"Gavin," he turned in surprise to find her still standing there, her lips pursed in thought. "My Mom, when girls would come to her because they'd been..." her eyes darted over to his storming face, the mere thought of the word bringing more churning to his guts. "Pressed upon," she amended, even though he knew what she thought, "they'd be inconsolable, thinking that they'd lost something precious, something they could never get back."
Her sharp green eyes fell upon him, truth itself burning inside the meadowy fields, "She'd say that there's no such thing as one virginity. That there's a never ending supply. Cause you're a virgin with everyone. And every first time with someone new, you lose it with them, but it's a drop in the bucket compared to the infinite out there. I always liked that one more."
It did sound nice, how little something so important could matter. Myra swiped back her hair, pinning it behind her ears. She moved to leave him to his misery, Gavin uncertain if he should bottle his feelings into drilling or chew them to pieces alone in his tent. Perhaps both were called for after this.
"And," she stuck her head back in, speaking her last words to him, "I don't think you're dirty."
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Blood of Friendship
He buried himself in work finding that the easiest and most acceptable form of self flagellation. Ser Daryan wasn't even asking for him, Gavin taking on duties from sun up to sundown without thought. He didn't want to have time to think, or -- cruelest of all -- feel. For nearing a week, he barely noticed calluses turning to blisters or tears to his skin ripping open with each dawn. Doing something helped, sitting still was a reminder that he'd...failed again.
Would he ever be able to trust himself? To know that what he wanted he truly wanted instead of his foolish self being led astray by his body's lusts?
No wonder they all called him farm boy, or abbey. He was as credulous as a newborn babe.
"Whoa," Snowy's voice interrupted Gavin's dour thoughts, the dwarf skittering back in surprise at the boy attempting to do anything with his hands. "Sorry, just didn't expect you in here." He waved his hands around their tent, as if Gavin needed reminding of where he sat.
The only response he gave was to grunt and return to knotting up a pile of shirts. It'd make packing faster when they finally moved out, whenever that was. Perhaps the Princess mentioned it when he was around, he couldn't be certain. Gavin wasn't really capable of listening much these past few days. It hurt to focus.
"Every time I turn around you're off on another back breaking job. I mean I knew your Knight hated you, but...that's some dedicated hate there," Snowy continued to jabber. He could call him off, but it was nice to have something to break up the pressing silence.
Shrugging off his sheet of mail, the dwarf crumpled to his legs to sit upon the bedroll. Out of his pocket he fished up a small green apple, no doubt nicked from one of the elves trees. Gavin glanced over a moment to watch Snowy unearth a small knife and begin to slice off a sliver of the skin. He didn't eat it, but tossed the skin to the ground before slowly peeling the rest.
"Gotta watch out for poison seeped into the skin," he explained at Gavin's staring. In truth, he didn't really wonder why the dwarf was doing it but found the information curious. "If they did, it'll go brown fast inside but the skin stays bright green or red. Here," he twisted the peeled fruit to show flesh as white as snow. "Safe."
Gavin snickered at the simplicity while Snowy bit deep into his apple. No doubt he was the one to yank it off a tree, hardly necessitating a need to check for poison. But maybe he just preferred them without skins and wanted something fun to tell Gavin.
"Haven't seen your pretty girl around much. Can't imagine the mischief she gets around to without..." Snowy's pondering faded as he caught Gavin fully shrinking into his chest at the mention of Myra. "Ah," the dwarf slapped his apple to a crate and spun to face him, "shit, abbey. Don't tell me...."
"Things did," Gavin sucked in a breath to steady his voice, "not work out." It was the first time he had to admit it aloud. Few people knew, or cared, that he and Myra were anything turned to nothing. Maker, how was he going to tell his mother?
Snowy reached over to pat him on the shoulder in consolation. The dwarf twisted his head to the side and asked, "Did she dump you for someone funnier?"
Whipping his head over, Gavin froze, "No. No she didn't... Why would you think that?"
"That one always seems to be getting up to mischief, just thought..." he shook his thought away and turned his storm grey eyes upon his roommate, "Ne'er mind. Obviously not right."
"I did it," the words popped on his tongue like vinegar. "I...chose to end it." He could feel the question weighing on Snowy's mind. They'd been giddy fools right before it happened. What could have possibly occurred? Why would he do it? Blessed Andraste, he did not want to tell anyone else. It was bad enough Myra knew. Would she ever be able to look at him again? At least without pity in her eyes?
The dwarf scooted closer a moment and sighed, "That's the shits, it is. Hurts no matter what, really. I'm sorry."
"You..." Gavin burned his eyes into him, but there was only sincerity there, "Thank you. I..."
"Feels like ya got your chest kicked in by a bronto. That someone gutted ya like a fish and left your entrails dangling through the trees."
"As if I drank fire and waded into pitch," he mumbled curling his hands up to his face. There were no tears, but his cheeks had been burning since Myra left his tent. It was a shame that would never evaporate from his soul.
Tapping his knife into his boot, Snowy distracted Gavin. The handle to the blade was very fancy, and looked as if it was carved from bone. A scene of dwarves fighting against an enemy graced the side closest to Gavin. He wanted to ask about that, when Snowy slipped it back into his pocket without thought.
"If'n ya want, I can head out there and do your chores for you. I doubt Daryan will notice. She's been stuck standing by her Highness while they all play nice with elves."
"No, that's...I'd rather go out to chop firewood, if it's all the same. It's a good distraction."
"I hear ya," Snowy patted him across the shoulders then slumped back. Yanking into his pack, he unearthed an amber bottle. "And when you get back, we can get ourselves the proper broken up drunk."
Gavin smiled at the thought, less so the execution. He'd been down that road once before, it didn't help. Nothing did but time, which could cruelly be ripped away without a moment's notice. Would this wound ever heal?
Staggering to his knees, Gavin began to exit out of his shared tent, when Snowy sat up. "Hey," he rolled his tongue through his mouth a moment before speaking, "abbey, it'll be okay. I mean, look at you. You can probably pull down a proper Arlessa or something looking like that."
His smile strained, Gavin dipping his head in thought. He didn't want an Arlessa. He didn't fall for Myra because she was the daughter of the King. And it was doubtful many other women would put up with his bumbling words and call them adorable. Nodding his head, he slid out of the tent and walked the long trail up to the New Dales.
Around the gate stood two elves in full armor, green as the forest around them and very foreign looking. Their eyes darted to Gavin, but they remained in a relaxed pose, used to the humans coming and going from the caravan. He tried to wave to them, but felt foolish for the thought.
The village was arranged not like a typical city, there wasn't really a rich district at the highest hill. Nor a poor one placed beside a garbage heap or sewage dump. Instead it was based upon needs. A massive long house filled with tables and roaring fires made up their kitchens and eating places. It sat near the river banks, offering a lovely view that was only interrupted by the open structure of the launderers and the potters. Houses, as much as they could be called them, circled around the kitchens. Elves would often dash from one to the other, gathering whatever they needed for the meal.
Even decades out from being the Dalish, they never stopped working as one. He wondered how long that would last.
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br /> There were a few homes with walls, meant for the elderly and ailing, but he noticed a couple further in the distance with elves that didn't care much to interact in the longhouses. A population grows too large and the idyllic dream seems impossible. More people amplifies more problems, or so his father would say while grumbling about their lagging guard service. They didn't even have a house to store the weapons, nor a gate to lock them up.
What would his mother think of the Dalish? She mentioned them once, something about werewolves but nothing beyond that. Did she find them idealistic or naive? A real hope for something other than the bannorn and toiling away on farms? Or, as many whispered, an experiment guaranteed to end in failure? Perhaps that was what he should write to ask her. It'd certainly fill up so many pages, he wouldn't have time to go into his personal life. Not for another week, at least.
It was a silly lie, but it might work. At least she'd be kind about it when learning the truth. Trailing the sunline, Gavin turned to the west. Through the trees that teetered at strange angles to find root in dead soil, past roads littered with none save a single nag taking her master home rested his parent's abbey. His home.
His heart squeezed at the thought, of how if he were back there he'd be bundling up the haying to let it dry out. Then, after ladling cool well water onto his piping hot back, he'd be treated to his mother's cooking. In this heat, her favorites were a sort of summer squash soup and a bread made with millet and ground up corn. She told him once that her mother would make the same when she was a girl. When Gavin asked what his grandparents were like his mom went very quiet and changed the subject. It wasn't until he was older that he understood she didn't have an answer, because she didn't get to know them.
Home. The simple life.
Groaning, he plucked up a log of downed wood and placed it onto the tree trunk. It was practically routine as he lined up the grain, lifted the splitting maul onto his shoulders, and brought it down. The wood splintered right in half, one end collapsing to the ground while the other tipped over onto the trunk. Gavin knocked it aside and picked up a new log.
If he got the motion right, he could do this for a few hours. There probably weren't enough logs to keep him busy, but it'd take away his thoughts. His eyes on the stump, his arms with the swing, all Gavin's mind noticed save the fall of split firewood was the line of shadows lengthening as the sun stretched towards its sleep. Night was coming, which would leave him alone in his bed.
Which was what you wanted.
Was it?
Yes. You promised. You swore to yourself.
Two years ago.
What if you gave in and she hurt you? How could you stand to be around Myra after that? How could you stand yourself for letting it happen?
A laugh that used to bring a smile to his lips echoed through the clearing. Surprised, Gavin turned to find nearly an entire party broke out beside the river. There were dozens of elves, quite a few of the caravan, and her... She was smiling, her cheeks rosy as if from a run, and her hair loose. There was a soft knot at the bottom, a green ribbon trailing at the ends, but she didn't braid it. Was it too much work, or...?
Myra was standing beside two dalish elves, both male, and some of the girls that worked predominantly with the launders. He'd spoken to them on occasion, they seemed nice. One elf sat back a bit, his hips planted into a sawed off tree trunk as if he was trying to get as far from the festivities as possible while also belonging.
It was the other that had Gavin wringing his hands over the maul's handle. Hair bright as the sun, the blunt ends swished above his eyes -- which he kept batting away while focusing on Myra. She had her hands locked around a mug of something, but her body didn't lean away from the boy either.
Thin and wiry, as most elves were, his face was angular with cheekbones and large eyes that made the man look almost ethereal. As if one might blink and he'd vanish from view. "You have to try this," he laughed, his grubby fingers drifting near Myra.
She smiled in gratitude and accepted the second cup inside her first. Placing it to her lips, she tipped it back. The man's eyes lit up, his entire torso shifting closer while Myra quickly devoured whatever she was drinking. At the end, she proudly wiped the side of her mouth and smacked her lips.
"Blessed Creators!" the man cried, "you drank the whole thing?!"
Myra snickered and placed a hand to her hip, "Koomtra? I've been nipping that from my mom's stash since I was fifteen. This is actually good for Koomtra. Most of the alienage stuff tastes like ashes pissed on in old boots."
The trunk elf sneered, but the other one found it all delightful. He was smiling from the tips of his pointed ears down to his callous lips. As if absently trying to reach for a speck of dirt, his fingers bumped into Myra's elbow and then up her arm. She was too busy speaking with one of the servants to notice. Or did she notice and not care? Or worse?
It's not your problem.
Gavin hunkered deeper into his collar, wishing he had finished the blighted cloak even if it was too hot to wear. At least it'd be easier to vanish into instead of the linen flaps barely straining to touch his neck. Sweat glistened all along the nape of his neck and down his throat, practically pooling into a brown puddle in his collarbones. Despite the heat the Dalish seemed content, not even bending to it while they were dressed in full leathers.
They probably didn't sweat either.
Another silly laugh broke from the gathering and Gavin turned back to his work. He made certain to keep his head focused as far from them as possible. But even the swing of the axe wouldn't stop the voices chattering behind, all of them in high spirits.
"What about this?"
"Maker's sake, are you trying to get me blitzed? Cause if so, this ain't gonna do it."
"Charming," a voice rolled in sarcasm, but the next answered as if it was real.
"She is fascinating."
"Blessed creators, Fanti, tell me you've brought respite," the trunk elf cried, no doubt flapping a hand and begging to be rescued from the flirting.
Gavin growled at the thought, but that's what was going on. No doubt about it. The man was clearly interested in Myra and felt no reason to defer his affections. And why should he? She's as free as a bird, remember? You made it so.
His heart shattered against his mind, each beat reminding him that it wasn't broken but angry and growing more raging with each thought. The idea of that elf touching her burned in his eyes, and when it leapt to him attempting to touch her lips or... What if she chose him? Myra made it clear what she wanted, what Gavin refused against all common sense, and there was no reason it couldn't be some unearthly elf in the New Dales to offer it to her.
He couldn't decide if he wanted to scream, stab someone, or cry, when a hand landed upon Gavin's shoulders. The maul hung suspended above his head, about to crash down into...he now realized an empty stand. Still holding it up, he turned to find Myra with a cup in hand. Her bright green eyes blinked a moment and she winced as if staring into the sun.
"Uh..." Gavin glanced up at the weapon he had in his arms and blushed. Dropping it to the ground like a fool, it nearly crashed into his foot. "Sorry, I was...I didn't hear you. I was working."
"I noticed," she didn't smile but she didn't frown either. "Here," Myra extended her cup to him. Uncertain, Gavin accepted it and stared down at what looked like a thick black liquid. "You looked hot, er, sweaty from all the wood stuff. And I thought, it's supposed to, umbity bum." Her lips popped and Myra spun to stare up helplessly at the sky.
In the dark reflection he could see himself, the whites of his eyes and teeth the strongest to appear. But both looked broken and beaten, his eyes hooded and the teeth barely evident as no smile would raise his lips. "What is it?" Gavin asked, jabbing a finger to the concoction.
"Blackberry wineish, kinda like if you took brandy then mashed it with wine. It's good, if you like blackberries. I never thought to ask so this may have been stupid..." Myra reached over as if to take it back but Gavin nestled the cup
to his chest.
"No, I -- I quite enjoy blackberries. Most berries." At her assurance he placed the cup to his lips. The first glug was sour, like vinegar stripping away paint, but after that a sweetness danced upon his tongue and down his throat. An aftertaste erupted that was as bold as a red wine but with a touch of almost meadow flowers in it.
"Most berries?" Myra folded a hand to her hips and cocked her head. "So are you saying there's one berry you really despise?"
Wiping off his lips and finding a strip of purple left upon his brown hand, Gavin shrugged, "More a matter of discretion. There's probably a berry in thedas I don't like, even if I haven't found it yet."
Her eyes lit up and a whisper of a laugh broke, "The poisonous ones, right. Hard to be a big fan of those."
"I don't know. What do they taste like?" he felt it too, his lips tugging up into a smile. He wanted to pretend everything was fine, his heart ached for it. But if everything was fine, he'd curl his fingers against her cheek and plant a purple kiss to her lips. Instead, Gavin helplessly patted the bottom of the cup while his eyes darted around the setting. It was a nice day. And that would be the line certain to end whatever thread they had left.
Myra tugged on the front of her hair, absently mussing up the part and tossing each end to a new side. She was as uncertain of what to say or do as he was. Staring down at the cup, Gavin suddenly thrust it at her. A pain burned through her eyes when he spoke, "Thank you, for the drink. It was...thoughtful."
"Yeah, you looked, I mean chopping wood is never..." Accepting it, Myra too began to knock her knuckles up and down the white clay of the mug. There was nothing left to say, both of them feeling the moment fade away.
With a shrug, Gavin hefted up the maul, when Myra spoke fast, "It's friendship wine, brandy, some elfy word I never learned." He turned to look at her over his shoulder, but she was staring off in the distance unable to look at him. A small burn highlighted her freckles which he never did have the chance to count. "I thought, wanted you to...hoped that. Andraste's tits I'm bad at this."
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