"Myra!" her mother hissed, but it was too late.
Salt blinding her, Myra tore at the door. It nearly buckled in its rusty hinges at her weight shoving it open and freeing her into the night. She didn't know where she was going, she didn't care. All she knew was that she had to get away.
While her feet beat into the stones that mocked her, that held the lie of her true birth same as everyone in her life, Reiss ran out into the street. She couldn't hope to catch up to her taller, faster daughter, but she lifted her hands to her mouth and shouted, "Myra Sayer Theirin!"
The magic was broken, the full name that used to stop her in the her tracks was dead. She wasn't Myra Sayer Theirin. She didn't know who she was.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Locked
"Mother, please..."
He tried to slide away but she already managed to fish out four more letters from her pocket. Lana had been peppering him in them ever since Gavin found the courage to speak near her at the dance. Once they were dismissed from duty, while the rest of the squires dashed off into the night (no doubt to hit up a tavern away from prying Knight eyes) he fell into step behind his mother and father. More than a few people tipped their heads to the old war general, while nearly everyone ignored the woman hanging off of Gavin's arm and trying to scrub his cheeks clean.
"I swear, he tells it better. You have to read it in his own hand," she began again, attempting to shove at him what was the same story told five times over by the various healers and templars living back home. Gavin's undoing was asking how things were out there.
"Lana," his father reached over to her and smoothly scooped up the letters. "He has other problems to deal with. I think 'That time we all watched a wyvern leap into the horse trough' can be shelved."
Gavin expected his mother to sigh, pluck the parchment free, then hand it to her son, but she cuddled tighter to her husband instead. Their rooms in the old Arl's estate were lovely, allowing a view of the palace from out a window they weren't in but near. His mother nuzzled her lips against his father's barely shaved cheek before she glanced around at their surroundings.
"Did I ever tell you that I was here during the Blight?"
"In Denerim?" Gavin scoffed, "I think we all knew that, Mom."
His mother glared at the impudence, "You manage to save one kingdom and suddenly start to think you can sprout some lip. When you get to three, then we can talk. And I meant here, specifically. This very room."
"Oh?" They sat at a small table, his father having pulled over a spare chair while the three in their small family caught up. There wasn't much new from his parent's side, though they hung on Gavin's every word while he retold the same tales in his letters home.
His Mom didn't like to talk about the Blight, not in any specifics. She'd give a few speeches every once in awhile overladen in battle gained aphorisms, maybe purse her lips about someone in particular who angered the Amell blood. But while she glanced around the room she softened as if the years smoothed out the wrinkles, oiled up her joints, and colored the grey.
"Alistair was in this one. That was where he..." she pointed towards one of dozens of bookcases that looked the same. Suddenly, her eyes darted over to the man sitting by her side always. "Where he chose to be king," she stated a simple bit of trivia for Ferelden, but there was an undercurrent rippling in the air while Lady and Lord Rutherford shared a look. Whatever it was, Gavin suspected he'd never understand.
After brushing her fingers against Cullen's cheek, she smiled serenely. "They did change the dining room again, though. Seems no one's ever happy about that thing."
"How long will you be in town?" Gavin said, trying to change the subject. The past seemed to be mired in constant quagmires for both his parents. While his mother was not a fan of speaking about the blight, his father positively refused to make any mention of it. There were other missteps too, particularly when Aunt Hawke was around.
"Not very," his mom waved her hand to dismiss it. "So you need not worry about us getting under foot."
"You just came for the King's birthday," Gavin said slowly, well aware of the obvious lie.
"Is it so wrong for me to want to see my son?" she reached over to grip onto his hands and worry both in her fingers. How many times did his mother run her middle finger from the base of his wrist all the way to the tip of each finger, teaching him to scrub off after potion making? She adored touching hands, often turning people's over as if to read their lives clutched in a palm. Or perhaps to see if anyone was trying to steal a dye from her alchemy room.
Gavin could shake it off. Insist to her and his father that he was an adult, he had a job to do, and their doting would only make it much harder.
You feared death's skeletal hand would pluck you from this world times uncounting.
You stared into the lifeless eyes of your friend and fought through the void to save his mother.
You had your heart shattered in your chest by your own foolish past.
Leaning forward fast, Gavin caught his mother in a hug. She was so surprised, her hands caught between them while he buried his face into her. How did she smell of home? This many days out, weeks riding across country but it wasn't horse and the smelters of Denerim wafting off her. Mountain honeysuckle, his father's special mead brew that no one else drank for how bad it was, the haying left drying by the sun, and a tincture of iodine plus witch hazel. That wasn't just his mother, it was everything he left behind for this.
"Sweetie," she whispered to him, her head pivoting to no doubt find his father's eyes. A hand landed on Gavin's back, not to free his mother, but to try and comfort him.
"I missed you," Gavin sputtered out, glancing to his father, "both of you. All of you. Home and..." He leaned back, hoping childish tears didn't rise in his eyes. It'd been months, homesickness should have fled his bones by now.
"We missed you too," Cullen said in his crackling voice. Age splintered it like a maul slicing into firewood.
"And, when you get a chance, you can always come out to visit," his mom smiled. "The residents would adore seeing you again."
"There's always the back forty too," his dad added, the hand still rubbing into his shoulder as if he was all of nine and terrified about having to watch a baby fennic die in his arms.
"You planted this year? I thought you intended to leave it fallow."
His dad turned, his eyes lighting up at talking shop with his son, "A new seed crop came in from further north, and..."
"Okay," Lana interrupted, "there is plenty of time for this tomorrow. I assume you'll be okay with us stopping by and saying hello? Visiting with this Knight of yours a bit."
"Uh," while he assumed his parents would find him on the palace grounds, no doubt while she was meeting with the King, he didn't want his mother anywhere near Ser Daryan. Judging by the sly look, she already had formed an opinion of the woman and it wasn't good. "We'll see. Everyone's a bit busy, but...I should return."
"Let's walk with you," his mom said and she twisted around to find her cane.
"Mother, no, you don't have to..." Gavin tried to stop her, but as far too many learned too late, there was little in thedas that could impede Lana.
"It will do me good, standing then sitting for a long time can cause cramps. Right?" she turned to her husband who already had a solid grip to her arm. Gavin knew she was exhausted, but if it came to it, his father would carry her. At least there weren't many steps between here and the palace.
With Lana leading, Cullen a step behind but clinging to her, and Gavin shambling at the back the three made their way to the palace. It was a gentle talk and he realized that his parents weren't speaking over him. There was nothing about how he'd understand later, or that he had to do this and that, and it was assumed he'd fall in line. His mother asked that he write more often, which was no surprise, and that he give Myra a few books she managed to sneak into a party.
But that was it. She asked. Gavin never felt older in his life than watching his father's e
yes hunt across his son, notice the marks in his uniform and weapon, and say nothing. They gifted him trust.
After the summer's pitfalls, he wasn't certain if he deserved it.
"Huh, that's strange," his mother said coming to a stop. "The gate's closed." She wrapped her hands around the bars and gave a little tug but nothing happened.
His father did the same, yanking harder despite the lock clearly being in place. "One of that man's jokes?" he growled.
"I don't see how," his mother's easy going mood shattered in an instant. Shrewd eyes darted around the courtyard up to the windows. There was little movement inside, few fires awake and quite a handful of heavy curtains drawn. A bit surprising for an after-party, but perhaps a lot of the festivities wandered down to a tavern.
"Gavin," she called to him, "do you know those men?" He followed her point to a pair of bulldogs in armor. There was no other way to describe them. They looked as if they'd been in bar fights that required the use of their teeth and claws to survive more than once.
"No," he shook his head, his hands gripping tight to the bars that cut him off from his home. Cut off all of Denerim from the palace. What was going on? The King never closed this as far as he knew. Not that he'd been here too long, but it seemed a bit strange after a birthday party to lock the doors with guests still inside.
"Their armor," Lana said, her voice cold and dissecting, "it bares no crest, it's as cookie cutter as one can get when shopping off the rack."
His father stood in behind her, glaring into the darkened courtyard. "We need to get inside. Now."
"Yes," she tapped a finger to her chin and a dusting of sparkle magic trailed it, but his dad cupped her hand.
"Lana..."
"How do you propose we break down a gate? Did you bring a spare battering ram in your pants?" she turned on him, her eyes blazing. Literally, the fire of the fade rose inside of her body. She was prepared to warp the metal, melt it to nothing, blow it apart, and in general make a big show of it all.
"You will call every single shady mercenary down upon us and we are not armed."
"I have an idea," Gavin said whipping his head back to scour the street.
"Maker's breath, Cullen. This could be an invasion. Or worse. Is this about you fearing my magic or not wanting to save him?" his mother ignored Gavin's comment, turning on his father instead.
The man groaned, "Neither. It's simple tactics. We don't have an army behind us. They will just barricade it further, requiring you to produce more fire, bringing even more of whoever they are to us."
"Andraste's Blood!" Gavin slapped his hands together, trying to get the two generals who fought in very different wars to look at him. "I know who can get inside without blowing open the gate." Both his parents blinked, the magic in his mom fading fast as they mulled over his idea. Turning towards the street, Gavin added, "I just pray she's not trapped inside with everyone else."
His first stop was the agency, where an older elven lady with black hair said, "Those two were hissing at each other like cats. They're off running down the streets. Just listen for the yelling."
Gavin didn't have a lot of yelling to go off of, Denerim quiet as the hour shifted from midnight to the new day. He tried to talk his mother and father into waiting back at the agency, but neither would hear of it. Of course. So much for trust. Their opinion of him must have been rather low as they kept questioning his idea but without explicitly stating he was a fool for having it.
"Anyone who can get in...?"
"It'd be tricky. I'm not certain how one could make it over a fence such as that."
"There'd be guards all around, right at the drop off..."
Gavin shook it off, breaking into a run as a thought popped into his head. There were a lot of places in Denerim, hundreds that she could vanish into. The Alienage? Maker, he'd never find her in there. The chantry? Its doors remained open, light spilling onto the street, but that seemed highly unlikely.
In spinning around, while attempting to head back towards the palace as if they might manage to jimmy the gate open, an idea struck him. It was a long shot, but Gavin didn't have many options in his quiver. He left his parents shambling and arguing behind to run up the stairs of the memorial she first brought him to what felt a lifetime ago.
It wasn't until Gavin reached the door and yanked it open an inch, that he knew he guessed right.
"Don't you lecture me!" a voice screamed and the other answered back.
"Look who's talking, you're practically a gold plated, hundredth level lecturer."
Throwing his shoulder into the door, he ran into the Hero of Ferelden's memorial while shouting, "Myra!"
She sat perched at the foot of his mother's statue, both knees drawn tight to her chin while a blonde elf paraded around in a circle. Both women turned to him, the same green eyes narrowing in a rage when Gavin began to sense the new quagmire he stepped into.
"What...?" Myra tried to scrub her eyes clean. Had she been crying? "What are you doing here?"
"Something's wrong at the palace."
She looked about to hop down, but at his words paused and rolled her eyes. "What do I care?" she snorted. "Not as if I belong there."
"Myra, I swear to the Maker Himself..."
"The gates," Gavin tried to wedge himself in between a mother and daughter spat. About as wise as getting between two wolverines but he had no choice. "The gates to the palace."
The woman, Reiss, whipped her head at him and Gavin felt himself shrink a foot at her glare. "What about them?"
"They're locked," he said.
Myra's eyes popped open wide, her lips trembling at the enormity of the situation, when Reiss began to circle him. "Locked? They're never locked."
"Barred, no one's allowed entrance. There's not even anyone at the gate and..." Gavin tried to shake off the older elven woman about to tear him to pieces. "Myra, there are people in armor standing around whom I've never seen."
"Mercenaries," Reiss spat at the ground. Suddenly, her head shot up and she paled considerably. "A coup? Now? Alistair!"
"Myra, can you sneak in? I know you can climb damn near anything but..."
Gavin turned away from begging for her help at the sound of the door opening. Into the marble and glass mausoleum of the woman his mother once was stepped Lana and the man who adored her. His father's eyes went right to the statue and the face of a woman gritting from the strain of nations on her shoulders. His mother, oddly, focused on the back wall.
"Lord and Lady Rutherford," Reiss froze, her head dropping to both.
"Has my son informed you of the severity of the situation?" his father struck upright, a hand dangling down towards his hip as if a sword rested there. Reiss nodded her head while his mother wandered towards the back away from them all. The whack of her cane striking the stone floor echoed off the onyx likeness looming above them. Each knock reverberated through Gavin's teeth.
"He thinks your daughter is the only one capable of making it over the gate," Cullen continued, his eyes darting to Myra who remained perched at the foot of the statue.
She glanced back and blanched at what was probably a faux pas. As honorably as possible, Myra scampered off of Lana Amell's feet to land on the ground. Gavin tried to lean closer and whispered, "Are you all right?"
Myra's striking eyes rose to his and she bit onto her lip. She looked like a woman pulled from the sea by a fishing net, barely clinging to life. Fighting down the urge to comfort her with a hug, Gavin locked his hands around the sword on his hip.
"My?" Reiss turned to her daughter who was staring through the world at nothing. "My, you might be our only hope. If Alistair, if they're doing this now he won't see it coming. We need you to..."
"Yeah," she nodded her head rapidly, her nose flaring as she sucked in a breath. On a copper, her eyes narrowed and she glared at her mother, "Of course I'll do it. Why wouldn't I? Come on," Myra extended a hand towards the door, "we have to hurry before anything bad happens to Dad."
; Perhaps it was his imagination but she seemed to wince at the end of her sentence, but Myra wrung her hands out against her thighs and moved out of the memorial. Gavin was about to follow, when he caught his father standing stock still and glaring into the shadows. Right, his mother. What was she...?
"Are we all ready to save the King?" she asked, her head tipped to the side. Reaching out quickly, Lana grabbed Cullen's arm and both fell into step as the small army prepared to head for war.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Shattered
Tonight was going just fantastic!
Who wouldn't want to learn your Dad wasn't your real father, have a row to nearly end all rows with your lying mother, then get dragged back to the scene of the crime because maybe someone decided now was when to threaten her not-father? Myra wanted to laugh and scream at the same time, but she settled for running instead. The pounding against her feet and ache in her lungs could both be attributed to the hard ground instead of her heart crumbling to dust.
By the time they reached the palace, Myra's breath was practically billowing out of her nose. She tipped her head back to gaze at the imposing gates that never once closed to her. The lights of the palace strained through the shut front doors, revealing polished helms standing eerily in a row as if waiting for orders.
"Hey," Myra reached a hand through the bars and tried to wave. "Hey, let me in!" she shouted. Eyes sized her up, the hairs on the back of her neck rising at the attention even if she couldn't see a thing through the darkness, but no one shifted out of their formation. No one came towards her. No one wanted to say that this was all a joke or misunderstanding. Her dad was fine, slipped in the tub or a big rat got into his room and they were trying to talk him out of adopting it.
"Rude," she said, clinging tooth and nail to the brevity in her soul. Staring at the unnatural line of guards who clearly didn't belong here was doing a number on it.
Beside her Gavin came to a standstill. He'd been doing a pretty good job of keeping up until the last bit when Myra sprinted ahead. "Blessed Andraste," he cursed, his head tipped up, "nothing's changed. I hoped..."
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