"What? What are you talking about?"
"Said my goodbyes to Mom and the gang, Dad, Bryn, Dad again, the siblings, Dad one last time and road out on the wagon until we got to a turn in the road. Leaped off the back and dashed out here."
"Myra, are you trying to run...?"
"Don't be such a worrywart," she waved her hand through the air and, as if it always belonged there, gripped onto his upper arm to calm him. "It's a slow as snot cart. I can catch up to it before it's even made it out of Denerim. I just..." She swallowed hard, her head tipping down while her cheeks burned, "I wanted to say goodbye to you without, without everyone around making a thing about it. That's all."
"Okay," he nodded, glad he wasn't partial to her attempting to flee into the countryside. "I'm glad," Gavin smiled wistfully, "because I wanted to see you one last time too."
Myra smiled bitterly before wrinkling her nose, "I mean, it's not forever, right. A couple years or so up north studying hard. And I'll write all the time."
He tipped his head at her, his lips flattened.
"I swear! I will, every week. Just you see. To you, to mom, to dad. Maybe I can bundle up mom and dad's into one to save on time. Bryn." Myra paused in running out her list of duties as her eyes darted up through her lashes. "I don't want to stop being friends or be as dumb as I was before."
Gavin smiled sweetly even as his heavy heart hung precariously in his chest. "I don't want that either. I mean, I do want to be your friend. I just..." he winced, the words falling from him fast. Myra found it rather humorous, the girl tugging her hand up to her nose and swiping at it as if to say 'I get ya.'
"Well," she turned to glance back at the door, "that druffalo might be slow but it's not dead yet."
"Oh!" he held up a hand for her and picked up the parcel. "Wait a moment. This is..." Aware his voice leaped into the octave of a pre-teen, Gavin tried to drag it back down while laying the package flat in his arms. "This is for you."
"Okay...?" Myra plucked it up and twisted it around a moment, the question growing on her face. Seeming to be certain nothing wild would leap out, she ripped off the paper in one clean go. Ruffling her fingers over the patch of brown fur, Myra gasped, "Is this...?"
With a roll of her hands, she unfurled the cloak. Wool dyed a soft green tumbled to the ground while the brown fur of all the rabbits that fed the caravan circled the collar to keep the wearer warm. "But I thought," she snickered in confusion, her fingers petting the soft fur, "I thought you were making it for you."
"It's far too narrow for my frame," Gavin explained while glancing a hand off of his creation, "I always meant it to be for you. As a birthday present, but then I realized I wouldn't see you then so I had to finish it now. I'm, I'm sorry it's not very fancy and it's just a bit of fur sewn to wool. You can find anything better in the stocks of a merchant on the road...."
His apology faded as Myra swung the cloak up around her shoulders. The soft, brown fur cupped her cheeks while the green that matched her eyes caressed down her body. "Gavin," she smiled wide at him, "I love it."
Forgetting the distance between them, Myra leaned close and puckered her lips to his cheek. He closed his eyes tight, his breath stilling to imprint the last feel of her touch. When it broke from his skin, a cool autumn breeze about to turn to winter filling its place, he opened his eyes. Bright green meadows gazed right beside him.
How easily he could scoop her up in his arms. Cover her in kisses. Forget everything he promised himself, every duty binding up his heart, every wish she had for her life and lay with her right here with only the cloak for a cushion against the cold ground.
Glancing down at his shoes, Gavin whispered, "I'm glad you like it."
She smiled, the moment fading as soon as it appeared. Myra slid back to a safer distance but couldn't stop petting the furry collar to keep her warm. "I do. It's very thoughtful and warm. I feel a right arse for not getting you anything now."
"You'll be at the college, I could always use a rune or two."
"Blighted practical. See, this is why you need me around. I'll be the one to get you a helmet full of fairy floss or something fun. Everyone else can give you the practical gifts," she said with a laugh but it dented and warped from reality. His birthday would arrive soon while she'd be starting the next chapter of her life, as would he. There was no changing that, not that either of them really wished to.
"You should probably go, so you don't have to run all the way out of the city," he wouldn't let himself tear up while saying goodbye. Myra deserved a strong front.
"Yeah," she tugged at her hair that was back in its braid. "I guess I should. It's been great," she reached out with her hand and he took it. They didn't shake, that seemed too informal, but he held her tiny fingers for a few beats while they stared into each other's eyes.
Hefting up her luggage, she jabbed a thumb behind her while she waltzed backwards. Her eyes wouldn't leave Gavin even as her body did. "I will write though. I swear. All the time, though...if you don't hear from me for a few weeks just send a curt message telling me to check my damn mail. In case. Things might get busy."
At the door she paused, her eyes drifting up and down his body. "Bye, Gavin."
"Goodbye, Myra," he waved as she spun on her heels and good on her word broke into a run to catch her abandoned ride. The wool cloak billowed out behind her like a green ribbon trailing that impossible girl.
It could have gone so much more different. He could have lied to himself, accepted the knighthood without question, bedded Myra when she wished and given her his heart. Perhaps even happily, he wasn't certain. Another life, it could have been a happy one -- much easier than what he faced ahead of himself now. But something told him this wasn't the last time he'd see her, that pretty girl from the city who gave him his first kiss.
His eyes darted up to the statue, his mother always gazing to the west to watch over Ferelden. With a spring in his step, he walked out into the light prepared to take on his duties with an open heart.
THE END
Epilogue
This is it.
The final tale of Lana, Cullen, Alistair, Reiss, Gavin, Myra, Rosie, Anjali, and the rest. The last period on a tale that started with a templar standing before a door terrified to enter. There will be tears. So many tears (I'm not kidding, I hold no punches here). But also laughs, smiles, hugs, love, hope. Life.
CHAPTER ONE
Home
Nowhere in all of Ferelden smelled of here. Nor other parts of thedas he'd been sent on missions to, come to think of it. Sweet as fresh hay, the earthy life he ran from wafted on the winds as any good farm in the Hinterlands would. But weaved into every cow hide sunning in the warmth was a static bolt of magic. It hissed through the very bones of the place, following on the trails of an almost sterile medicinal smell. It smelled as if one were to shove your head into a giant basket of recently plucked corn and then menthol in one go. He never realized how much of his life was spent with magic around him until he stepped away from it.
Nowhere was like the little abbey out in the woods of Redcliffe, and nowhere was quite like home.
As Gavin stepped through the gates, he anticipated his father to be wandering around outside doing his best to keep busy and not watch for him. It'd been awhile since he'd last visited, duty always keeping him tugged in a thousand different directions. His parents would somehow find time to sneak on back to Denerim and see their boy when they could, but it wasn't the same.
He'd been hoarding his leave, planning to head out to the farm in order to help during harvest. But then a letter arrived from his father asking rather cryptically if he'd consider a visit. Gavin put little thought to it for its vagueness, until the King popped his head in and all but dragged him out to the road. The entire week long trek he couldn't shake away the growing concern in his guts even as they bounced on the back of a horse.
By the bend around Lothering, he convinced himself that it was either darkspawn or a fire. Seeing as how the abbe
y walls were standing without a hint of ash anywhere, and there were none of those dark creatures chittering about, he was left uncertain. Perhaps his mother used her influence to get a wish from the King?
Wouldn't that be his luck? He wasn't of high rank but enough in the order knew he bore some strange halo about him. The Princess wouldn't make a great fuss about Gavin, but the King was a different matter entirely.
Heaving the traveling pack off his shoulders, Gavin stood in the courtyard that was whisper quiet. Afternoon, most people in hospice would be napping, while the fields were entering into a senescence themselves. The late summer heat tried to dig into his shoulders, most of the sweat already streaking down his back as he wrung against the neck of the traveling coat.
"Well, well," a voice called from the stables. Gavin turned but instead of his father, old Albert stood by the wayside.
The man was a scarecrow come to life, to the point he would on occasion have straw stuffed up his cuffs and no explanation to give. Lean face, gaunt in the cheeks, but with a haunting sparkle in his eyes, he'd been a staple around the abbey's farm for years.
"Young Master Gavin," Albert snickered before slapping a hand to his thigh. Dust erupted from the move, burning in the air. "Sorry, lookin' at ya, you ain't so young no more."
The man's finger jabbed towards the weeks worth of stubble that was leaning to a beard upon Gavin's jaw. He rubbed a palm over it and snickered. "There wasn't much of a chance to freshen up on the road."
"Get over here," Albert waved wide, his hands extended far. When Gavin fell into them for a congenial hug, the old man snickered, "Or should I be bowin' instead."
"No," Gavin stepped back, unable to stop the blush burning on his cheeks. "No, don't be silly."
"Ser Gavin," he drew his fingers in a circle over his chin while staring up at the man who couldn't cease fiddling with the scabbard at his side. "Expected you to be done up in all that fancy metal like a true Knight."
"We only wear that when facing down a foe, this..." Gavin tugged up the riding leathers with a bit of padding and splintmail, "this is the more typical Knight outfit."
"Suits you," Albert smiled wide, patting Gavin harder in the shoulder as if to test Ferleden's latest son. Suddenly his grin dimmed and the sparkling eyes clouded over, "Yer mom's real proud. Been telling everyone about it."
Gavin rolled his eyes and sighed, "That does not surprise me. Where's my father?"
"He's..." Albert swallowed hard, his head pivoting up to the second floor. The pit in Gavin's stomach opened wider as he realized the old farmhand was staring right at his parent's bedroom door.
"It's why I'm here," he shook off the dour thoughts in an instant, giving a bigger smile like a fool to throw Gavin off. "Your pa's had his hands full so brought me in early. Keepin' way too many mages in line is exhausting."
The man was clearly giving it his all to distract Gavin but the trepidation inside of him was growing larger with every beat of his heart. "Albert...?"
"Go and see yer Pa. You, uh," the scarecrow slunk back a bit, his fingers hefting up a pitchfork left lying in the sun. His father would have blown a blood vessel if Gavin had ever done something like that. Tools belonged in the shed, safe away from the elements.
What was going on that his father didn't even care about such things?
"Just head up, Gavy," Albert nodded his head and turned back to the hay that didn't need any stirring.
Flexing his fingers and doing his best to stop the hitch of a breath burning through his lungs like fiery acid, Gavin began what felt an unending climb up the stairs. Barely any doors opened, or were left open. There seemed to be fewer and fewer residences as the years went by. Some of that was due to his mother's skills, some to the march of time. It was hard to imagine this not being a place of healing, but who knew what the future could have in store. Perhaps it'd finally be a chance for his parents to retire properly, instead of their half assumed one when they moved out here.
He was trying to distract himself. To focus on other matters that didn't matter instead of the gaping hole burning in his brain. Doing his best to disguise the tremble in his fingers, Gavin clamped down on the door latch hard. It didn't entirely work, the lift rattling in his grip, but he prodded open the door and stepped into his parent's room.
Darkness seeped into the normally sunny bedroom. The shutters that were thick enough to stop the breath of the Maker were all drawn shut. A single candle danced upon a nightstand, casting a haunting glow upon the man sitting on a chair beside it. He had his head tipped down as if he was less catching a few winks than deep in prayer.
Gavin turned from his father to the bed, when all the fear he'd been carrying since leaving Denerim bloomed. Skin of a grey ash, her eyes sunken deep into the sockets, hair thin to the point it appeared as if clumps fell out, she looked as if she was already across the veil. Tucked into the great bed his father built, his mother looked so frail and tiny, like a quail bone about to snap in half.
He must have made a sound at the sight, as his father's head snapped up. It took a moment for the weary eyes to find the intruder before Cullen wiped across his face to try and snap a semblance of normalcy into it. "Gavin!" he called, the voice splintered in half. Turning to the weak body in bed, he whispered, "Lana, our son's come home."
Death drew its icy claws away from its hold on his mother as her lips rose from the news. Slowly, her eyelids opened and she stared in rapture at her boy left dumbstruck in the doorway. Cullen rose from the chair, his bones creaking and back hunched as he no doubt sat there for hours watching over her.
"Son," he moved to wrap a hand around Gavin, when the boy met him with both. Trapped in a full hug with his father, Gavin's heart gave out a single sob. It was only one, while a multitude sat chained inside, but his father tightened his grip. Did he not want Lana to see her boy come undone or was he trying to find his own strength from his son?
"We didn't think you'd be out here until later into the year," Cullen said. Scratchy stubble claimed most of his jawline, what used to be white as snow now an ashen grey from dirt he hadn't taken the time to clean off. The bags under his eyes lengthened down his cheeks and he teetered a bit from his underused legs.
Why didn't he tell him? Why didn't he warn him how dire things were?
Gavin wanted to scream them all at the man, but his father looked as if he too was about to drop from a dead faint. Trying to shake the anger away, he rubbed his neck, "I had a bit of a lull and thought it'd be nice to see you."
"We missed you," his dad said softly.
"Sweetie," the brittle voice cracked, but even the pain inside couldn't deny the joy on her lips. His mother struggled to sit up a bit, her head rising from the pillow as she took him in.
"Mom," Gavin tried to smile in response, but his stomach was tying itself in knots. How long had this been going on? And no one would tell him?
"Come sit by me," she turned to gaze at the vacant chair. By the candle light it looked as if his father's shadow was permanently etched into the surface. Gavin glanced over at Cullen, uncertain if it was wise, but he gestured a hand to it.
Bundling up his limp fingers, Gavin curled up onto the chair when he was struck by a far too familiar smell. Not of candies and cold tea, but rot and illness. His mother didn't seem to be aware of it, her head tipping a bit to the side as she looked up at him.
"Look at that beard, Maker's breath."
"I..." he absently scraped a hand over his jaw, "I didn't have a chance to shave it."
"It suits you," his mother smiled and nodded her head. "Far better than anything your father could ever grow." Instead of a barb, she smiled serenely at her husband who shrugged.
"Dark hair makes that work far better. You're lucky in that department."
There were a thousand unsaid words seeping through the floor. Each one crowded around his legs begging to be voiced, but looking at his father -- broken, hungry, terrified -- he couldn't speak a one. Instead, Gavin focused fully on his mother
who wasn't about to let this opportunity pass her by.
"How was the trip?"
"Good, not many out on the King's Highway this time of year. Too hot for most," he paused and reached into his bag, "I did bring a few things from Denerim, um..." Rifling over the satchel, Gavin's fingers glanced across a few foolish bobbles he thought to snatch up for his parents. Books, candies, a fresh whetstone, it all seemed so trivial.
"This tea," he selected the tin which was actually a gift from Ms. Sayer.
"Ooh," his mom's clouded eyes focused on the green box. "What is it?"
"Some special blend, apparently a few of the college brewers are gathering together to create their own Ferelden themed teas. This one's for the, uh, memory of the Hero of Ferelden." He thought it'd be a lark, drinking her memorial tea same as all the times she'd insist they stop by her memorial in Denerim when she was in town. His mother seemed to enjoy walking around her old things telling him about them.
Looking at her now, her skin pocked and hanging like wet sacks off her brittle bones, Gavin felt like a demon for even bringing it. But his mom's hand skirted over the tin and she lifted it free. "Sounds delightful. I can't wait to try a cup."
His father scurried forward and picked up the blend, "I'll go and get a kettle and some cups while you two catch up."
"Thanks, love," Lana called with a small wave of her fingers.
It was a simple task, but at the door his father paused and turned back. Broken eyes skirted over the woman in his bed as if...as if he feared he'd never see her again. When the door closed, his father off to perform his duty, Lana sighed.
"I'm glad you're here. Your father needs a break but will he take one? Of course not."
"Mom..." Gavin shifted in his seat, his lip trembling at the wave of accusations building inside of him. "Mom, why wasn't I...?"
Her shoulders dragged even further downward, elongating the far too thin neck as she sighed. Cloudy eyes turned to him, "I assume you're here because of Ali?"
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