My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "What?" she snorted in her snot, "It was just his time?"

  "Yes," Gavin nodded, causing Myra to throw her arms up in agony. She was so fucking tired of people saying that. No, his time was never. It should be never. Why did it have to be now? Why did it have to be ever?

  Folding up his legs, Gavin crashed his back against the wall beside her. He picked up both of her hands in his and smoothed down her skin. "It's not fair. I...I was so angry at the Maker for taking my mom and my dad like that." Gently, he drew back Myra's fallen hair, trying to slide the blonde tendrils back to where they belonged.

  "But it was okay. You helped me. And your mother," Gavin paused and a pained smile shattered his calm, "and your father too. I know it hurts, that it will...it will always hurt."

  People loved to tell her the lies. That with time she'd feel better. That she'd just remember her good times with her dad and not the gaping hole where he should be. She was so fucking tired of them.

  He placed his lips to her steaming hot forehead to whisper, "I'm here, and wherever your father is, I pray he's found my mother and that they're catching up."

  Myra laughed in pain, "He'll be unable to shut up about Duncan."

  "Very much so," Gavin nodded through his tears.

  "Your dad will be pissed."

  "He'll get over it," he said with such sincerity, Myra turned and smiled a moment. Her husband cupped her cheek and pulled her head to his chest to listen to the steady beat of his heart. For a time, he held her close, both of them swaying together.

  "So, a baby...?"

  "I'm sorry," Myra winced, "for not telling you before. I wanted to and then...Dad, and I..."

  "It's okay. I understand," he breathed against her, through her, with her. Myra clung tighter to his knees, wishing she could lay beside him for a few hours. "How are you feeling?"

  "Nauseous, tired, moody...but that could be the grief too."

  Gavin took a moment, clearly lining up his thoughts before speaking, "You should make up with your sister."

  "Rosie's not gonna want to talk to me for a month. Maybe she'll have me sent to the dungeons."

  "I'll tell her the situation. I think she'll understand."

  Myra wanted to argue, to make some flippant joke, but he was trying so hard to fix everything she broke. That was what he did, swooped in and glued up all the pieces. "Thank you," Myra whispered to him.

  "I love you," he answered back, his lips placing a kiss to the top of her head. She nuzzled closer to his chest, aching to feel him against her...not in any sexy bom-chick-a-wow-wow way. Just to be together, skin to skin, holding tight against all the bad in this world.

  "So...on a scale of one to my ass is on fire," she rolled her eyes up to him, "how terrified are you of having another one?"

  "Honestly?" Gavin cracked a smile and his amber eyes shifted over her face while a hand cupped her stomach, "A 6, but I suspect it hasn't fully hit me yet."

  She laughed at the answer that rung truer than him insisting he was fine. Tugging herself even tighter, Myra curled her hand over her stomach. I hope my Dad's with you across the veil there, little one. Because he'll be so happy to meet you.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Future

  "Let me check in back," her daughter was trying to be extra polite while Reiss noticed the strain in her jaw from a customer dropping in at her house and demanding service. How Myra wound up having to deal with people and be nice all the time was a true joke of the Maker.

  She sat at their little table beside the fireplace, officially there to spend time with her daughter. In truth, she'd mostly been keeping an eye on her grandson who was marching around the house with massive wellies on. They had to be his father's and it looked as if one could hold all of Duncan. But nothing like a simple matter of physics could slow a three year old down. He paused near the door, the cry of the army he was leading fading fast, and his eyes shot up to the man standing near it.

  The giddy grin of whatever game he invented involving a stick and the boots snapped away. Lip stuck out, Duncan stared wide eyed upward at the stranger in his safe home. Suddenly, from the barely walled off pantry a great crash erupted.

  "My?" Reiss moved to stagger to her feet, about to help, when her daughter's voice rang out.

  "It's fine! I'm fine," she emerged, her face splotchy but whatever she wanted locked up tight in a box. Running a hand under the massive bulge below her dress, she groaned, "This damn thing got in the way. Again." Waddling a bit slower while nursing her very popped stomach, Myra dumped the box into the man's hands and smiled. "Here you go."

  He peeked inside a moment, then gasped, "And there's really two enchantments on it."

  "Yeah, like you ordered," Myra said while stretching backwards.

  "I know, but...I didn't think it was possible."

  Reaching forward, Myra cracked open the door and began to shove the customer outside, "Amazing what a person can do when they spend their life figuring out how to do just that and then sell it. Thank you, have a nice day."

  She slammed the door and scrubbed her cheeks, "For the love of Andraste, please never come again."

  "Troubles?" Reiss hummed to herself while dipping a biscuit into her tea.

  "Why is it always the cheapskates who do that? They buy at most one rune, probably on discount because they spun some sob story I let work rather than have to listen to them. And because of that they think they own me. Drop right into my house when the shop is closed? Why not! That Myra's so friendly."

  Reiss rolled an eye over at her groaning and very pregnant daughter. "I could have told you that. At the agency, it was the fancier merchants who'd press and press as if no one else in the world existed. Why I preferred working alienage cases. Less coin, but less stress."

  "Yes, Mom, you know everything about everything and I..." her rant paused as she reached out and grabbed her son. "Duncan. What's in your mouth?"

  "Nuffing," the boy insisted shaking his head madly.

  "Uh huh, open it," she snapped her fingers and he dropped his jaw. Barely fishing inside, Myra groaned as she extracted a copper coin. "By the void, you are worse than a dog. Go sit by your grandmother after you put Dad's boots back."

  Duncan nodded to his mother and scampered to do as he was told. Wiping a hand against her forehead, Myra waddled her way over to the chair with five pillows in place. She'd use them strategically to prop up her feet, her head, or her back depending on how the day was going. "That kid, and look at me thinking 'oh, let's have another one. They're so cute.'"

  Snickering, Reiss kept watch over her grandson who obediently returned the borrowed boots and then scurried onto the chair beside her. "Seems to me you came out the better with Duncan." Myra raised an eyebrow but didn't respond. "He acts just like his father, sweet, listens, is more quiet than brash. And doesn't dig his way out of a swing to go wandering bare-assed through the streets of Denerim."

  "Ha," Myra laughed to herself, "sure, throw that back in my face. Just because all you get are the cute grandmotherly moments doesn't mean he can't be a real handful at times."

  "Potty training?"

  Myra's brow clouded, "We're not talking about that."

  That caused the long past that stage grandma to laugh. She scooted Duncan closer to the table where he pointed to the tin of biscuits. "Pwease?" Blessed Maker, he was too cute. There wasn't a person alive who could turn him down when he'd bat his green eyes, pout his thick lips, and then smile so wide a little dimple emerged on his left cheek.

  "Sure," Reiss said, happily handing the baby her biscuit. His eyes went wide in pleasure while stuffing the treat into his mouth, crumbs spraying as he tried to explain how good it was.

  "Dunny, chew, swallow, then talk," Myra said as if she'd been working on that for months.

  "Been a long day?" Reiss asked, turning to her daughter who looked as if she was ready to collapse into a heap.

  "Long month, two months..." she glanced out the window as if hoping for a face to be standi
ng outside.

  "How much longer was he supposed to be away?"

  Sighing, Myra shook her head as if she was being silly for pining, "Not very. Maybe another day. Or be back yesterday. Hard to say precisely. It was one of those humanitarian aid missions."

  Reiss puckered her lips. "I don't care for that word."

  "What? Aid? Missions?"

  Glaring at her, the old elven woman folded her arms, "As if the only people capable of compassion are humans."

  "Mom," Myra groaned while shifting in her seat, "I really do not want to get into a semantics argument with you right now. I'm tired, and crampy, and... What I want is for this damn thing to deflate back to normal!" she shouted at her stomach, which looked as if Myra was trying to smuggle a giant's skull under her dress. It was rather surprising as she'd been more or less tiny until about seven or eight months in last time.

  But now at six, she popped like a chicken's skin that got too close to the fire.

  "You know," Reiss said while ruffling up Duncan's hair, "I could always take him for awhile. So you can have a break."

  "Mom, it's...nothing personal and all, but the agency isn't really the best place for him."

  Reiss frowned, "Why not? You grew up there. You turned out just fine."

  Her mouth dropped a moment in shock before Myra shook her head, "Duncan's different. He's...he's not as big a people person and there are some weird people who walk into the agency."

  "As opposed to your rune shop?" Reiss bristled at her home being found as unfavorable for her grandson.

  "Let's see for one you have people who need to build a frozen pantry, or light a fire without wood. In the other, murderers, thieves, and the people who want those murderous thieves caught. I was playing in puddles of blood when I was five."

  "So?" she wasn't about to back down. Myra had a good life all things considered. And she was happy. Far happier than the childhood Reiss wound up with.

  Groaning, Myra leaned back, "I'll consider it. Maker knows we'll need help when we get more. Besides, I thought you were seriously talking about retiring."

  When Alistair...before she lost him, Reiss had entertained the thought of stepping back. Even of moving to the palace to spend what time they had together, together. But without him, she doubled down in her work, took to the streets for a few cases much to her daughter's contention. That was a very loud fight with Myra yelling that she should have gone with, and Gavin yelling that no she shouldn't because she's pregnant.

  As much as Reiss loved the chase, she was getting too old for it. Settling down in a cozy cabin, maybe taking up watercolors, and playing with her grandbabies all day sounded delightful. Still, she swirled her tea around before taking a drink, there was always tomorrow to decide.

  Myra suddenly sat up and Duncan spun in place as if they both sensed a change in the wind. A noise landed outside their house, like someone was trying to knock in a broken board with a bare fist. Their eyes burned into the door, waiting in anticipation as it cracked open to reveal a man with a sack tossed over his shoulder and a great smile on his face.

  "Daddy, daddy, daddy!" Duncan cried, leaping so fast off of his chair it tipped over. He ran towards his father who let the sack of filthy clothes plummet and Gavin dropped down to try and hug his son. The boy lashed his arms out, ecstatic beyond measure to have him returned, when Gavin suddenly hissed in pain.

  Duncan stumbled back, reacting instantly to hurting his father. "It's okay, son," Gavin said while reaching a hand out to the startled boy. In doing so, his cloak fell away to reveal an arm wrapped tight in a white sling.

  Oh boy.

  While he comforted his startled son, placing a kiss to his head, Gavin looked up into the wrathful eyes of his wife. "Myra, you're so..." he had eyes upon her stomach, while she was staring at his arm.

  "You're hurt?!" she shrieked, jabbing at it.

  "Before you jump to any conclusions, it's not that bad," Gavin began.

  Myra jerked her chin a bit, "Jump to any conclusions?" she repeated, a sure sign that she was angry beyond measure.

  "Duncan," Reiss waved to her grandson, "come sit by me."

  "Jump to any conclusions!" she shrieked again.

  "It's just a little break, the healers said..."

  "Oh, oh great, it's a broken arm. And there were healers involved," Myra slapped a hand to her thighs and tried to pace, but the massive moon around her stomach was making that hard. Poor Gavin looked disconcerted and as if he wanted to reach out to help her, but his arm was bundled tight to his chest.

  Realizing that his parents were about to blow up, Duncan dashed over to Reiss. She scooped him up into his chair and reached for an old piece of parchment. Dipping a quill into the ink, she placed it into his chubby fingers and told him, "Why don't you draw something for gammy?"

  "Kay," he whispered, his eyes hooded while the real fireworks began to explode.

  "Myra, you are overreacting."

  "No," she waved a finger in his face, her eyes blazing, "you're under-reacting. A broken arm? Blighted fudging clowns, Gavin! You broke your arm and didn't even tell me! Didn't even say anything in a letter."

  He rolled his eyes and sighed, "Because I knew you'd do this. It's not a problem, Myra."

  "Not a problem. Not a problem for the father of my child, my impending...look at this!" she waved at her massive stomach as if it was easy to miss, "to shatter his arm just before we're swamped with new baby stuff. No, how could I ever think that might be a problem?!"

  "You're acting as if I chose this. It was an accident."

  "It's always an accident!" she screamed, quickly reaching the hair ripping stage.

  Duncan gulped a moment in between his parent's frothing rage and both eyes whipped away from each other to their son. He had his head hunched down, focusing on drawing a line from one side of the paper to the next, while Reiss kept rubbing his back. "We should not argue in front of our son," Gavin said, clearly hoping that would end it all, but Myra wasn't easily bowed by anyone.

  "Fine, follow me," she turned on her feet and walked back towards the kitchen, pantry, and rune storage closet. It was also not really sound proof, allowing Reiss and Duncan the freedom to overhear everything.

  "Why are you behaving this way?"

  "Maybe because you hid it, maybe because you think so little of me that you wouldn't even tell me you broke your arm, maybe because..."

  "Maybe I didn't wish to worry you while you're growing a child inside of you!"

  Reiss turned her head, watching her grandson with a tongue stuck between his teeth draw something. It had purpose judging by his concentration, but she had no idea what.

  "That's a load of bullshit if I ever heard one. You didn't tell me because you knew it'd prove me right!" Myra was loud no matter where you were in the house. No matter where you were in Denerim, really.

  "For the love of Andraste..."

  "You can't keep doing this. Every day when you come home I have no idea what state you'll be in. One time it's a new scar, the next a broken bone. What about when you lose a limb? Or you're paralyzed, or hit so hard in the head you can barely remember your name?!"

  "Then you'll stop loving me, I assume," Gavin growled.

  "Don't you dare put that shit on me! I can't stop loving you no matter how many times you piss me off. That's not the point."

  "Then what is?!"

  "Gammy?" a soft voice that didn't rattle the swords nailed to the walls whispered beside her.

  She turned, "Yes?"

  "Can I 'ave a coin, pwease?"

  Reiss smiled, with that little pwease she'd probably give him her entire purse just to watch his smile. Maker's breath, he'd be amazing as a con-artist. Thank Andraste he got his father's sense of morality. "Here you go, cupcake," she said while placing a copper in his palm.

  Running his fingers over the relief, Duncan smiled a moment then resumed drawing.

  "Every MD time I sit in that chair wondering if that's the day," Myra was shouting but also c
learly fighting back tears, her voice rippling at the ends. Reiss pursed her lips to hear it, but knew she couldn't do a thing to help.

  "What day?" Gavin was growing softer, as if he could diffuse this bomb with his voice.

  "That you don't come back at all. That it's your squire at the door, or the other knights holding your fucking sword telling me 'He was brave.' As if I could give two shits if you were brave."

  "Myra..."

  "If you tell me to watch my language, I swear to the Maker..."

  Duncan seemed unperturbed by the naughty words whipping around him. If anything, he'd probably heard worse in his little life. Myra was cursing up a storm by age four courtesy of a very foul mouthed parrot that she snuck into their room and kept stashed in a chimney. Curling a hand against Duncan's back, Reiss glanced over at his drawing. He finished with the first pile of sticks and circles, and moved on to another.

  "You can ask Rosie..." Myra was insisting. No, begging. That made Reiss wince to hear. "I'd do it but you'd get all red faced and angry for stepping on your toes. Ask her to be taken off the front. That's all. Just step back."

  "Then someone else gets that knock. Someone else receives a fallen comrade's sword."

  A great cry of consternation broke out, "You would put your life behind everyone else's. Doesn't matter what you have here, no. Gavin has to be the hero no matter fucking what!"

  "Myra..." whatever he wanted slipped away as she rounded past him, out into the living room. Duncan turned to watch, but with tears in her eyes, Myra took up the stairs as fast as she could manage at her size. It was a few beats before the bedroom door slammed and very clearly locked.

  Pestilent dust erupted from that slam, filling the air with a virulent awkwardness as Gavin stumbled out to the living room to join his mother-in-law and son. He rubbed his working hand through his hair and sighed. His eyes struck Reiss a moment, before wandering over to his boy.

  "What are you working on Duncan?"

  "Somefing," the boy said, not about to break from his drawing now.

  Gavin sighed and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, "Glad you know how to keep busy." He tried to tug up his overfilled sack, but with with one arm down it was a no go. The bag crashed back to the ground, requiring someone to help him. Realizing that wasn't going to be coming anytime soon, the great Knight stumbled to his stuffed chair by the fire and fell into it.