My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "Maker's breath!" he gasped, "Alive, I pray."

  Myra smiled and hopped off her mother's desk. Dashing out from behind the office, she had to peel around the other desks while only able to see a shadow of a man dancing in the front. A wall hid most of the inner workings from everyone else in the waiting room.

  "Could you describe whomever you are looking for?" the front secretary continued.

  "Well, she's got blonde hair and..."

  When Myra skidded out from behind the wall, doing her best to keep from seeming winded, his speech fell away. A smile lifted up those pillowy lips and bright amber eyes darted right to her. Myra laughed, shouted "Gavin!" and ran for him. He lifted his hands the same time as her, the pair falling into a great hug.

  As Gavin's head burrowed into the fur keeping her shoulders warm, Myra got in a good breath of his cloak that stank of horse. Not that she was much better after the trip. "Myra," his voice practically sang her name, no doubt happy he wouldn't have to deal with Frank working the front anymore. "You're here."

  "Yup," she smiled, sliding back to give some breathing room between friends. "Just got in a little bit ago. Northern Ferelden's still there." She smiled and eyed up the man she hadn't seen with her own eyeballs in nearly a year. "Maker's breath, when did you get so much hair?!"

  "Ah..." Limply Gavin ran a hand over the...was it scruff or a beard? At what point did the patches of hair stop messing around and form something fancy? "Yes. What do you think?"

  It was a bit unorthodox for him to not be clean shaven, but she'd seen it before when he was between towns. What really bowled her over was his hair. With the locks nearly two or three inches long, soft tan curls nestled on top of a sea of black. She ached to rustle her fingers over the highlights shifting in the wind, but kept her hands bundled behind her back.

  "The beard makes you look older, but then your longer hair sort of youngers you. So, I guess it all works out?" Myra said with a shrug.

  He kept massaging his chin as if he was mentally berating himself for not shaving, but didn't pick at the head hair. Far as she knew, he hated having it long. Maybe he was trying for something different now?

  Gavin blinked a moment and pointed at her. "Your hair is different as well."

  "Oh?" she thumbed back to her blonde mop before remembering. "Right, I cut it like six or seven months ago." She knew her mother would have a fit, having been of the opinion that girls should grow their hair as long as the Maker allowed. But when it became a serious hazard for working magic, Myra didn't hesitate for the big chop. Now the waves of gold that once cut off around her butt wafted near her shoulders, above or below depending on if she bothered with a trim or not.

  "My turn, I guess. What do you think?"

  The smile returned as he tipped his head to look at her, "It's lovely."

  It should be a simple enough sentiment, friend to friend complimenting hairstyles. But Myra's stupid stomach couldn't stop churning at how he looked at her, nor her cheeks from rising in a blush. Attempting to try and cover both with her hands while acting as if she just really needed to scratch her face at that moment, Myra danced back and forth on her heels.

  As the heat faded and a silence fell, Myra gulped and swallowed down the clown that lived inside of her veins. "Gavin," she bit into her lip, her voice flattening out, "I'm so sorry about your mother."

  He full body flinched at her words, not surprising. This wasn't something you walked away from in a month, or six, or even a dozen years. But when he looked at her there seemed to be something else in there. "How did you know?"

  "My dad," she sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. "He's...not been taking it well." The boy who lost his mother shuddered and she reached an arm out to try and hug him. He didn't return it, but looked over a moment in gratefulness. "How's your dad doing?"

  The specter of tears rose in his amber eyes and Myra mentally kicked herself for dredging up so much pain. Gavin turned away and his voice dropped low, "He...passed."

  "What?!"

  "A few months after mom did."

  "Maker's breath, Gavin..." her breath hitched in her throat, the tears rising in her eyes now, "I am so, so sorry. That... Shit."

  "Shit indeed," he tipped his head to her, the forehead nearly brushing against hers while he smiled dolefully. Maker, she wished she could do anything to wipe away just a moment of the pain wearing on his brow.

  Suddenly, he tugged back a bit and walled off. "I should have written to you. I did receive your letters, but... It was my duty to respond to you."

  Myra held up a hand and shook her head, barely able to slurp down a laugh at the absurdity of him worrying about such a small issue. "Don't be daft. It's no big deal."

  "I kept meaning to, but every time I tried to find the words..."

  "Gavin, it's okay. I knew you weren't trying to spite me. You were...you're in pain. Dad gave me the lay of the land. And, shit," she shook her head, panic rising in her eyes, "I, I thought maybe hearing about my stupid day to day problems might lighten you a bit, but now I can see how callow it would seem. Shit."

  "No, no, it was nice to read them. To hear from you and know that there was still... Thank you. I'm glad you're not mad at me."

  Her palm skirted against his cheek, smoothing down the rough patches of face fur and finding a new scar buried underneath it. "Mad at you? Never. I understood, you needed time so I...I mean, I was worried, but I figured that..." As her words trailed off, Myra's eyes skirted around the very full office who had little to nothing to do before Satinalia and were all listening in on this rather private conversation.

  She tugged her hand off him and bundled it behind her back. Trying to smile without it looking like a grimace, and failing spectacularly at it, Myra shrugged, "Maybe we should talk elsewhere. Where there aren't a hundred people listening in. Don't think I can't see you Jorel. We can all see you. I can see you even when I'm up at the College."

  Gavin nodded in agreement and moved to undo the cloak draped across his strapping shoulders, when the door blew open. It nearly shattered into the back window as the lady Solver herself dashed into her agency mumbling under her breath, "Blighted pain in my ass. Didn't even need..." she knocked up her hat and spotted her daughter. Dashing forward, Reiss pinned Myra tight into a hug.

  "My!" she cried as if her wayward daughter had been gone for ten years.

  "Yeah," Myra grunted, afraid she might hear a rib crack, "I'm still here even after you ran out the door."

  "Sorry about that. Alienage business, not really. Ever since that fat arse appointed himself in charge it's been one crisis after another that only I can deal with, and when I get there nothing. So...you cut your hair." Her ranting about whoever in the elven slums was bugging her took a sharp turn as she eyed up her daughter.

  "Yep," Myra smacked her lips. "Gonna tell me how much you hate it?"

  "It's...it suits you."

  Myra's eyes bulged out of their sockets and her jaw smashed through the floor.

  "Makes you look older, certainly more sophisticated than you really are. As I imagine everyone learns once they talk to you," Reiss snickered, getting in at least one good jab.

  That. That was impossible. All her life it was 'Don't cut your hair, Myra.' 'Step away from the scissors. You'll thank me when you're older.'

  She swung a sly eye at her nonchalant mother and crossed her arms, "Dad told you, didn't he?" Reiss only let her sight dart over Myra for a second, but it told her all she needed to know. "How much ranting and raving was there before you calmed down? Did you blow a new hole in the roof?"

  Reiss sighed, no doubt about to chastise her for leaping to such arrogant and no doubt accurate conclusions, when Gavin coughed. "Ah, perhaps I should speak with you another time. You seem to be..."

  Spinning right to him, Reiss melted into a puddle of pity. Myra'd seen it in theory, but rarely aimed at her unless shit went fully sideways. "Don't be silly, you should remain. Catch up with My while she's in town. In fact, you should stay
for dinner."

  "Dinner?" Gavin turned to Myra. It seemed obvious a string of panic was darting in his words. Was it safe for him to remain?

  Myra nodded her head at him and licked her lips. "It'll be fun, mostly fun. Dad's bringing food."

  "Your father is coming?" Now Gavin looked as if he wanted to climb out of his own skin and make a run for it. Poor boy, out of the frying pan and all that.

  Reiss smiled at the trepidation without perhaps catching onto the source. She wrapped a motherly hand around Gavin's arm and guided him towards the back of the agency. "Don't worry. He should be bringing us some dumplings from the alienage. I think I talked him out of cooking for your first meal home."

  "Thank the Maker," Myra laughed. "Cause if he does, I might just leap on the first boat back up to the north."

  She fell in beside Gavin while they walked around a mess of desks. For a moment his eyes drifted over to hers and she regretted chopping all her hair off. The way he stared so intently at her, she wanted to hide behind all three feet of it until the blushing wore off.

  "Are these Ineria's dumplings?" he asked.

  A great smile rose on her mother's cheeks as she patted into Gavin's hand. "I knew I liked you." Giving into the tug, Gavin had no choice but to stay for dinner with the Sayers.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Family Dinner

  With a deft stab of a knife, her father scooped up the final dumpling in the great pile he brought (which was never enough). "Looks like we've got one left," he chuckled, his eyes skirting around the table. "So who gets it?"

  A pile of fire runes Myra dug out of her satchel wafted red light in her mom's makeshift hearth while the four adults tried to crowd around a table that on a good day could seat two. If she shifted too fast to the left, she'd wind up in Gavin's lap...which was not a thought to be having with her parents right there.

  "Gavin," Alistair turned to the boy who sat as prim as one could while reduced to using an old pickle barrel. He even had a napkin on his lap and his elbows off the rickety table.

  "Sir?" his eyebrows lifted.

  Her dad waggled his and smiled, "Wanna duel me for it?"

  "Um..."

  "Maker's sake," Reiss groaned, "just give it to him. He's a guest."

  "I was only kidding," her dad moved to slide it onto Gavin's plate while eyeing up Reiss with his typical loving jocularity. "Or are you worried he'll beat the stuffing out of me?"

  "That's quite all right, Sir," Gavin interrupted, trying to wave the offering away, "I'm full." But there was no stopping the fall of the final dumpling as it plopped onto the slab of metal.

  Myra's mom turned fully in her seat, her eyes meeting with Alistair's as she groaned, "You think you could stand a chance against a man in his prime?"

  "Oh, the lady doth wound me," her dad struck a hand to his breast and feigned fainting.

  "I'm liable to if you think picking fights with full grown men at your age is smart." The two dropped into their weird flirting bickering that made up a lot of Myra's life. There was no venom in their words, and always a smile or snicker on their face when they did it. At the moment Reiss was gently prodding into Alistair's side while he'd yelp and twist around. In a minute or two, he'd no doubt grab her hands, tug her close, and kiss her. It happened so often Myra grew immune.

  Instead of watching her parents behave like flirty teenagers, she turned to Gavin who was staring glumly at the final dumpling. "I don't think it's poisoned. Be weird to only do one in a batch," she whispered.

  His amber eyes darted to her in concern. He'd been polite but distant the moment Reiss pulled them all back to her corner of the agency. She asked him about his work, how the trip had been, but generally Myra did most of the talking while Gavin silently watched save a word or two. For dinner he was able to provide a distraction by delicately eating the dumplings -- the only one at the table not scarfing as many in his mouth in one go as he could.

  Now that all the food was gone, he was trapped with little to do beyond swivel a spoon around his plate. He seemed to be weighing the dumpling as if it were a true enigma to solve. Did he dare eat it and take food from a King's mouth? Or refuse and in doing so question their hospitality.

  Myra reached her hand over, ripped the dumpling in half, and jammed her section into her mouth fast. The clotting gravy rested on her tongue a moment while she chewed down as much of the dough as possible. Ineria's dumplings were always good, but best fresh out of the oven. After the walk from the alienage and back some of the dough settled into lumpy clumps.

  With careful fingers, Gavin scooped up the dumpling half and placed it on his tongue. While he chewed and swallowed, his smiling eyes darted over to Myra. She wanted to return the look when she caught her mom almost sliding into her dad's lap.

  "Okay!" Myra shouted before it went from awkward to 'needing to douse her eyes in acid' uncomfortable. "Dinner's over. Mom, want to help me do the dishes?"

  That caught her dad, whose eyebrows shot up high. "You, willing to do the dishes? Who are you and what have you done with my daughter, demon?"

  "Dad," Myra groaned, batting away his accusing finger.

  It was Gavin who stumbled up to his feet, the barrel rocking on its side from the move. He gathered up his plate and another while looking at Reiss. "I can do it if you'd like, Lady Sayer."

  No one called her mom that. For most of Denerim she was either Ms. Sayer, Reiss, or Myra's mom. The other names weren't to be used in polite company. Instead of snapping at Gavin or trying to wipe away his damn professionalism, Reiss sighed, "You're a guest, no matter how much Alistair keeps prodding you. Please, sit. I think..." She turned to the man who had his hand resting right on her ass. Daad!

  "Hm?" he was clearly off in his own land, when his eyes snapped away from the clouds, "Oh, right! The... I've got a bottle of brandy I thought we could all share. But you still haven't explained the envy demon posing as our daughter."

  Myra blew her hair to the side in consternation and fished up a few of the dishes. "Is it so wrong for me to want to pull my own weight once in awhile?"

  "Yes," Alistair said.

  Reiss reached over to get the last of the mess as they piled it all into a washing bucket. "She's got some new magic spell she wants to try out."

  "Ah," the man tapped a finger to his chin, "now I understand."

  Grumbling, Myra snatched up the wash bucket and plunged her hands deep into it. The water that'd been ice cold began to heat to a soothing warm without any hearth necessary. "Forgive me for trying to be nice," Myra grumbled while she began the laborious task of scrubbing at a plate with an old soap brush.

  "You're forgiven," Reiss snickered while falling in beside her wayward daughter and taking up the rinsing part. "Sweet Andraste, this is cold."

  "Bet you regret talking back to me now," Myra waved her soapy fingers at her, but her mom gritted her teeth and dove both arms to the elbows into the freezing water.

  While mother and daughter raced each other to try and get the dishes scrubbed clean, King and knight were left to watch helplessly. Even with her head bent down to focus on the bucket, Myra could feel those amber eyes burning into her. "I feel as if I should help..."

  "Trust me, son," Alistair gripped onto his arm to hold him in place, "when they get this way, it's best to stay far back until a winner's declared. Maybe go for a pint. Ah, speaking of..."

  Digging into the sack of goodies her dad brought to the house, he placed a dusty old bottle on the table. "Here," Alistair pushed the amber bottle closer to Gavin who stared long and hard at the finger streaks in the thick dust.

  "Wh...what is it?"

  "Brandy. See, says so right there on the label," Alistair laughed while jabbing a finger at the poorly spelled Ferelden attempt at Brindie.

  "I...see," still on tenterhooks around his sovereign, Gavin ran his fingers around the neck while seeming uncertain if he should pop open the bottle or give it a rinse.

  Suddenly, her dad's always cheery voice dropped into
a snuffle. "The date," he rapped his finger on the label and coughed, "look at the date."

  "'Bottled on 9:30 Dragon,'" Gavin read before sitting up and staring at the old man, "The blight?"

  "Yup," Alistair nodded and began to work a corkscrew into the top. The cork buckled, nearly crumbling after sitting on a shelf for so many damn decades. "Your mom," it began breezy, but collapsed from the weight of an incomprehensible pain.

  Her dad stopped speaking, his eyes hidden behind the bottle while he kept working the cork free. When it popped open, he continued, "She found it. Or her dog found it. That dog was always finding things. And she...she wanted to save it, to drink together after the Blight was over."

  Tugging over a glass, Alistair began to fill it up with both brandy and memories. "We never did, sort of slipped our minds and then...we kept coming up with other reasons to drink it. Bigger celebrations than ending a Blight, I guess. The future seemed so damn far away."

  After passing the first full glass to Gavin, who fell deathly silent, Alistair filled up another two. "My," he said, knocking the bottle's neck into the tumbler to get her attention. She dropped her sponge and picked up the glass, handing it to Reiss who remained back by her dishes, her eyes low.

  No one spoke a word while the last of the bottle ended up in the final two glasses, the crimson liquid -- liable to get someone good and trashed -- glittering like garnets. Or blood.

  Myra shook her head at the macabre thought. She glanced over at Gavin, his hands both wrapped tight around his glass of memories while his head listed to the side. He looked as if it was too much work to keep his noggin' upright. The entire meal he sat with perfect posture, but one mention of his mom and he... It wasn't that surprising that he'd crumble. Myra only knew her for a few years and then in passing, but when she heard the news she walled herself up for a day to get all the tears out in one go. Maker only knew how hard it hit her son.

  She wanted to reach over and touch his hand, to hold it in solidarity, but with both of her parents in the room and the potential questions that would raise from them and Gavin himself, Myra kept her hands where they belonged. Her dad finished filling his glass and set the bottle down.