him at that height... Myra descended much more gracefully, her toe touching upon the ground before she let the rest of her reach.
Her hair was a mess, leaves and branches stuck in the braid that the forest tried to unravel in her descent, or maybe while she was fleeing. It was hard to tell. Gavin staggered up to his feet, the mud thickening as he moved, but his eyes were on Myra's face. "Your cheek," he reached out a finger to skirt against the pile of freckles that were ripped open from a cut.
Myra touched it instead, then winced. After inspecting the blood on her fingers she jerked her chin at him, "You're not looking so good yourself."
"Yes," Gavin sighed, well aware that he'd have to wash all of his clothes before anyone would let him near. "I appear to have made a colossal mess and fool out of myself."
"No," Myra half smiled a moment, her cheeks lighting up, "I meant you have..." She reached over haphazardly towards him. Gavin froze, his lips barely parting when her fingers that felt as warm as the summer sun skirted against his cheek and back towards his jaw. Beating more erratically than when he slid across the ground in a foolish rescue, Gavin's heart was doing its best to burn the skin under Myra's fingers, but she'd moved backwards towards his neck. Oh Maker...
"Owe!" he hissed, pain radiating up his neck.
With a shrug, Myra leaned back to reveal a one inch thorn in her fingers. "This was stuck in your neck. I don't know what it is."
"Dart trees," Gavin sneered, his fingers pawing at the centimeter sized hole the damn thing left in his skin. "Nuisance things that pop up like mushrooms after a rainstorm. Only way to kill them is with fire."
"Is it poisonous?" her great green eyes widened, reminding him even more of the fields from home. Winds dancing through the alfalfa, Gavin hiding in the middle while reading so no one would find him.
Shaking himself awake, he sighed, "No, not poisonous just very, very poky."
Myra laughed at that, tossing the wooden dart thorn over her shoulder, "Sorry, I don't mean to laugh at you. More the dart thing being...it seemed like one of those things that would be highly deadly, you know. And then there's a race against time to save you because there's only one known cure across..." She clicked her teeth together and bounced her hands, "It's probably not so funny when you'd be the one stuck in a coma. Forget I said anything."
Her hands dropped back down to her sides, but they kept nervously twitching to grab onto her pants as if she wanted to fiddle with them but knew better. Wiping a hand over his forehead, Gavin snorted a moment and tipped his head back. It was a long walk back to the campsite, and he could already feel his clothes hardening to pottery courtesy of the mud slapped on them.
"Actually," he lifted a shoulder and smiled at her, "it is kinda funny."
For a moment she smiled back before Myra whipped her head away and stared around at the trees. "Damn it, it's gonna take me forever to find another way up."
"Myra," he reached over, grabbing onto one of her hands. Her eyes followed the trail from their tether up to his eyes and she sneered. "Can you walk with me for a bit? Talk?"
"Why? You got some big, important issue weighing on your chest you just have to get out?"
Gavin pressed his free hand into the mud on his torso, the palm sinking deep enough to leave an imprint and he sighed, "Yes, I do."
Her lips parted in surprise, no doubt she expected him to only want her to r
eveal whatever was eating her alive -- aside from the multitude of insects in the forest. At least the mud was good for providing a slight barrier. Gavin swung their conjoined hands around a bit, struggling to think of what to say next.
Sadly, Myra's willingness to extend him a courtesy only reached so far. "Well," she wave her free hand at him, "what is it?" She sounded peeved, but she didn't tug her hand from his grasp. If anything she shifted her fingers to fit perfectly with his.
Gavin nodded his head, trying to tell her that there was something and it would come. Staring down the boggy ground, he began to walk forward, needing to move while doing it. Still keeping tethered to his hand, Myra started to follow beside. "It's about--"
"Don't tell me it's a girl," Myra interrupted, "because right now..."
"No," Gavin smiled, then frowned, "well, she is a woman, but..." Myra frowned deep at that. "It's my Knight."
"Oh," her glare lifted, the girl scrabbling through the mud to walk beside him. "Did she order you to move a mountain rock by rock?"
"She...she hates me," Gavin gasped out, the words burning up his throat as they came.
"Come on," Myra laughed, "no one hates you. You're like uncut niceness distilled down into pure gallantry. If anyone wanted to do a portrait of a vision of perfect chivalry it'd be you. Kind, prone to feats of stupid bravery, a body that's...um," her words faded as she glared down at her shoes.
Gavin felt his entire skin blushing from her thoughts, most of which he could easily combat if he was in the mood. He was far from everything she seemed to consider him, but he had other issues weighing upon his head. "It's true, she hates me. She hates me because...she hates my father."
"Oh, that one. I know that one all too well," Myra brayed out a laugh, her head whipping back in the direction where they came from.
"I don't understand. She's formed this opinion of my dad, of her old commander, that is nowhere close to reality. And because of that, she's..."
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