"Yeah," he nodded, clinging to whatever he could. "Yes, the King he ordered me out here. Why didn't either of you? How long has this been...? Mom?"
"Over a month now," she groaned, fingers slumped onto her thighs. Gavin hissed at the thought. He'd received at least three letters from his parents since then, none of them mentioning her illness. Sensing the change in her son, Lana glanced over, "You know your father. He can't fight this, he can't slay it, he can't... Sweetie, he can't save me, so he's denying it."
"Mom!" Can't save her? Was it truly that definite? Was she...?
Maker, even he couldn't think it. His heart constricted tight in his chest, Gavin struggling to suck back in the tears that began as the truth crashed against him.
"What is it? Maybe I can...I know people. They know things that..."
"Gavin," her paper thin fingers fell into his. She couldn't grip onto them, and they felt cold and so fragile in his trembling grasp. "It's okay."
"It's not fair."
She tipped her head to the side and a smile flitted about her lips. "That may be, but it's also okay." He wanted to bawl on her shoulder, to bury his face into her stomach and cry ugly tears the way he did when a child with a skinned knee. But she was far too fragile to take such a beating, and she needed him to be strong.
The door opened, Cullen stepping in quickly with a tray in his arms. "The kettle's not at boiling, but considering your tea issues I didn't think it'd much matter."
They both did. His dad was trying to smile in his own pinched lip way, but that denial wasn't reaching his eyes. All his life, his father looked at his mother in open awe, as if she was the only person in the room. Now, he risked furtive glances from the side, terrified that at any moment she might flee from them both. Flee so far neither could reach her.
While the tea steeped, his father took a seat on the bed beside his mother's legs. He kept patting a hand near her while jostling a cup until it was ready. "How long will you be able to stay with us?" Cullen began, acting as if everything was normal.
"For awhile."
"Nothing with the dwarven kingdom on the horizon?"
As the abnormalcy of it all struck hard to Gavin, he accepted the cup of tea from his father. "Ah, no. The Queen is in commune and she's opened up negotiations to more than just me. Hopefully I won't be required to visit out there as often."
"Maybe you can finally get a place of your own," his mother said with a smile. She had to circle both hands around her cup of tea and slowly brought it to her lips. "Ooh, tangy."
"There's a raspberry swirl to try and bring out the chocolate undertones," Gavin said. He tipped the lip to his mouth, but couldn't taste anything of the hot leaf water washing down his gullet. Everything smelled of ash burning on a hot pyre.
"Gavin," his mother suddenly turned her head to him. "Is that a scar on your bottom lip?"
"Uh," guiltily, he thumbed the deep cut and gulped. "Yes. From a landslide, one of the falling rocks struck me in the face."
Lana chuckled and turned to her husband, "Another lip scar?" She moved her hand forward a bit, and Cullen met her first. Locking her hand tight in his, they stared deep into each other's eyes. "It must run in the blood."
Quietly, Gavin sipped the tea doing his best to not think that each breath from her could be the last.
CHAPTER TWO
The Truth
The sword became a plow, his cuirass traded for an apron as Gavin buried himself back into the world he ran so far from. Five years he'd been serving in Denerim, rarely thinking of what awaited back at the abbey. All his life it was as unchanging as the mountains, and now...now it felt as if the entire peak was going to crumble into dust.
He wiped a hand against his forehead, trying to clear away the sting of sweat dripping into his eyes. The sun wasn't about to let anyone escape easily, certainly no upstart who thought himself too good for this work. For the past two weeks he stayed and waited. Every day his father insisted that it was a minor illness and given enough rest his mother would recuperate. Even as he had to dribble soup into her aching lips and wipe off the spill, Cullen remained deluded that there would be a happy ending in sight. There was no chance Gavin could break that illusion, even if he had the power or will.
"Albert," Gavin waved to the man who was practically running the place in his parents absence. He took over the handful of animals they kept about -- never much beyond a small head to feed the occupants and grow another season. Gavin picked up the weeding and haying as much as possible, though he didn't realize how flabby his arms had grown while sitting prim on a horse until he was knee deep in grass. The scythe had never despised the prodigal son more.
"Oh, ah, youngling," Albert smiled, giving a cheery wave.
"The pigs?" he began to walk towards the sty Albert was overseeing in the meantime.
"Got 'em fed. Though, that one..." his wizened finger jabbed through the air at a boar who looked as if he was about to gore everything in his path, "with the one eye, he ain't up to no good."
"You don't say," Gavin chuckled. He'd seen his fair share of that same look, often on the faces of brigands he was about to put a sword through.
"Best be eating him up soon afore he eats you," Albert laughed and jabbed a finger into Gavin's side. He did that when the boy was younger, always warning the small lad that the pigs were just as likely to take a bite as anything. This time his digit didn't even manage to dent past the nail into Gavin's taut body.
"I'll keep that under consideration," the young man responded, eyeing up a surly sow who was far too old to be worth keeping around as well. "Father will have to make the final decision."
"Ah..." Albert grew deathly quiet, his pale eyes darting around the summer sun.
Gavin caught on quickly, "What is it?"
"Just, your ol' man. Not that he ain't, well, he was never much of a peach truth be told. I've known bears less grouchy." That caused Gavin to laugh. "But he...he ain't been in his right mind as of late. And," slowly, Albert's eyes trailed out towards the horizon, "I don't foresee that fixing itself anytime soon."
Gavin followed the gaze to spot a shadow seated in the middle of the field. It looked dark as night by the sun's rays, not moving much beyond the small turn of a head. Who was out in the grass he had yet to hay?
"I'll...I'll consider that as well," Gavin said, stumbling towards the shadow.
"Should call you Ser Consider," Albert shot back. He jammed his straw hat on tight and with a whistle under his breath moved on to appeasing the chickens who were also long past culling. Quite a few of the layers ceased earning their keep, to the point Gavin caught on. While the farm wasn't in ruin, and the animals were all being fed, the few patients tended to, it did seem as if...death itself had been banned.
With both hands wafting over the knotted tops of the grass, Gavin waded into the field. As he drew closer the shadow lightened but not by much. The dark, curly hair spilled off of both sides of the chair. Much of it was matted at the back because trying to untangle it caused her far too great a pain. A blanket was tossed over her lap, despite the high heat, and she kept lifting her finger a bit almost as if she wanted to cast a small spell off it.
"Mom," he began, coming to a stop just beside her.
"Sweetie," she struggled to turn her head to find him, but the smile was genuine.
"What are you doing out here? How did you even get out here?"
She couldn't walk. Even before this took over, she'd reached the point a cane wasn't enough. Most of her life was spent being carried around by a man who was growing hunched by the work, but would he complain? Never.
Gesturing towards the abbey, Lana smiled, "One of the girls helped. We have a system in place. Don't make that face, young man."
He blinked a moment, trying to shake away what was no doubt a familiar glower at the facts. She belonged in bed, resting. In theory, healing. Trudging all the way out here could cost her...
"It's a lovely day," she sighed, sliding back in the chair. "I alwa
ys preferred summer to the winter chill. Hilarious I know," she referred to her ice spells which couldn't be surpassed by any mage he ever met. "Come," Lana jabbed at the grass beside her, "stand by me."
Gavin sucked in a breath and hobbled over. He tried to stand beside her chair, but it felt strange. Around age twelve he grew taller than his mother, but never larger -- even with her softer voice, and gentle touch, there was a terrifying power inside that could rock nearly every stone in Ferelden. Now, as he gazed down at her gaunt form swaddled in a blanket while sweat coated his body, he felt the stronger of them and hated it.
Crouching down, Gavin nearly sat upon the muddy ground until his head was level with his mother's. "It's beautiful," she sighed to herself.
The azure sky wrapped itself around the frostback mountains far in the distance, their white peaks shattering it as if they too wished to be clouds. Greens sharper than anything he'd seen prodded against the bright blue, the flat lands of the farm giving way to pressing in forests. Deeper inside were deer leaping through the winding creek Gavin used to splash in as a boy. Even further was another farm, owned by a woman Gavin convinced himself was a secret witch because she owned an apple farm and he had a dangerous imagination at times. If one kept going eventually you'd reach Redcliffe itself -- the village that once caught his captivation seemed so small now.
"You see it, don't you?" his mother turned to him, the clouds in her eyes parting a moment.
"The lovely day?" Gavin stuttered.
"Ferelden, thedas itself. A thousand mothers sitting with a thousand sons watching the clouds float by," her chapped lips lifted in a small smile at that thought.
He devoted himself to protecting Ferelden, to following his duty to the end of his life should the need be. To protect those same mothers that his mother once saved. Gavin tried to shy away from the enormity of the view before him, of all those people who depended upon him and people like him to combat the darkness.
"Sweetie," her hand, delicate as the finest tissue designed for a lady's thin nose, skirted over his. Gavin gripped tight, his callused and mud stained fingers embracing hers. "Do you know why I did it? Why I set out to save the world, to throw my life to the void for a cause I barely knew about?"
He swallowed hard, his eyes hunting over the horizon. They spoke of it sometimes, Gavin wondering why his mom was this great war hero that people didn't talk much about. She tried to explain it, but the explanation always rang a bit hollow. At least until he too stood at the gates of death and didn't flinch.
"Because someone had to."
The smile on his mother's lips thinned, all her long years stretching out before her with very little ahead. "And," she whispered, "do you know why I stopped?"
"Because..." Gavin began before his throat clogged. No, he didn't. He had no grasp of why his parents both gave up the fight. But if they hadn't he wouldn't exist. The abbey wouldn't exist. Who knew how many countless lives that they saved here would be lost. And who knew how many lives out there in the rest of thedas were lost because of it.
"I am so proud of you, Gavin," his mother said, her fingers cupping his cheek.
"That..." Humility rampaged up to burn on his cheeks and he tried to turn away. He hadn't done much in his life so far, it felt as if there was always more to do. Too much at times.
"Be happy, okay," she said, tears sparkling in her eyes. The change was so sudden, Gavin gasped and reached for her.
"Mom?"
"I know, it's a lot to ask," she didn't flinch but the tears wouldn't cease either. "But please, make yourself a life you can live with. A life that fills your heart..." She placed her cold palm to his chest, "this giant, far too generous heart, with joy."
He glanced down at her hand as it landed back in her lap with a plop, "I'll, I'll try, mom."
A small smile rose upon her lips, the wind barely lifting away her curls. She stared across the dampening horizon, watching a butterfly flit up and down over the grass seed. Its yellow and green wings nearly blended into the field, but when it took flight high into the air it stood out like a legendary gemstone at the bottom of the sea.
"That's why I did it," she whispered. "And I'd do it again in a heartbeat."
Nodding, Gavin tried to turn away so she couldn't see the burn of emotion in his eyes. Tears would do her no good now. But his mother knew. The woman that would stand outside the cupboards a toddler snuck into and cry 'where did Gavin go?' knew. She knew the way a mother who would sit with her broken hearted boy and try to explain death after they lost the family dog knew. And how she calmly nodded as he attempted to downplay his broken heart with Myra, while trying to heal him from afar. She always knew him and she always would.
"Hm," Lana mused, her fingers rubbing over his scalp. "You still won't grow your hair out."
"Mom," he groaned, tipping up to look at her. "I swear you are the only one who thinks it looks good on me."
"It does. All those adorable curls, the little ones at the front and by your ears."
"The curls that turn nearly tan at the ends, you mean?"
"It marks you as special," she insisted, proud of her boy.
"It makes it look as if someone dropped a bowl of curly noodles on my head," Gavin growled. He'd been shaving his head down since he was a teenager and had no intentions to ever stop.
His mother didn't pout at his resistance, she caressed once more over his head before turning to look back at the horizon. "Some people happen to find noodle hair rather fetching."
Rather than try to draw the argument out, Gavin sat beside her, mother and son watching the fields of Ferelden dance in the declining summer's breeze.
* * *
He'd convinced himself that his mother heading outside meant she was getting better, that she'd managed to once again snatch herself back from the jaws of fate. But she began to deteriorate rapidly after her last moment in the sun. Barely conscious for more than a few hours a day, it reached the point that either Gavin or Cullen never left her side. She seemed to be out of pain, though upon waking would flinch and look around wildly a moment in terror before calming.
Gavin had to all but throw his father out of the room, the man needing to get something to eat. But he clung nails to the doorframe, watching his wife slumbering under a thick blanket that seemed to be slowly consuming her with every breath. Still, hunger prevailed and somehow Cullen finally left to get a bit of bread and broth into him. Gavin busied himself in his parents room, trying to clean up some of the mess that always accumulated when caring for the sick.
It felt strange to find these things here of all places. Empty bottles, bedding covered in sick, that deathly medicinal smell. He grew up around it but never in his parents room. This was the oasis from the death that circled in the stones. Here was safety, here nothing bad would happen.
And yet...
He should plan her funeral. Try to find a Mother willing to trek out into the woods. Make certain there's enough dry logs for the pyre.
Blighted Maker, no. No. Gavin whipped his head back and forth, snarling at himself for thinking such dour, mutinous thoughts. He should focus on hope. Know that she'd come out of this, continue on for years and years. His mom couldn't die. She would't. She was...
She was the Maker damn Hero of Ferelden. Heroes didn't die!
Pounding his fist into the dresser, he rattled away a silver tray. Underneath it, almost as if they were hidden for later, sat two envelopes. Gavin unearthed both to find the first was addressed to him and the second to his father. With a gulp, he glanced at the sleeping woman who seemed less and less likely to wake. She knew. She knew that she wasn't going to escape this, and...and she left these for them.
Were there others too?
His mother had many friends scattered across thedas. Or had she already sent them? Was that why the King ordered Gavin to his mother's bedside? Because she'd already said her goodbye to him?
The totality shattered inside Gavin. Whatever control he'd managed for these last few days e
xploded like a vase. Glass shards sliced apart his throat, his stomach, his lungs and heart. He gasped at the pain burning inside of his aching body. White washed over his vision, the knight turning back into a little boy as he crumpled to his knees. If someone had jammed a lance into his chest and broken all his ribs it would hurt less.
He tried to hide from the truth as well, to deny it even while it lurked in every corner and shadow of this room. Death waited patiently. No matter how much they tried to deny it, the specter would come. And there was nothing they could do. Nothing he could do but wallow on the floor like a spineless coward crying for his mommy.
"Gavin," a voice called from behind, startling him out of his stupor.
He scrubbed against his eyes and turned around to spot one of the washing girls standing in the door. Her eyes were wide in terror and she kept wringing a towel back and forth in her hands. "Ser, please...we need your help."
"What is it?" he staggered to his feet, his emotionally drained body barely able to stand. It felt as if a fist punched into his skull while his eyes burned, but he had to put all of it away. They'd only come to him if there was a major emergency like a fire.
The girl's eyes blinked and she opened her mouth a few times testing the words. Gavin impatiently stomped his foot, growing tired of this. Grimacing at it, the girl spat out, "Master Cullen."
It didn't take him long to find his father, the screaming giving it away. The leader of this abbey, a man generally loved despite being known for being a bit of a grump, was shouting his lungs off in the kitchen. When Gavin burst in, he spotted his father waving a serving fork back and forth as if it were a weapon while a girl cowered in the corner.
"I did as I was told, sir," she tried to get out, but it wouldn't take.
"As told?" Cullen shouted, "As told! Your brain is too overstuffed with frivolous fluff to be capable of handling such a matter."
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