My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

The thought stilled his stained finger. He wasn't returning to Denerim for some time, that much he knew. More than just his father needing him, the idea of standing in court, of passing pleasantries as if his heart wasn't mush in his chest seemed beyond impossible.

  "How ya doing there, boy?" Albert skirted a hand along Gavin's shoulders to help himself down onto the bench. The old scarecrow had a plate full of fixins that would feed a team of oxen. No one knew where he put it.

  With a shrug, Gavin tried to force on a smile, but Albert waved it away as a capon's leg shredded apart in his teeth. Gavin's lips thundered back to the grimace that he feared may never leave. "Clinging, as best I can."

  "Your Mom, she was..." Albert's thoughts faded as every polite conversation died. Eyes glanced around the room, the tears that never seemed to truly vanish threatening to resume. "She was something else. When you look at her she seemed sweet as peach pie, but cross her and..." The old farmhand shuddered, "Let's just say I wouldn't even want to be the Maker Himself and say anything bad about you or your pop in front of her."

  It was foolish, but it brought a quick smile to Gavin. "There were more than a few squires in my company who'd run the other way when they heard the whack of her cane." She didn't visit often, but his mother seemed to have a preternatural ability to sense when someone was mean to her baby boy and sink her fangs into just the right spot. Even Daryan stopped being quite as big a pain in the butt for a few years until she was sent off to watch over the southern lands, and Gavin chose to accept the title that'd been waiting for him.

  "I remember this one time," Albert began, both hands digging in deep to the table as he tipped back to stare at the ceiling, "when you was just a teeny little ankle biter. Like four or five. And you had this nasty habit of sneaking off into any tiny corner you could afind. Quiet as a mouse too."

  Gavin's cheeks burned white hot at the old man reminding him of his childhood. He had a few recollections of finding solace in the darker, silent places of the abbey, but nothing concrete.

  "Didn't use to be no problem," Albert clearly wanted to get this story out, a few more people leaning in tighter to overhear. "They'd send the dog to sniff you out. Honor was always quickest to find you. But one day your Pop was out on some big errand and took the mabari with. Your mum comes clip clopping up and down the stairs, her head whipping back and forth. She wouldn't say nothing, but it was obvious she was looking for something important and in straits."

  Albert took a great drink of the mead drifting around the table, then continued. "That was Lady R for ya. Terrible about asking for help."

  A single scoff broke from the door. Gavin turned in his seat to find his father standing forlornly in the frame. People offered him a seat, tried to get him food, but he refused. He wouldn't talk to anyone, wouldn't eat, just remained aloof from all. In truth, Gavin was surprised his father hadn't run off into the forest to be alone for a few days. It was impressive he remained near so many even at this distance. At Albert's assessment, Gavin expected Cullen to defend his wife, but he seemed to be nodding in agreement.

  "So I ask her what's the problem. After a round of nothings and everythin's fine, she squeals that you were gone missing. She'd been looking for an hour and couldn't find you. We damn near tore up the place. Lifted up old beds, scrounged through troughs, even had a shout down the well. Wasn't 'til I walked past one of the locked off horse stalls that I heard a little giggle."

  At that Gavin frowned. He did not giggle. He had never been a giggler.

  "Take a peep inside and spot you, all of four with three books in your lap. Couldn't figure out a single lick of 'em but you had your tongue stuck out so far while you kept turning them pages. Waved your mum over and she damn near collapsed in gratitude. 'Gavin,' she says, her voice as neutral as one can be after an hour plus of panic. 'What are you doing?'"

  The story paused a moment as Albert looked around at the others to get a sense of who all was listening. "'Weeding' he shouts loud as anyone can hear. Kid had the books upside down, but he was so proud to be reading 'em. Always carrying about those tomes with a nose buried in deep."

  "I..." Gavin's hand absently reached back to massage his neck, "I do enjoy it when I have the opportunity."

  "What I remember most was her. Most mums in that much a panic woulda drug their wayward kid out by his ear and given the lecture to end all lectures. But not her. She smiled, asked if you needed anything. And when you said no, left you be. As long as she knew you were safe and happy, so...uh," Albert's smile strained as his eyes began to water, "so was she." In order to disguise the tears, he yanked up an old bottle and lifted it into the air.

  "Here's to Lady R." Everyone else raised their glasses as well, shouts of "here here" echoing off the dirty plates someone needed to get to. Gavin joined in, taking a long draught of the wine in the hopes to feel something other than despair. He was such a happy drunk, but this never ending despair... Nothing in this world could ever make him happy.

  "Oh, Frederick," Albert waved a hand down the table, "remember the time our Lady caught you wif your pants snagged in the grindstone?"

  While poor Frederick turned ten shades of red, Gavin slid out from the table. He walked over to the man who refused to join the others, Cullen's head bent so low, at the approach of his son he jumped a bit. "The, uh," Gavin bounced on his toes, uncertain what to say, or even where to begin, "the pork is good. More tender than I would have expected."

  "There was a mess of piglets up Maynard's way a few..." his dad said before shaking his head and letting his hand drop. "It doesn't matter. Nothing does."

  "Dad..."

  Cullen shook his head hard. "Please don't lecture me. Not now. Not with her ashes still..." Screwing his eyes tight, the old general let a shudder pass through his soul. They were both in pain, they both needed to grieve, but he could be so damn stubborn about things. He seemed to wallow in his pain as if he deserved it. No one deserved to know this, to watch someone you love fade away beyond your touch, but it was the curse of life that all had to.

  Reaching into his pocket, Gavin fished out the envelope he'd been holding onto like a crutch against the darkness. "Here," he pressed it into his father's hands.

  The man blinked in confusion before turning it over. Only his name was written on the outside and in his exhausted state it was doubtful he could recognize the handwriting. "What is this?"

  "It's from Mom."

  He reacted instantly, his eyes flaring wide while his trembling fingers dug in tight to her last words to him.

  "She wrote it for you, meant it for you, her goodbyes in case she couldn't..." Whipping his head away, Gavin glared at the fire while his throat caught. He was so tired of crying, of feeling exhausted from doing nothing but sitting in a chair while his heart cracked in half. "Read it," Gavin said, struggling to find composure. When he turned back to his father, he added, "for her sake."

  Cullen nodded slowly and pressed Lana's final letter tight to his chest. Gavin had no idea if his father would do it; he was saddled with two incredibly stubborn parents when they had a mind. But at least he didn't hurl it into the fire in a moment of grief he'd regret for eternity. It was up to him now; besides, Gavin had his own final words yet to unseal. Aware that he needed to do that, under the guise of getting some air, he walked to the door.

  Before exiting the warmth of the hearth, he turned to his father, "And please eat something, for mine."

  A few of the funeral attendees were standing outside in the courtyard, talking about of all things the weather. They didn't glance over at the young man sliding into the horse stalls. There were never many kept at the farm, but for the funeral it was full to bursting to cram all the visitors in. Instead of hiding away in one of the alcoves with his back pressed up to the gate, feet kicking into the straw, Gavin sat at the little table overloaded in tack and rusty horseshoes.

  Light flickered in the lantern, enough for him to read by as he held the ivory envelope in his fingers. "Gavin" was all it said on the
front but even that was enough to start him crying. He'd never see his name written like that again. Not on the top of any letters, or in a missive attached to a bird's leg, or even on a label for some tincture his mother insisted would help with a minor health matter long since cleared up. Her hand was never to pick up a quill and write out a single word again. The loss of a person was so much more than a body.

  Ignoring the tears in his eyes, he turned the envelope around. It wasn't sealed, which was a little surprising. His mother had about a dozen wax sealers and she adored them all. They'd rotate with his letters; a potion bottle, a fish, two trees entwined, a griffin much to his father's consternation, and a fox. That wasn't even getting into the holiday ones. Perhaps she thought she could get back to it later and then...time caught up.

  With a careful but trembling hand, Gavin pulled out the single sheet of parchment and unfurled it. She had a tiny hand which did not transfer to her son, but for this letter she didn't seem to feel it necessary to contain herself. The letters were great, looping to encompass the ones above and below like a big hug.

  "To my son, Gavin.

  I have written a lot of these types of letters over the years. For most of my life they were little more than instructions on how to keep an organization going without me, what was outstanding, and where the secrets were buried. Yet, each time when I thought I wouldn't return from a mission I did. I'd burn the letter and with it all my fears of falling to death's clutches.

  I rather doubt I shall be burning this one.

  Sweetie, I wish I could tell you to not cry for me, but that seems foolish. I know you will, and your father too. I've cried an ocean of tears for every day that I will be unable to be with both of you. But I want you to know that wherever I am, I will be watching over you and I shall be prouder than you can ever know.

  You were a gift, one I didn't think I'd ever be able to have. And you changed me in ways I doubt I'll ever truly understand. My life was duty to a cause that seemed noble in every sense of the word. Then I found your father, fell in love, we created you. Service is a good thing, helping people -- my baby boy, it's in your blood. Knight or no, I knew you were destined to save people, to devote yourself to a cause same as both of us. Yet, you can have more. You deserve to find happiness in all things.

  Remember that, even when it seems as if dawn will never come.

  There is happiness out there. Goodness. Joy. Laughter. One day it will return, and you deserve it and so much more.

  Gavin, I need you to promise me something. Your father, he will not be handling this well."

  He paused in reading the letter to roll his eyes a bit. Understatement of the year. Then he crumpled a hand to his chest and felt the struggling beats of his heart. He wasn't taking it well either.

  "It will be like trying to teach a druffalo to play chess, but keep him from isolating himself, please. Keep him fed. Keep him strong even if you feel as if you're about to break. Cling together for strength.

  And if he finds happiness again, please let him."

  Gavin paused at that, his lips moving in shock as his mind digested what his mother seemed to be saying.

  "Perhaps it will not happen at all, perhaps he will find someone to make him smile in a year. Either way, I know your father. I know that will do nothing to diminish his memory of me. All I've ever wanted for you, for both of you, is to be happy.

  I pray to Andraste and the Maker that even without me being there by your side, you can be.

  I love you, Gavin. I always will. And I am so proud of everything you've been and will become.

  Your Loving Mother,

  Lana Amell Rutherford"

  His mother's final signature faded from view as a river of tears washed across his vision. Sobbing rose from his soul as Gavin curled up onto the table and mourned openly for a loss he knew he'd never get over.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Last Kiss

  He was glad to have his son so close by, though wished and prayed every moment that it was under different circumstances. Perhaps the kindest cut to Lana's...fading was that it came just as the harvest began to pick up. Able to throw himself into the rigors of clearing the fields in preparation of a long winter, Cullen could wall off his thoughts for most of the day. Night was when he lost the battle worst of all.

  Unable to face the cold, empty room by himself, he'd wander the halls of the abbey almost as if they were the battlements in Skyhold. Once again he was walking through the stones like a forgotten ghost to try to hide from the grief of losing the only woman he dared to love. On occasion, he'd bump into Gavin. His son was cursed with insomnia, clearly made worse by their shared pain. Cullen knew he was being a stubborn, walled off husk but the anger at least burned. It sat in his heart like a small flame sputtering on top an ocean of ice. Little more than a whisper could put it out, leaving him bereft and empty in the pressing cold. He had to cling to the anger to feel anything.

  Time ceased to exist, he feared, for both of them. They'd often rise from sleep to find half the day gone, or wander down for meals when the fires were turned low. Everywhere felt empty, every stone, every room, every shallow eye trying to meet the broken man before darting away. The life faded from his home when she did, and all that remained were the motions.

  Cullen took a step, only to have his boot smack right into a crate. It rattled the way glass would and he grumbled. What was this doing here? Who leaves perfectly good glass just sitting in the open hall where anyone was liable to trip on it? He buffed up the outside of the box and cracked open the not-nailed in lid.

  Baubles of pure reflection glittered inside, glass cylinders, bowls, ovals, and perfect spheres all carefully wrapped and nestled in straw. The lid trembled in his hands, but he dare not let it fall and shatter her old glassware. Shaded eyes whipped back to the potions room, one of many he had yet to enter since. The door was open a crack, but no light poured forth. It was doubtful anyone would be inside packing up the last of her work. Some other mage in some other part of thedas might be able to continue it, to replicate what she discovered and expand upon it.

  All Cullen knew was that there was no breathtaking woman with her hair barely tied back in a flour towel, fingers stained an unholy color, and a smile on her lips waiting inside that room. Placing the lid back upon the crate he staggered up to his feet. The abbey was quiet as snow, most everyone going down for the night. He could retire himself. The thought rattled in his mind like a vial of poison as he glanced towards their bedroom. He'd been inside, he had to -- he'd be naked and shivering after so many months without any change of clothes -- but it shredded him each time.

  Instead, Cullen moved towards the only beacon of light left on this floor. He softly knocked, but pushed on the partially open door to find his son sitting at the desk. Gavin kept one hand bundled in a fist and crushed into his cheek while he stabbed at stacks of vellum with an old quill. The feathered end was so ratty from moths and perhaps baby teeth it was a wonder it didn't fall apart in his fingers.

  His eyes darted to the door's movement, following it the way a knight's should, and he threw on a smile. "Dad, I was going over a few things for the abbey. Minor stuff."

  "Oh?"

  "Prices for the market and other issues I never once put to thought," he admitted and for a brief moment Cullen felt a smile try to lift up his lips.

  "A giant pain, isn't it?" he said sliding into his son's old room. The boy grew here, from a tiny baby that'd slumber in his arms to a man who was walking down the same lonely path his parents did. All the markings of a well lived life remained; Lana refused to change a thing even if he was living clear across Ferelden. A collection of rocks a young Gavin insisted were geodes or ores lined a shelf that ended in his only golem toy. Wooden practice swords remained behind, as did a short sword before he was ready to move to a longer one. And there were those grass masks.

  For a summer, they were the height of his boy's fascination. He'd weave something surprisingly intricate with grasses the seve
n year old would harvest from all across their land. They were rather terrifying if one was prone to fits of drama and didn't take stock that a child's laugh was hiding behind it. Now they all sat together in a pile, so brittle one touch would crumble them to dust.

  "Albert's been helping me, but..." Gavin spoke, shaking his father from the trip down memory lane. The young man sighed, "You do not pay him enough."

  "Did Albert tell you to say that?"

  "No," his boy who was so truthful it could hurt shook his head, "just..." Realizing his father was trying to tell a joke and failing spectacularly, the young man switched tactics. "I've been going through letters we've received, catching up on correspondence that fell by the wayside." He bundled together a pile of envelopes and passed them over.

  While Cullen began to sift through each, Gavin felt the need to narrate. "First one's from the Inquisitor himself."

  Turning the small almost square-like fold of paper in his fingers, Cullen smiled to himself, "It has been many years since I last heard from him. I pray he is able to stomach the Tevinter mage better than most."

  "The next two are Aunt Mia," Gavin continued. "She should be out here in a week at most, to, uh..."

  Cullen couldn't hide the roll of his eyes. Just what he needed, his eldest sister prodding into things, telling him when to eat, when to sleep, and doing her best to smother him to death. She'd been insinuating she should have rolled out of bed and been at the abbey the moment Lana turned ill, but Cullen couldn't have dealt with all of that at once. He needed time, perhaps an eternity before he could handle his sister.

  "It'll be good," Gavin sputtered, his eyes shut tight while he squeezed onto the desk. "To see her again, Auntie Mi. To have someone around to..."

  Cullen drew his lip into his teeth and bit down as a sort of penance for thinking only of himself. Reaching a hand over to grip onto his son's shoulder, Cullen nodded. "Yes, and I'm certain she'll adore fussing over you. You are her favorite nephew."