My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Templar armor. Not just any, but the one he wore in Kirkwall. A fire burned inside his stomach, begging for retaliation. Who else would build a staircase that goes nowhere but mages? They are the ones pulling this on you. Find them and punish them!

  Cullen calmed the roar of rage with a cool breath. The cooling hadn't been there in his younger days, the fire always threatening to push him too far -- even past his limits. But she taught him, she helped him to find it. Her trust helped him to trust himself. With the assurance in his heart, Cullen began to leap up the stairs two at a time. What had once seemed impossible was now a lighthearted exercise.

  He felt his body shifting as well, the muscle and fat put on over the years reforming to something younger and sleeker. No doubt he lost the scruff that never left him and perhaps a pimple or two prodded free on the end of his nose. The uniform de-aged as well, all the signs of promotion fading away until he was nothing more than a Templar-Knight.

  No Commander, no Captain, not even a Lieutenant. He was 18 years old and staggering up a staircase inside... Yes, this was the tower. Kinloch tower, exactly as he remembered it before they tore it down. How was he here climbing it if the circle was destroyed? Did they miss a section? Or did someone rebuild it?

  The thought clung to his brain a moment like a sour wine, when he turned to look up the stairs. Light burst through the entranceway, so beautiful it brought tears to his eyes. With an easy step that hadn't been inside his body since Uldred, Cullen scrambled up the stairs needing to reach the top. The warmth called to him, begged to envelope him in a sense of belonging and peace.

  Fading quicker than a blink of an eye, the staircase vanished beneath his feet and he stood at the precipice of wherever he was eternally climbing to. Bookcases stretched as far as he could see, nearly fifteen feet tall and crammed with every cover imaginable. The entire air had a hazy pink quality, as if -- if one turned their head fast enough -- the world would fade to clouds. But what made Cullen freeze and hold his breath was the silhouette picking a book out of the shelves.

  She already carried another five in her hands, because one was never good enough. The curly hair spilling off the sides wasn't kept in check by any towel or barrette. It was free to run wherever it wished. Dressed in the mage robes of old, when she turned in profile, Cullen gasped. She stood before him, a fresh faced seventeen year old not touched by war or death, loss or pain. A beautiful young woman standing on the precipice of her future while smiling serenely at the words of those who came before.

  Suddenly, she turned and her breathtaking eyes landed right upon the scrawny, uncertain templar who stumbled onto his angel reading in the library. Lana's entire face lit up with the most perfect smile he'd ever seen. His heart stopped at the smile free of pain, of anguish, of sorrow. Cullen gasped a final breath at how her eyes glittered, bright as they'd always been and taking in only himself. He lay a hand to his chest, a flash of discomfort rising in his body, but with a step towards her it all faded away as he walked to his wife.

  A wave wafted off her and she was both a fresh faced seventeen and a well worn sixty, a battle hardened twenty-five and a content, mothering forty-one. She was everything she'd ever been, and everything to him. She was perfect.

  He managed another step forward, his body moving as if through water, while Lana perched her books on her hip and sighed. A laugh reverberated through the air sending waves of joy to his dour face as she shook her head. "Here I thought I'd have enough time to read through this entire library before you'd arrive."

  Dropping the books onto the shelf, Lana -- both wise mother and nubile girl -- turned to the man growing in strength from her presence. Her eyes darted up and down him, the smile flattening a moment to sadness. As she reached out through the void between them, Cullen instinctively flinched. He feared that her touch would evaporate or be cold as the grave, but when her palm skirted against his cheek a warmth greater than any he'd ever felt in life overwhelmed his soul.

  "My Honey eyes," she mused, Cullen's amber sight closing as he leaned into that hand he thought he'd never feel again. "I should have known you'd find me sooner rather than later."

  "Lana," he gulped, "what's going...?"

  Her finger drew against his lip, before sliding to traverse the scar. "Shhh," she smiled deeply and floated right into his arms. Cullen greedily tucked her close, his heart throbbing to match the one returned to him. As he buried his nose into the top of her head, breathing in the smell that always greeted him on the pillow beside his, she said, "There will be plenty of time to talk about that. To talk about everything."

  "I missed you so much," he gasped into her hair, tears beginning anew. "I thought, feared that I'd..."

  She looked up, her endless eyes staring deep into his. He tried to shake the tears free, but she was the one to gently cup her palm against both cheeks and wipe them away.

  "I thought I'd never see you again," Cullen sputtered out.

  Her smile lengthened, the years of torment and pain she had to crawl through reverberating from a small twist of her lips. "I always find you my templar, my husband, my love."

  A gasp of breath rattled from him as Cullen cupped both her cheeks in his hands. "You do." Tugging her tight, he brushed his lips against hers. So many kisses over the years, soft ones, pressing ones, ones born in pain, others in joy; but one fact held true for them all, they were never enough. When it came to kissing her, the love of his life, Cullen would never be satisfied.

  Her fingers dug up through his hair, seeming to tug the locks that shifted from the forced upon waves back into his curls of old. His whole life he gave his heart only to this amazing, beautiful, world-bending mage and never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine that she'd give him hers in turn.

  Cullen's lips slipped away from hers and the words forever etched into his heart sputtered forth, "I don't want to lose you."

  She caressed a finger over the worry lines in his forehead, seeming to raise them and blot away all the anxiety in his mind. "Honey eyes, you never will. We have all of eternity together."

  Leaning down, his forehead pressed against hers. Mage and templar thrown together in the darkest of times. They should have never worked, but she knew more than his heart, she was a part of his soul and would always be. A small chuckle lifted up his scar and Lana's eyes opened in confusion. Laughing to himself, Cullen mused, "That may still not be enough time."

  She chuckled too, cupped his cheeks, and pulled her templar to her lips for a kiss that would never end.

  * * *

  As was often the case, Gavin woke early. He checked in with Albert and a few others running the place while they'd be gone, got in a bit of breakfast, and stuffed the saddlebags with whatever provisions they would need. It wouldn't be an easy trip by any means, but he was looking forward to it.

  When Gavin knocked on his father's room, he was surprised that there was no grumbling call from inside. Carefully opening the door to peek in, he spotted a shaft of sunlight glancing through a gap in the shutters but no other sign of movement. Did his father truly sleep in? Perhaps he too was feeling more at ease with the idea of finally putting his wife to rest before them.

  "Sorry to wake you, Dad," Gavin snuck in and moved to open up the curtains and fully let light into the room. He was even more surprised to find his father not in the chair at the desk, but lying stretched out in the bed. While he tugged on the last cord to free the sun, he turned over to finish. "I've got the horses all saddled up and ready to go. We'll need to head out soon to make it to camp before losing the..."

  His tongue froze, the last words hanging precariously upon it while he started harder at the bed. The light lanced right across his father's face, highlighting skin turned pale in grief. But what curbed Gavin's tongue was how still he lay, even with the sun nearly blinding him. And etched deep on his lips, to the point of lifting his cheeks, was a smile that Gavin hadn't seen in months. Perhaps years.

  It looked as if he had stared the Maker in the eye and
been granted true peace in his soul.

  "Dad?"

  Gavin inched closer, his heels rising onto tip toes as if he was a child afraid of waking his napping father. But he's not napping, is he? You can see it. You can feel the chill, the stillness even from here.

  "Dad?" he tried again, his voice rising but his father did not. The smile didn't falter, the eyes didn't open. Gavin skirted a hand towards the frozen cheeks and a breath shuddered in his chest at how cold they were.

  Cold as death.

  "Dad..."

  "Daddy?"

  https://youtu.be/GYMLMj-SibU

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Around the Corner

  The man standing before her was barely worth her attention, but he seemed to be of the opinion that he deserved all of it. While Myra continued to hurl some of her books into a chest, he folded his arms and made that tetching noise. Maker, how she hated that fucking thing. Whenever he decided she was doing something wrong, he'd go 'ahek hek hek' until she'd stop and glare. Which then gave him the opportunity to tell her everything she was apparently wrong about and how to do it his way.

  At least she didn't have to suffer it anymore. Bright side and all.

  "You're overreacting, Myra," he scolded as if she was some child that pretended to see a monster under the bed. Too bad for him, in Myra's life the monsters were real and she was often front and center to their deaths.

  "That so, Joss?" she slammed the trunk closed and eyed him up. In the college dormitories, a few people kept walking past her open door. At first they'd glance in, curious, but at the sound of Myra getting angry more than a few heads slowed and made a deliberate attempt to see what was about to explode.

  "Yes," he tapped his feet and continued to cross his arms tighter as if he could find more protection in his armpits or something. "Cherie and I are friends. Nothing more. You're being hysterical."

  Perhaps he expected tears. She thought about it for a minute but decided he wasn't worth that. Or maybe an argument. Myra was known throughout the college for her tendency to blow up when pushed too far. Not literally, most mages could fight better with magic, but few could dole out a punch like her. And she knew how to end arguments fast.

  Instead of breaking down, or hurling a book at Joss' head, or even screaming herself hoarse, Myra cocked a hip and began to laugh. It started slow, a chortle really, but as the man clearly grew uncomfortable her little giggle took on a life of its own until tears of hilarity rained from her eyes.

  "Oh did you pick the wrong woman to cheat on. Let's begin with the obvious here, Joss. You and Cherie have been spotted by no less than three people, of varying connections, feeling each other up in the library."

  He staggered up onto his toes, a hand raised as if he was about to argue with her. What about? Of course he was. He loved shouting her down, always under the delusion he won instead of Myra getting tired of the fight. "Those are just jealous people, lying to..."

  "Two, I saw you exiting her room in the middle of the night," Myra glowered.

  "You..." Joss' mouth distended like a fish fighting for air out of the water. The look reminded her how shit of a kisser he really was. Maker's breath, why did she even bother? Was it boredom? Boredom always did her in. Trying to shake his agape moment away, he hissed, "I didn't see you."

  Myra leaned closer and snarled in his ear, "No shit you didn't." She'd been managing stakeouts since he was figuring out what to do with his willy, not that he had a great grasp on it even now at age 27.

  "This is all circumstantial," Joss wouldn't let it go. No doubt he needed her to take him back just so he could be the one to do the dumping. Posturing was vital in this world of mages where there were enough people you could form pecking orders, but the world so small gossip whipped through the echelons faster than a sunrise.

  "You could be right," Myra shrugged bringing a glint of hope to the poor bastard's face, "but here's the real kicker Joss." She raised her voice to be heard by all the people crowding just outside her door. Jabbing a finger towards his chest, Myra growled, "You're wearing her robe, you moron."

  Joss' eyes shot open wide and he glanced down at what was clearly a mage robe that fit far too tight to what he was used to. The fact he hadn't caught on sealed his fate the minute Myra caught him marching over to tell her off for the poster she nailed to his door. It only seemed fair to tell everyone that a "Cheating Bastard" lived inside. "Now," she pointed out the door and snarled, "get the fuck out of my room and never, ever talk to me again."

  Her story faded as Lunet yanked up a bottle from out of her drawer. Myra blinked, honing in from her far too recent memory up at the College to focus on the here and now. She sat perched on her mother's desk, which Reiss would ream her out for if she caught her. Good thing she wasn't going to as she was off on a call, or problem, or whatever, leaving Myra all alone with Auntie Lunet.

  "Did the bastard give you shit or shuffle sadly on past?"

  Myra snickered, "The shuffling, though the crowd of people glaring at him while he still reeked of ill gotten sex was a rather nice cap on it all." Groaning, she tipped back in the chair and stared at the ceiling of the agency. She'd only been back for an hour or so since her caravan rolled into town, but with the problems of the college in the past it almost felt as if she never left.

  The twins greeted her with the same gruff grumble, her mom shouted to wait for her as she dashed out the door because murder stopped for no one, and Lunet was all ready to greet her with a big bottle of koomtra. It was good to know that in this world of gods and monsters, some things stayed the same.

  "Did he try anything after?" Lunet asked.

  Myra shrugged, "Dunno. I shipped out a few days later, thankfully. Let his little trollop try and deal with that mess. Blech." She threw back half her glass of fermented tree sap and groaned. "Why is this so Maker damned hard?"

  Lunet chuckled, "What? Dating? You ain't had that hard a time of it."

  The glare off of Myra could start fires alone. "Let's see, there was that kiss-ass, Dane, who seemed to think getting with me would put him in the King's good graces."

  "Yeah," Lunet shook, "your Dad really hated that one."

  "Riken, the elf."

  "Which your mom was certain you'd fall deeply in love with and marry on the spot."

  Myra groaned at that. She should have known the minute she mentioned in her letters that she was with an elf her mother would have already sewed up her trousseau and collected a dowry. Riken wasn't awful; all things considered in her past, he was probably the best of the lot. Which, sadly, wasn't saying much. They got on okay, working together in rune crafting class, but the spark of attraction was a lukewarm noodle left to harden on a counter.

  "I never should have told her about him." In truth, Myra figured she'd be dumping Riken before he even got to the meeting her parents stage, but there was never a good reason to do it. He was fine, she was fine. Together they were fine. Just fine. It was bloody boring. Then her parents all paid a surprise visit to the college and she wound up stuck to him for another two months before both adults in the situation came together to admit, 'This is stupid, we should just be colleagues.'

  "And finally Joss. So now I can add serial cheater to my list of epic failures."

  "Serial?" Lunet shook her glass.

  "I didn't figure it out until after, as at first he was smart enough to wait until I was out of the college to fuck around, but..." Myra groaned, "You know the worst part? How stupid he thought I was. This was elementary cheating. I'd have caught him when I was twelve. Bastard wouldn't even wash off after, the stench of Cherie's powders thick enough to kill a rat."

  Sure, when she first found out she was livid. Thought about making his life a true trip to the void. But stepping back Myra came to realize how much of a true shitheel he was not just in cheating on her but in general. Why the hell did she stay with him? kept ringing in her ears for a week with no easy answer in sight.

  Grumbling, Myra smooshed her face into her hands, he
r words falling to mush. "I hate dating."

  "Men, I think what you're looking to hate is men," Lunet, the woman happily married to another woman less than helpfully pointed out.

  Myra glared over her fingers at her, but her mom's best friend was too deep into the bottle to notice. She'd been trying to talk Myra into trying the softer sex for awhile now, but that wasn't going to take. Though, turning into some kind of man-murdering she-devil did sound rather tempting at the moment.

  "Is it too much to ask to find a nice guy? One who's not an asshole, that doesn't try to mess with my mind like watching a chicken play chess? That can laugh at my jokes? And is easy on the eyes?"

  "Course not," Lunet reached over to pat Myra on the shoulder, "I bet one will just come strolling through your door and right into your arms. All you got to do is wait."

  "Ha ha," she sneered, rolling her eyes. Absently, Myra picked at the warm rabbit fur cinched against her neck. It was a bit much in summer, not that she'd dare go without, but served her well on the cold trip down south with winter nipping at their faces. Why didn't she stay in the north next to the warm sea for Satinalia?

  "So, you've been doing some magic crafting thing?" Lunet began.

  Myra groaned and rolled her eyes, "Rune crafting. I've been studying it to see if..." Her boring explanation of her latest research that Lunet was certain to fully forget about the second it left her lips faded. A jangle of a bell meant someone walked into the office, probably dragging a bit of snow in with. The damn street was covered in it.

  "Good afternoon," the front desk greeted whoever wandered into the agency.

  "Ah, hello," a voice that lapped around the room like a perfect brandy or that drippy cheese you melt on crackers spoke. It was so low, one had to tip down towards the floor to meet it through all the office walls. "I'm looking for someone."

  "Dead or alive?"