"What makes you think you have any say in this?"

Myra ignored her mother's prodding as she was too busy yanking out her old traveling case. The damn thing was covered in books because she hadn't used it since she was fourteen. When she went to lift it up to place on her bed, it slipped right out of her hands and crashed against the ground. "What the shit is in here?"

"Myra, we talked about cursing," her mom sighed.

"Yeah, don't do it when shems or the nobs are listening. I got it," Myra waved a hand at her obstinate mother while cracking open her case. "What is all this?" Stuck inside her luggage were folders, piles and piles of folders. Also a handful of daggers. "Mom?"

Her mother stood in the doorway, constantly voicing her opinion about things that didn't concern her like a very annoying bird. At the sight of Myra's overfilled case, Reiss tipped her chin up and grimaced. "It's old case files."

"Why are they in my things?"

"They needed to go somewhere," her mom said as if it was the only logical answer in all of thedas.

"So," Myra struggled to hurl a handful out but the damn thing was packed. Grunting, she snarled, "keep them in your apartment. My shit's mine!"

"Which I bought for you."

Myra rolled her eyes and very deliberately got behind her case. Placing both hands against it, she said, "Pretty sure dad bought this one, right before you shipped me off to magic school." With all her might, Myra shoved the wooden trunk right at her mother. Reiss didn't move until Myra was almost on top of her, but either aware that her daughter wasn't going to stop or afraid she couldn't, she got out of the way. Upon reaching her mother's desk area that was always covered in everything: files, evidence, dioramas, ideas, food, Myra walked around her trunk and eyed up Reiss.

"Stay out of my shit," she snarled. Putting her back into it, she grabbed onto the bottom of her trunk. Grunting and straining, Myra tipped the chest upward causing folders to spill free like water out of a tank.

"Myra Sayer!" Reiss shouted, but it was too late. They were all coming out.

Digging in tighter, Myra got a better grip below and tipped her trunk higher until it was perpendicular with the floor. A tidal wave of old paperwork spread across every available walking space, swarming up to both Myra's and her mom's ankles. Rather proud of her accomplishment, Myra dropped her trunk down and picked it up by the handle. "Much better," she smiled at how light it was. Not caring what old case she stepped on, Myra walked over her mother's work to return to her room.

"Myra Sayer Theirin!"

You could hear a pin drop as every voice in the agency stopped. People were used to Reiss and Myra getting into it, her mom always trying the dreaded middle name approach. But when she pulled out her dad's name, well... Things were about to go full blight. Too bad Myra wasn't some scrawny twelve year old terrified of her mother's Voice-of-the-Maker routine. She was still scrawny, but was way taller than her mom.

"What? What, mom? Is it only acceptable for you to leave your crap all over my stuff if it's yours?"

"You're being unreasonable," her mother hissed, red rising upon her cheeks and forehead as she gripped tight to her arms.

"How? By wanting my own space? By wanting to do what I want? Tell me when I get to the unreasonable part, mom. Cause I ain't exactly asking to go get a tattoo and join with a marauding gang of pirates!"

"She makes a fair point..." a voice swung in with a parry, but her mother spun on her heels and snarled.

"Stay out of this, Lunet! She's my daughter..."

"Aye," Lunet dug a finger in her ear and sighed, "and we're your employees who are forced to suffer these constant little displays of rebellion. Ne'er mind the customers you two send scurrying for the door. Heard one time it got so bad a guy ran all the way back to his mum and pleaded for her forgiveness."

Reiss turned her death stare upon her oldest friend instead of her daughter who could give it back. "My child is misbehaving." Myra snorted at that and clomped back into her room. With a great heave, she cracked open her chest and began to drop her clothes inside. Three months didn't seem that long, but it sounded like she'd have to be prepared for anything on the road.

"She's growing up," Lunet sighed, a hand extended towards Myra who blinked at the unexpected help. Auntie Lunet was good for a laugh, but in such matters she always took her mom's side cause she paid her salary.

"She's only seventeen," Reiss snapped back with.

"She's right here and can hear you both."

"Oh, so now your ears are working, because you seemed incapable of hearing me every time I told you no."

Myra lifted up her free hand and clasped her fingers to her thumb repeatedly while rolling her eyes. She heard a snarl from her mother for that, and Lunet groaned, "A'right, she's still a right shit, but she's a bigger shit. You got to let her go at some point."

"Lune, I swear to the Maker, if you start telling me about baby birds and nests I will..." Reiss waved a hand under her nose. That was her mother, always right to the threats. Couldn't let a single person be right and her wrong. That'd go against the natural order or something.

"What'd your dad say?" Lunet shouted to Myra.

"Guess."

"No go unless your mom agrees? Sounds like the policy he'd take. I think he did the same thing with Kirkwall," Lunet sighed, tipping her head up.

"And I didn't say you could, young lady," Reiss called back in.

Myra didn't care. She was old enough, she could just leave. Hop onto a wagon without anyone the wiser. She knew how to avoid Karelle's checks, how to blend in. Bryn was gonna be there too, she'd help her hide. She was going, and with every word against it from her mother Myra grew more determined. Nothing, not even darkspawn, would keep her away.

"Well too bad, Mum, because I can do whatever I want."

"Ah!" her mother cried, her fists balled up as she waved them at the sky. No doubt she often begged the Maker for assistance with her wayward daughter. As if Myra was so bad. She didn't lap up any of the medicines for fun, barely had alcohol aside from the occasional need to blow off steam, and certainly never wound up knocked up. That would be...

Silently fuming, Myra dropped more of her clothes into the trunk, trying to leave a furrow so she could jam a few rolls of socks in the middle. She was going. Even if her mother tried to lock her in her room she could get out. Jorel taught her how to pick locks when she was only ten. Or there was the window. There were lots of ways for Myra to...

"Why do you want to go?" her mother's frustrated voice vanished to be replaced by a soft one of confusion.

Myra put in the last of her underwear and tried to close the lid. There was a good inch plus gap that wouldn't reach the lock. "Rosie's going," she said as if that was enough of an explanation. And if Rosie were to jump off a cliff you'd follow? She girded herself for that logical sword but it didn't come.

Her mom slid into the room and dropped an elbow on top of the trunk. "You know she has to. It's part of her duty..."

"Cause she's his real daughter and I'm-"

"Myra," Reiss spat out, grabbing onto her hands, "you're his real daughter too."

"There's real and then there's really real. You know it, I know it, Lunet sure as shit knows it," Myra jabbed a finger out at the woman that was trying to slink away. They all danced around it, her dad often stopping by the agency as goofy Alistair. Everyone treated them as father and daughter, nothing weird about it, but life wasn't just lived here. She couldn't pretend that Myra was as legitimate as Rosie and Cailan. It was stupid. It wasn't real. It was all a fantasy world she could play in sometimes.

"You don't know what it'll be like," Reiss sighed.

She wanted to spit back that she knew better than her mom. While Myra was up at castle functions shaking off the rumors from behind hands and curt words, her mom was always hiding. Either down here in her work or behind closed doors with her father. She didn't care, didn't want to fight against it all because her mom was too weak. Well, this was the only life Myra had.

"Then," Myra snorted, "I guess I'll learn."

"Da'saan," her mother whispered, snapping Myra right to attention. She rarely used elvish unless some shit was about to go down. Sheepishly, Myra's eyes darted over to her mother's missing ear and old pain rattled up her throat. Suddenly she didn't want to go. What if something happened to her again? There wouldn't be anyone here to protect her!

Reiss wrapped a hand around Myra, tugging her daughter into a hug. "Watch yourself. You will be on trial at all times," her mom tried to tuck back Myra's long tendrils of hair behind her human ears. "But you'll have your brother and sister to watch your back."

"You..." Myra blinked, her hands shaking, "you're saying I can go?"

"I seem to be unable to stop you," Reiss shrugged. With both hands, her mom heaved onto the overloaded trunk. It was just enough to join the clasp and Myra could finally lock it down. As the pair staggered back, her mom sighed, "You know I only do what I do to keep you safe."

"I know," she nodded, having been given this speech many times by both her mom and dad. "But mom, the world's not nice."

For a brief second, her mother's finger curled over the knob of scar tissue that took half of her hearing from her. "No, it's not." The elf stared at her all but shem daughter a bit longer before sighing to shake away the sentiment. All business, Reiss stood up and marched to her desk. "You'll be sending me letters once a week. One to your father as well. Keep to the schedule and do not wander away from the caravan group alone, especially in any of the smaller towns."

"Yes, ma'am," Myra nodded her head, her heart filling with excitement. She was really going to go. A proper trip without anyone getting in the way. Eee!

"Bring back something for your father," her mom continued to dole out orders, when a voice coughed from behind the screen, "and Lunet."

"I prefer things that come in bottles, preferably of a red variety from near South Reach."

"She's not a blighted merchant, Lune," Reiss bit back, both of them tearing into each other good naturedly.

Myra gripped tight to her braid, her finger following the plaits as she kept trying to slow the beat of her heart. This was really happening. No more being the king's brat, or the Solver's copy. She could be her own person, Myra - potential mage to the crown. Or however it worked. Dad was rather cagey about the old arcane advisors courts would have for some reason.

"And Myra," her mother punctured through her hazy imagination, "clean up this damn mess you made."