Coughing in his scratchy throat, he lifted his tumbler high. "To Lanny."
"To Lady R," Myra added, clinking her glass against her dad's.
Reiss slid forward, joining in the toast as she said, "To Lana."
Gavin's lips remained still, his eyes burning into the table, but he raised his glass and gently Myra knocked hers into his. He mouthed something but gave it no breath, when Alistair and Reiss took their turns trying to help heal the poor man.
"Welp," her dad shrugged, "down the hatch."
As one they all tipped the four decades old brandy to their lips and took a swig. Sweet blood of Andraste! Myra's eyeballs threatened to pop out of her sockets as the flavor of vengeful vinegar combined with fruit left rotting on the vine until it desiccated grabbed her tongue and refused to let go. She fought hard against the urge to spit it all out on the floor, coaxing her throat to swallow no matter what.
By the time the stars on the sides of her eyes passed, she glanced around at the others who were all lagging their bitter tongues out, attempting to clear the rotten taste from their mouth. "That, uh..." her dad rolled the glass around, staring at the thoughtful gift that went completely pear shaped.
"It's something," Reiss said, nodding her head to her husband before her eyes darted over to the boy it was all done for.
Gavin was staring intently at the liquid while dipping a finger in, when a hint of a smile raised on his lips. "It is truly abysmal," he said straight-laced before looking up at the others and smiling.
"Merciful Maker," Alistair gasped, "Yes, yes it is. Turns out dogs have terrible taste in brandy. Who knew?"
"Mom would find this hilarious," Gavin said, a reflection of the crimson brandy striking back against the rising tears.
"Yeah," her dad nodded. He took another sniff of the offending liquor before yanking his face away and placing the cup on the table far from him. "Lanny sure would. Well..." Turning from the others, Alistair dug into his sack and yanked out bottles in his hands. "Who's up for koomtra instead?"
"Blighted hell, why did I ever let you try that?" Reiss muttered while both kids gladly accepted the elven tree sap which was guaranteed to taste ten times better than the moldy brandy they tried.
By the time they all finished their koomtra and were barely even tipsy, her dad decided it was best to try for a little old constitutional to walk off dinner. He actually called it a constitutional too, showing he was sitting in on more and more of the various tutors flapping about in the palace. And people thought an old king couldn't learn new tricks.
Her mom and dad led, surprise surprise. Alistair had one arm wrapped around the back of Reiss and he lay his head upon her shoulder. To those passing it probably seemed rather humorous, the taller sovereign with his goofy cheek plastered against the patient elf. But Myra knew her dad, and Reiss really knew the man. He was more than hurt by the loss of his old friend, he seemed to have been rattled so bad he'd started up the will talk again. When he even wrote her a letter asking what Myra wanted of his she threw the thing in the fire and told him to quit saying that.
She wasn't ready to lose him. Not now, for certain. Not for another ten years, maybe twenty if the Maker was kind.
Flinching, Myra glanced over to Gavin who'd been quietly stumbling along behind the love birds. He walked a half step behind Myra as if he didn't want to appear forward in any sense of the word. Realizing some mad girl was staring at him, his amber eyes shifted away from the snow coated eaves of the walkway to Myra's. It was obvious he was wondering what the hell she was thinking, or why she couldn't stop looking.
"Your dad," she began, watching the clouds butt over Gavin's brow once again. "Sorry, just, he died? I can't..."
Gavin nodded his head softly, his eyes turning to the sky, "A few months after mom did. He went fast, in his sleep."
"Shit," Myra rubbed her arms up and down and hissed. Instinctively, she nestled deeper into the fur trim of her robes as if they could protect her. "Did, uh, did you have any idea?"
"No," he twisted his head downward and a great breath shuddered his shoulders. Out of nowhere he snorted and lolled his neck, "Actually, it's not that surprising. And to think, Mom thought he'd...never mind." Their boots crunched along the grey, gritty snow that was at best an inch or so on the street. The cold was around, but unless clouds swooped in to dump a fresh blanket of snow it was going to be a blah Satinalia in Denerim this year.
"I don't think he wanted to live without her," Gavin whispered to himself.
"Well that's a load of crap," Myra sneered, a hand snapping onto her hip. The orphan whipped his head to her, his eyes narrowing. "To just up and leave you alone like that, when you were... Even if it was bad, it's not fair to..." She turned away and blinked in the bitter wind to try and dry her stupid tears. For the past few months she assumed he at least had his father by his side to help him heal, and no, not even that. To think of him all alone out in that wilderness with a broken heart.
"It's all right," that far too generous and foolhardy boy said. "I had my aunt with me for a good while. Both, in fact. Though one was a greater distraction than the other."
Myra snickered a moment, "Did Hawke talk you into getting an earring yet?"
"No," Gavin laughed a bit too, "Though she seems determined in thinking it will be fetching on me. Too much time with pirates I think."
In all his letters, whenever he'd mention his more famous of aunts, it always seemed as if that boisterous troublemaker was dead set on her nephew sporting a gold hoop. Nothing too ostentatious, didn't want him accidentally ripping it out, but a bit of a shine to spice him up would probably work. Myra let her eyes wander over to Gavin's far too fine face.
He'd aged a bit since she left for the college, but in all the right ways. The beard really worked for him, the last of the puppy fat wearing off his jawline to leave it even more square than before. And worst of all...
When she first got a letter from him talking about a small landslide he got caught in and the rock he took to the face, it was a week, not even a week before she got one from Bryn. Seemed all the women in Denerim were fainting in the streets at the sight of Ser Gavin's lip scar. Maker take her, but...yes, it drew the eye right to those succulent lips she knew were as strong as they were soft.
"What did you do with her?"
The voice snapped apart Myra's leering at the poor man in mourning. She shook her head and tried to focus on the question that turned out to be her father who'd stopped to look back at Gavin. Alistair was clearly out of any humor, his eyes stricken as he stared at the boy in question. "Her ashes, I mean."
"Oh..." Gavin paused in walking, clearly thrown by the question.
"Alistair," Reiss jabbed into his side as she hissed at him. Her dad shifted from the poke but continued to look at the crumbling Gavin.
"No, it's..." waving a hand through the air, Gavin looked right up at his King. "Mom wanted to have her ashes spread at the site where Kinloch once stood. And I decided to do both hers and my fathers at the same time."
Her dad's lips lifted a moment, "So they're always together."
"Ye...yes," Gavin nodded, his head tipping down while an obvious burn rose on his forehead.
"Good," her dad bit into his lip and nodded his head, "good, because Lanny she...that'd make her so happy."
"I pray so," Gavin swiped at his eye to wick away a single tear. His cheeks lit up brighter in a flush and he reached towards the sword at his hip. "I also, um, kept a pinch for myself."
"Just a pinch?" Myra asked in surprise. Most people wore vials or kept their loved ones inside rings and lockets, if not whole urns.
With a smooth draw, Gavin unsheathed his sword and lay it flat in his hands. He tipped it around to point towards a small sapphire inlaid on the hilt. "Mom, she used to always wear this ring. Said that it gave her good luck, even during the Blight. I...I took the stone, had a jeweler make a setting on my sword, and placed a pinch of both of their ashes behind it."
"So they're both
always looking out for you," Myra smiled, her hand rubbing its way against his shoulder. What are you doing? Why are you being so forward? She wanted to yank her hand back but when he turned, a sweet, grateful smile filled his eyes and she kept it in place.
"Wherever they are," Gavin added as he moved to sheathe his sword.
"Knowing your dad, they're already at the Maker's banquet with your mom sitting on the fluffiest cushion in the place," Alistair said. There'd always been a bit of bad blood between him and the Commander, blighted everyone knew it, but this time it felt different. He wasn't condemning Cullen but cheering him on for doing everything in his power, even in death, for his wife.
A carriage crammed full of elves drunk out of their gourds went slushing through the snow. Bells jangled on the horse's harness, which they found hilarious, while all the occupants wore red helmets -- no doubt stolen off the Satinalia statues around the city. They were singing their blitzed heads off, a few yanking the festive hats off to puke in them. That was enough to draw away the air of death a moment, reminding them far too much how messy and sticky life could be.
"I'm surprised you're out here," Myra said to Gavin, her eyes having trouble meeting his. "With the abbey and all..."
"An old farmhand is running it at the moment. Albert's trustworthy, a friend of the family. Though he's making certain to include me in all the big decisions. And some of the girls Mom trained up are looking after the few remaining patients."
"So you don't plan to stay there?" She could tell by his slumped shoulders that she really shouldn't have brought it up, but her damn heart was thundering in terror. There was no good reason for him to stay in Denerim with his family's place damn near abandoned. It needed him...more than she, uh, Denerim did.
"N...not at this time. I don't..." Gavin screwed up his eyes and breathed through his nose. Glancing quick to the side, Myra noticed her mother and father turned away but they were both clearly listening. Her one-eared mother no doubt doubly hard to pick up on everything. Sneaks.
"One day, maybe I'll return to the abbey, but for now. The idea of spending my days in the walls of the refuge without either of my parents there is..."
"Say no more," Myra reached out, wishing she hadn't selfishly brought it up. "I...I get it."
"Sadly, I fear without a dedicated farmer or healer on staff the refuge itself will fall into disarray no matter what." It was wearing on him, as if he needed to put his wants and needs on hold in order to continue his parents work.
Her dad tipped his head up and in a loud voice said, "What you need to do is find a farmer who's willing to marry a healer." Myra rolled her eyes at the sentiment, when Alistair spun and pointed right at her. "My, you can help with that."
"What?!" she screeched, her eyes popping open wide as they darted from her scheming father back to the blushing knight.
"You know, at the college. Lots of healers there. You must know some of them. Maybe round up a few farmers and see if the sparks fly?" that foolish old man waved his hands around as if it was the best idea he ever had.
"Blighted hell," Myra rolled her eyes and groaned. She pinched into the top of her nose to try and scrape away the lingering flush of what she thought he really meant. For a breath her eyes peered over at Gavin who was staring rather intently at her again.
"So, Gavin, you're going to be staying at the castle for awhile then," Alistair reached over to pat him on the back.
"Yes. At least until the spring thaw, when I am to return to the dwarven kingdom."
"My condolences."
"Wh...why?" he whipped his head around, Gavin looking stricken at the fear of more tragedy in his cards.
Myra jabbed her elbow towards her father and sighed, "He means because of Cailan. His blushing bride-to-be is in town."
A smile lit up Gavin's far too handsome face and he nodded, "Ah. Not a fan of her features."
"The exact opposite, actually," Myra sighed. "Seems he's rather smitten with her beauty but she's a traditionalist. No bit of fun, not even a kiss until the wedding. And tradition dictates it won't be had until after the holidays."
Her dad massaged his forehead as if a headache named Cailan permanently built a nest behind his eyeballs. "Maker's balls, the moaning and whinging. As if going two months without any is a death sentence."
Myra leaned closer to Gavin to whisper, "Way I hear it, the Queen's so concerned about Cailan dishonoring his bride-to-be she's got him being followed at all times to keep him celibate."
A snort reverberated from her mom and Reiss folded her arms. "Be easier to just slap a chastity belt on him."
"Those aren't real, least not for long term," Myra shook her head and returned to Gavin, when she felt a very cold breeze waft off of her mother.
"And how would you know, young lady?"
"I...uh, read about it? Somewhere?" Myra squeaked out, in no way planning to tell her mother the truth. Ever. Not even on her death bed. Probably Myra's because her mom was going to live forever.
Alistair brought his hands together, a great clap echoed through the streets causing the snows to shift further off their perch, but if her dad noticed he didn't care. "Well, this has all been very fascinating. Right, Reiss? But I think we should head back inside before we start losing toes. If I can't count to twenty, the whole country could fall."
Together, the four of them trudged back towards the agency as the sun itself began to set on the horizon. Orange and reds lit across the grey snow, making even the grunge of Denerim sparkle with life. Myra pointed towards it a moment, smiling at a familiar site she missed a lot, but when she turned to Gavin to share he had his head down in contemplation. Not surprising, his heart was probably five times bigger than usual with all the thoughts crammed inside. Poor guy.
Maker, she wished she was better at this. To have the right words, or be able to wave her fingers and wipe the pain away. But the only thing that could do that was time.
When the bell jangled, Myra stomped into the old agency to find nearly all the desk lamps out. Everyone headed on home for the night, Satinalia about to rear its head and keep 'em all busy with the feasting, and the decorating, and carousing. Myra mostly came home for the carousing.
Alistair helped Reiss out of her coat, kindly placing it on the rack along with her hat. For a beat, Gavin glanced over at Myra as if he should do the same but she went out in just her robes. The one good thing about being a mage, the day to day wear kept you protected from a lot of the elements. She expected him to shake off his cloak again, but he paused and waffled on his toes.
"I suppose I should return to my bed at the palace," Gavin bit into his lips, his back straight while he surveyed the happy family he felt he needed to leave.
"What?" her mom turned to the boy and shook her head. "Don't be silly. It's dark out there, and freezing. You should stay the night."
He blinked slowly, shifting on his feet as if it was his duty to vanish into the night. "I wouldn't wish to impose."
"It's no big deal," Alistair said. "Last thing anyone wants is you to get run over by a one horse open sleigh on the way home."
Reiss nodded her head and smiled, "You can bunk with Myra."
At those simple, innocuous words, Gavin's eyes flared open wide and he turned to the girl in question with guilt bobbing across his face. Why guilt? She expected a blush, but that was confusing.
Shaking off the damn detective her mother bred into her, Myra reached over and took his hand. "It's no biggie. Bryn moved out ages ago, but we've still got her bed. I'm fairly certain you can fit in it. If you scrunch up."
"I..." Gavin shifted helplessly in his boots while Myra tugged him onward towards her old room. "I'd like that."
She didn't want him to leave. She didn't want him to be alone. But...she also didn't have any right to make either of those things true for him. At least she could try and help him for one night. Nodding with certainty, Myra welcomed him into her room with a smile and a, "Good."
CHAPTER NINE
Roo
ftop Confession
A noise roused Myra from sleep and her first thought was to yell at Joss to shut up. When nothing smacked into her back, she cracked open an eye and gazed around. Right, this isn't the college. And she didn't have to worry about Joss' late night 'brain storming sessions' anymore either. Maker, what the fuck was she thinking with him again?
Absence sure did help her to realize how much of a colossal ass he was.
Another scraping sound echoed from near the side of her wall and she placed her ear to it. Hm... She knew that one pretty well and had a good guess what was up. Sliding out of her bed, Myra reached for her clothing but shrugged it off. The boots were useful though, her feet jamming quick into the too big things. Without socks on they clomped back and forth leaving her tipsy but it was better than losing toes. She did unearth her duvet off the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders like a great cloak.
Wearing just a long, ratty tunic and short pants she had to look mad while stomping outside in the middle of the night with snow sitting on the ground. Good thing she was a mage. Before the wind even had a chance to chill her bones, she raised up the warming spell she learned at college and sighed in contentment. Her skin crackled like she was laying outside on a summer's day instead of huddled up against the burn of winter.
With one hand, Myra shifted the duvet tighter so it'd stay in place, and used the other to lift herself high into the air. The climb was fast, and one she'd done thousands of times before. Myra could probably climb to her roof in her sleep, every handhold etched into her heart, while she held her breath and listened. Whatever'd been making those scrabbling sounds had stopped but probably because it got where it needed to be. The rest of Denerim kept on slumbering; it was rare for a single girl scaling a wall to wake up anyone.
As she crested to the top of the roof, Myra let her head bob up a for a second to get a quick look-see. Sure enough her assumptions were right. Dropping the swift and silent act, Myra groaned a bit so as not to startle him. She pulled herself up the last of the way, grabbed tighter to her blanket cloak, and plopped onto the roof.
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