Thirteen Years Later...
The sickle's blade barely sliced through the tall grass, most of it clogging on the handle instead. Groaning, he let his arm fall slack, the scythe scattering to the half mowed field. Barely caring, he wiped his arm against his forehead and tried to clear away the sweat dripping into his eyes. He should have worn the field hat left on the kitchen peg, but thought after shaving his hair off it wouldn't be needed. Why did he keep forgetting about the damn sun?
"Gavin," his father's voice broke him from staring at nothing. The wiry boy shed his shirt behind, leaving his ropey body exposed to the sun while his father remained nearly fully clothed. Even his tunic reached all the way to the wrists, exposing a hint of that pink skin that easily turned red during summer. In that matter at least Gavin made out better.
He wished he had his father's wingspan however.
To Gavin's quarter acre that was cut apart and left to dry in the summer heat, Cullen managed nearly half going on three fourths. Which, his father kept eyeballing as if he assumed Gavin was slacking off. "You've stopped," he pointed towards his son's fallen tool.
"It's jammed up again, this grass is too tall," Gavin complained, then winced at the knowing look in his father's eyes.
"And whose fault is that?"
"Mine, Sir," he mumbled, his head falling to his bare chest. It practically glistened in this heat, sweat clinging to every part of him whether exposed or not. One of the aides to the abbey took to calling him caramel. The caramel boy out in the fields, hands calloused and raw from the never ending work. She didn't last long here once his father overheard it.
Cullen twisted his larger scythe down, the honed blade digging into dirt. He first tried to sponge off his own overworked brow, then patted Gavin on the back. "Mine too. I kept putting this off, because Maker knows there were a hundred other things to handle in the abbey."
Their home rested in the distance, the field of grass twisting down the road that led to it. If he squinted he could just make out the white stone walls that'd let him out of this heat. Once he finished out here, Gavin was going to strip to his drawers, dump a bucket of well water on his head, then lay on the cool floor for a good hour. Assuming his father didn't have more chores.
Who was he kidding, there was always more.
Cullen jerked his head to his son's scythe, "Did you remember to sharpen the blade before setting out?"
"Um..." his amber eyes darted around, doing his best to not admit that of course he forgot. He'd been in the middle of an adventure novel when his dad all but grabbed onto the back of his collar and hoisted him out into the field.
"Son, how many times do I have to tell you this? Keep your blade sharp and it'll serve you best..."
"Let it grow dull and you only have yourself to blame," Gavin muttered to himself, turning back towards the field. So what if they didn't finish today? There was always tomorrow, or the day after that. Their livestock weren't liable to starve in the interim.
A great cacophony erupted from the grove of trees further down the road. Father and son both spun to look up in time as a giant fireball crested through the sky. Gavin held his breath, but Cullen merely sighed, "I see your mother's hard at work." It was barely a beat before something smothered the fire before it torched the forest, no doubt ice.
Cullen barely blinked at the magics being cast at their doorstep, but Gavin tried to stagger up onto his tiptoes. He wanted to sit and watch, but his dad didn't think it a wise idea. They didn't exactly forbid him from it, but his parents kept finding better things to keep him occupied during the lessons. Gavin heard a soft grumble in his father's throat that was clearly code for 'Get your head out of the clouds and back to work.'
Yanking up the little scythe he'd had since he was ten and first let to roam their slice of countryside, Gavin glanced over at his father. He knew the stories, the heroics people sang of him, but every time they'd bump into a person who fought in the wars in awe of the great Commander, Gavin kept thinking, 'Him?' Surely they must have gotten their famous warrior confused with an old farmer who tended to grumble into his food and always had one eye on the door. If it weren't for his mother...
That was a whole other big problem he could barely understand. Slicing off a few more tufts of grass in the hopes of beating oncoming summer rains, Gavin gave it a few more beats before asking as nonchalantly as possible, "How long do you think the lessons will last?"
"As long as is necessary," his father answered, a familiar grit in his jaw. He didn't pause in his work, but his voice softened, "You know your mother, she gets an idea in her head and..." Cullen twisted his head around to gaze back to where the fireball erupted from, "And we all better keep up or be left in her dust."
That caused Gavin to laugh once, the idea of his mother speeding past either of them ludicrous. He bore a few early memories of her sometimes giving chase to her little boy, but she'd been confined to a chair and cane for most of his life. They would play by her sitting in the meadow while he'd zip back and forth bringing her things she asked for. It wasn't until he was much older that he learned they weren't making some exotic potion to save the fairies or whatever story she concocted. She was giving him busy work, and his father would pick up all the stolen objects to return back for the next day's game.
A new sound, strange to his ears, caused both Cullen and Gavin to look up from the field. Magical explosions, templars on tears, even a stampede of druffalo were commonplace, but this was fresh. Hoofbeats churned up the dirt path, tugging behind them the rattling of wheels and carriages tipping around the bend. Gavin froze, his fingers gripping tighter to the scythe. Visitors? But...they hadn't had anyone stop by the abbey in months. Winter could see an uptick, villagers seeming to be bored or wanting to check in on the grumbling old war hero for stories. Summer, however was a different tale.
He turned to his father for orders and spotted a sneer rising along the man's lip. Whipping back, Gavin noticed a crest stamped to the door of the carriage and a flag bearing a mabari waving upon the back. Cullen sighed, "I should have expected this. Would have been nice to have been told before but..."
"Father?" Gavin turned to him, curious and confused. There were few people who could truly rile him up, the man was practically a kitten with newcomers. But this one seemed to be causing him to spit hot nails.
"How about you go and greet our new visitors?" Cullen stretched his neck, "Give me your scythe, I can clean it up and put it away."
"The field...?" Gavin pointed to it as if he really wanted to continue. Normally, he'd take any excuse to flee from farm work, but if his father was so put off by this visitor how much of a donkey's buttocks were they?
"Can wait until later, but not too much later. Go on, get running. If you see your mother, when you see your mother, tell her I'll be by soon," Cullen said, giving his son leave.
Unable to stop the smile, Gavin turned and gave in to the freedom. Running with the top speed his lanky legs provided, he was halfway to the road that'd take him back into the abbey when his father called out, "Son! Don't forget your shirt!"
Gavin was wiggling an arm into the old, oversized tunic as he stepped through the front gates to find a single carriage waiting in their courtyard. A few eyes peered out of the doors in the abbey, patients and aides alike curious but no one willing to take the first blow. He spotted the driver sitting up on the seat, casually checking her pockets as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Right. Okay. You can do this. Not as if you haven't spoken to strangers before.
Sort of.
Sometimes.
He took a step forward, when a white blur zipped past him. It ran so fast he felt the wind off of it and spotted only a line of colors - mostly greens but there was a spurt of yellow mixed in. Gavin blinked to focus his eyes and when they did, his jaw locked up. The girl hopped back and forth on her feet, her hands yanking on the door handle to the carriage as if it was second nature to her.
"Dad!" she cried, tugging it open and all but hurling herself in with a great hug. The man was quick to catch her, white hair shining in the summer heat but a bright smile growing stronger from the hug.
"Wheaty! Maker's breath it's good to see you. Here, one more hug," he ordered, tugging her close.
They had the exact same smile, energetic and infectious stretching from the chin to the eyes, the realization of which caused Gavin to blush. He'd often catch the smile out of the corner of his eye while walking the abbey or from across a dining table and wonder things about it. Things that would make his father grumble more.
"What is this?" her father tugged at the blonde braid tossed over her shoulder, "When did you start going all farm girl on me?"
"Da-ad," she groaned, but then giggled like a nightingale. "How's things back home? What about mom?"
He smiled wide, "Why don't you ask her yourself?" Reaching back into the carriage, he drew forth a woman's hand. She was thin, her hair lighter than her daughter's, as she strained to reach around to complete the hug.
"For the love of Andraste, this is foolish. Myra, move out of the way so we can get out," she chastised. The smile didn't dim in Myra's face, but she obeyed, practically skipping backwards so first her father could step down.
Gavin knew that face, it was on more than a few paintings across the parts of Ferelden he was allowed to visit. There were even a handful of collectable coins bearing it that he'd gotten mixed up in his collection. Blinking like mad, his mouth dried out as he realized his father sent him to greet the King with no warning or training. What did one do upon meeting their Sovereign? Bow? That seemed almost too informal. He bowed to the Arl. This was...
King Alistair stopped staring around the courtyard long enough to have his eyes land upon Gavin. Yelping but managing to keep it internal, Gavin tipped his head downward. That caused the King to laugh and wave the boy closer. Was that an order? That was probably an order.
His foot slid once, when the woman's voice ordered, "Would you move your ass already?"
"Sorry, love," Alistair stumbled further away, "old bones ain't what they used to be." Turning back to the carriage, he got a good grip onto her hand and tugged her out.
She was a stunning elven woman, her long, pointed ear prodding through a mass of blonde hair. Hers was the kind of beauty that made young men hold their tongues in fear while also finding themselves unable to stop staring. Gavin felt himself straightening up more when her green eye landed upon him than the threat of a King did.
"Mom! How was the trip? Did you stop at the pancake place? What's Muse been up to? Or my friends?"
Myra launched towards her mother, and the woman turned her head sharply to reveal that her other ear was missing. A knob of scar tissue wrapped around what looked as if someone either hacked away the elven point or it was caught in something and ripped off. Neither mother nor daughter seemed put off by what was perhaps an old wound. "My," she chastised, "speak into my good ear please."
"Right, fine. I asked...!"
"The trip was serviceable if not long. We got the strawberry ones this time. Muse has been sleeping and farting all the time, and your friends sent along a good hundred or so letters for you," she answered quickly before cracking into a grin.
Myra's jaw dropped and she stuck a hand on her hip, "You heard me the whole time!"
"No, but I know my daughter. Come here, one more proper hug already without your father's ass in the way."
He laughed while they embraced again, then whispered near her remaining ear, "I happen to have it on good authority that you enjoy my ass."
"Alistair," she chided, her palm swatting against his shoulders. The woman looked as if she was about to kiss him, Gavin politely turning to stare at the horizon, when he felt her eyes land upon him.
The King turned to see what caught her attention and smiled, "Don't tell me, you're the welcoming squad."
"I..." he dipped his head down, uncertain if it was polite to stare a King in the eye, "I am."
Alistair crossed to him and picked up his hand. Gripping warmly to it he smiled, "Good. Better you than your father, ol' grouchy puss. How is he? Sour as a lemon scowling down bitterdrop lane I bet."
"It, um..." he had no idea how to respond, but the man continued to talk over him.
"Maker's breath, when did you get so tall?" the King gasped. It took everything inside of Gavin to not sneer at the idea. While he was taller than his mother, he didn't reach anywhere close to his father yet and seemed to have stalled out. Unaware of any offense, the King held his hand low to the ground, "I swear, last time I saw you you were this big. And had a metal bucket on your head to go fight off monsters."
A pretty laugh caught Gavin's eye and those vibrant green eyes he'd tried to not stare at for months landed on him for a breath. It was long enough for his cheeks to flare hotter than the fire she'd been launching earlier through the trees. Mumbling incoherently he turned to stare down at the ground, unable to make eye contact with anyone.
"Myra, how are lessons going?" the woman turned to her daughter, pulling the focus off of Gavin who only had the King trying to reminisce about a time he couldn't remember.
"They're fine, Mom," she rolled her verdant eyes wide then shook her head wildly. "I learned a new trick today, wanna see?" Myra lifted up her fingers, but the woman grabbed onto them.
"No, no, that's...as long as you're controlling it. Learning how to temper all the fire stuff. And you better be acting respectful to Lady Rutherford."
Myra snorted, then swooped her hands back over her forehead to try and tuck the free hairs back. The move drew Gavin's eyes to the tiny tips of her ears. It was kinda cute how they ended in this little bump, like a mosquito bite or a tick. Or other things he probably shouldn't say aloud to pretty girls.
"What was that?" Myra's mother wasn't about to give up, "Don't mumble, I hate it when you mumble."
"I! Said! I! Am! Being..." Myra stopped shouting and her eyes wandered past the courtyard, "Hi teach."
The adults both turned to find Gavin's mother hobbling towards them. Her cane glowed bright green, the magic guiding her along and keeping her upright, but she had a bright smile upon her face. "Ali!" his mother cried, and the King actually dashed across the muddied grounds to wrap an arm around her for a great bear hug. She buried her face into his chest, unable to make it for air against his shoulder.
"Lanny, you look resplendent as always."
"'Resplendent?'" his mother's eyebrow shot up as she stared in shock at the King, then her gaze drifted over to the elf.
"Word-a-day courtesy of the princess' new tutor. Believe me, that's one of the better ones he's clung to," she laughed at the man's expense but her face was soft.
"Good to see you, Reiss," Lana tipped her head to her, "You're looking well. Though, we weren't expecting you two at all." Her eyes narrowed and she turned hard to Alistair who lifted up his hands. Only his mother could get away with all but threatening the King of Ferelden.
"Don't blame me, it wasn't exactly my idea," he raced to defend himself, when he turned to shout, "Hear that, old man? It wasn't my fault. Blame the elf you all like so much."
"Thanks for throwing me under the apple cart," Reiss grumbled, and the King reached over to wrap his arm around her and kiss her cheek. At the display Gavin politely turned away and in the process he caught Myra doing the same. She had her tongue stuck out and emphasized a look of disgust. It was so preposterous he laughed at it, which caused her to smile wider.
Maker's grace, that increased his burning blush.
While Gavin made friends with the ground, his father finally joined the party. Cullen nodded his head to them both, "Reiss, a pleasure. You..." he said at the King who shrugged.
"That could have been worse," Alistair began before his face crinkled up and he pinched his nose, "Sweet merciful blood of Andraste, what is that stench? Smells like the inside of a bronto." He risked sniffing the air a bit before honing right on Gavin's father. "It's you! Were you living inside of one?"
Cullen folded his arms tight and put upon the King a glower Gavin thought only he had to suffer. "It's called labor, work, what people do to survive when they don't have a dozen servants to bathe them."
"I happen to think he smells fine," Lana cooed and slipped into his father's radiance. Naturally, Cullen snuggled an arm around her, as if protecting his wife and also supporting her. When she turned to him for a kiss, Myra failed to hide her gagging sound. That caught all the adults attentions but the girl was quick to put on a big smile.
"Wheaty..." the King's voice dipped lower as if in a warning.
Lana was quick to walk over the awkwardness, "After such a long trip, you must want drink and food. We have a few bottles in the cellar we can crack into. I got them from Teagan's stock."
"Now we're talking," Alistair slapped his hands together in excitement. "And it'll give us a chance to hear all about how our baby girl's doing," he reached over to snag Myra by the shoulders and pull her into a headlock. She squirmed as he rubbed his fist into her hair but kept laughing.
"Dad! No," she slid out, her hair a mess courtesy of her father. "I...I have to finish cleaning up the training area. Right, Ma'am?" she turned to Lana who blinked in confusion a moment.
"Well, you best get to it then," Reiss interrupted. "Though I'm almost tempted to follow to see the impossible, my daughter cleaning up after herself."
"She's been a wonderful guest," it was his father who stuck up for the girl he tended to give a wide berth to. Gavin couldn't quite figure out why. It wasn't as if she was contagious with anything, yet every morning Cullen would make certain his work kept him and his son out of Myra's path.
"Hear that Reiss? Our girl's perfect," the King smiled wide and she groaned, "Practically perfect. Go on ahead with your chores, Wheaty. Then skip on back, we really do have a good hundred letters from people back home for you. And they all demanded responses."
"'Kay Dad," she moved to dash away before suddenly turning on a copper and wrapping him up in another quick hug.
"I should assist," Gavin's brain took over his mouth, whatever it was thinking of failing to fill him in on the plan. Sure enough his father's concerned eye landed on him. "It will go faster if I do."
"Son, I don't know..."
"Let him go. It'll be fine," his mother was quick to speak over their father. Most assumed that the ex-Commander commanded the abbey and the family, right up until they came to meet his mother. "Go ahead, Gavin. I'm certain you two will get on well enough by yourselves." It had to be his imagination that she all but winked at the end of that.
A hand grabbed onto his and he turned to find Myra tugging hard on him. "Come on, let's go...before they get all mushy again."
Shuffling to get his dumbstruck feet under him, Gavin followed after the girl leaving their parents to head inside. A bit of their small talk struck him, but Gavin was too focused on following Myra his eyes unable to land anywhere safe but his feet. They'd set up a special magic zone for his mother to do things in. Runes glittered in a circle around it, protecting the area from observation and keeping the magic contained within. It was little more than a section of recently burned grass, even more burned to ash courtesy of Myra, with a few dead stumps in the way.
"What..." Gavin glanced around at the fallow land, "what are we supposed to clean up exactly?"
"I left my stupid stick here," she grumbled, picking up a staff carved out of a dead birch tree.
"That's it?" he patted his hands together, the hairs at the back of his neck rising. He could blame it on the magical shield, but Gavin often had it happen around Myra.
"Well..." she rolled her head around then smiled wickedly at him, "Lady R's wanted me to try and ice the ground, but..."
At her look his entire mouth dried to a husk, it felt as papery as a wasp's nest yanked out of a dead log. She stared at him with a glint in her eyes that both terrified and fascinated him. "But what?"
"Wanna do something fun?" Myra leaned closer to him and Gavin froze, every joint in his body locked tight. All he could do was nod his head up and down, agreeing to something he barely understood.
She smiled again, then nodded in response. "Good. Uh, do you know anything fun to do around here?"
"Um..." No, he spent his entire life walking from one edge of the abbey to the other. Canvassed the woods only to find it full of brambles, tree branches, and insects. Dabbled around the farmland acreage and realized that in general fields of grass contain little more than grasshoppers and giant piles of manure. "I might know of one thing," he said.
The guilt that burrowed at the back of Gavin's head suddenly dug in deeper and he turned towards the abbey. His parents told him to come right back, they'd wonder, his father would certainly worry. He was about to suggest they head back when a soft, pink hand glanced across his tan one. The deepest green eyes stared into his and he was gone. He'd have run away to Redcliffe if she asked it.
"Follow me," Gavin tried to sound imposing, but his voice cracked at the first word. Embarrassment burned hot up his cheeks and he slipped away from Myra, rubbing the back of his neck as if that would assuage the guilt and...other confusing feelings.
Taking an old path, he led her deeper into the woods. Myra walked behind him for a bit, staring around at trees, and squirrels, and squirrels on trees, but that grew dull quickly for her. Laughing, she dashed off deeper into the thicket. Gavin was about to ask her to come back. He could deal with his parents upset at his vanishing for an hour, but losing Myra would be the death of him. Never mind what a king would do. Was drawing and quartering still performed?
"Catch," she tossed her mage staff at him, which he fumbled with in his slippery grip. Her hands freed, she scrambled onto a log and ran up it towards the tree's higher branches.
"What are you...?" Gavin asked even as the girl leapt off the end of the tree, snagged onto a thick branch, and let the momentum swing her in a circle. She managed to pick up speed, twirling through the air as if she weighed nothing. The laugh was infectious, even as he felt terror rising in his legs about what to do if she fell or hurt herself. Myra kept up the spin, when she suddenly let go.
Her arms outstretched, sleeves billowing in the wind, she landed hard into an old pile of leaves. Gavin rushed over, the mage stick clutched tight in his hands, but the girl stood up, laughing as if it was all a big joke. "How did, how can you do that?" he gasped, amazed at how far she managed to fling her body.
"That's nothing," she winked, then placed her palms flat over her head and tipped into a cartwheel. "Back home I'd do this on ledges or roofs. Scares my Mum half to death, cause she'd rather I be chained to some desk sticking papers together or cataloging blood stains."
"Blood stains?" Gavin was confused but also transfixed at her lithe body. She moved as if in control of every muscle at her disposal, the thin arms catching and twisting her limber legs onward. It was...also not something he should be staring at, probably.
"Oh yeah," Myra continued on, not catching on that he'd been staring at her silhouette while she was upside down. "There's a good dozen categories for blood stains, all of which require precise number and lettering, blah blah blah." To finish, she bunched her knees up and then did a straight on backflip. It was impressive, but she wobbled a bit at the landing. Still, nothing seemed to bother her as she smiled, "Andraste's girdle it feels good to stretch."
"Is that why you don't wear any mage robes?" Gavin spoke, then paled at her look. It probably wasn't polite of him to notice her clothing, because then he was looking at her and everyone seemed to be against that idea. Still, it wasn't hard for him to not notice that while the few mages he knew clung to the robes of old, Myra was always running about in tight but not restrictive pants and a tucked in tunic. The shirt bore a lower neckline than most that let him sometimes catch a glimpse of the freckles across her collarbones. That was a long couple of hours of him hiding in the barn lest his father read the guilt on his face for noticing.
Myra shook off her snarl and smiled again, "Nah. Though, that is a good point, don't want to get the droopy sleeves caught, or I'd go, woosh, right off an edge. Splatter on the cobbles, very messy. Seen a few of 'em. Ugh."
"Ah," he had no idea how to respond. They told him little of the girl coming to stay for awhile as his mother taught her how to control magic. She was from Denerim, she was the daughter of friends of her parents, and that Gavin had apparently met her before when he was much younger. Maybe Myra remembered it, but he couldn't. He never seemed to meet much of anyone.
Slowing up, Myra turned closer to him, the smile dripping away, "It's my Mum. She's not wild about my magic. Wild would be an understatement. She all but blew the top of her head clean off the first time I set the room on fire. As if I meant to do it."
Gavin drew his fingers down the staff, the soft birch wood comforting against the skin. Was he the one to harvest it? He was often out with his father, plucking up old wood Cullen could turn into canes for Lana. "Sometimes I think my mother's disappointed I wasn't touched by magic."
"Oh?" her always dancing fingers wrapped around her staff, but she didn't yank it away. He felt Myra's eyes peering up at his, but Gavin screwed his eyes tight to stare at nothing.
"She'd often tell me about it when I was younger. The Fade and the wonders it held. Had me sit in on her potion brewing to get the hang of it just in case. But..." he tried to shrug it off and smiled at Myra. The girl sighed.
"Parents, huh? Bet they're all back there necking and stuff," she snickered then shuddered.
"Come again," Gavin blinked madly, a vision of his parents choking each other flitting through his mind. That couldn't be what she meant.
"You know," Myra pursed her lips tightly together and then smacked them, "My parents are the WORST about it. And they think I don't know. Please. They're as subtle as a cat in heat."
Gavin felt the blush returning and he tried to begin walking to shake it off. "Ah, now I understand."
"No kidding. I thought mine were bad, but yours are...is that what love does? Makes your brains get all gooey and liquified until you act so stupid it makes everyone around you sick?"
"I...I have no idea," Gavin admitted. He was aware his parents were affectionate but never thought it was too outlandish.
"Really?" Myra skipped near him, hopping out front so she could face him while walking backwards. She met him eye for eye, the girl a bit taller than Gavin. "So, you're saying you don't have a girlfriend."
Gavin chuckled, "I have few friends, though some of the aides will sometimes play a game or two with me."
"No, not like a friend who's a girl, but a..." she waved her hand as if that would somehow draw understanding to his brain, "a girl girlfriend. You know?" Myra stopped in her tracks, but Gavin failed to catch on. He made it another step closer to her and found himself a breath from her inquisitive eyes. They were always crinkled at the edges in a smile, but that did nothing to deflate their great size. It was like staring into grassy fields fresh from a summer rain, each gigantic and urging him to run through it. Freckles filled her peachy face from her nose down across her cheeks, the dots reminding him of the ones he spotted on her upper chest.
Gavin felt his breath constrict at the thought and he mentally tried to mumble a prayer. That was supposed to help him focus, or at least keep from making a colossal fool out of himself. "I, no, no, no-no-no," it was all he could say, his eyes finding his shoes fascinating while she stood so close he could see the stain of cherry juice on her lips.
"No girlfriend then?" Myra drug it out before smiling wide and spinning around, "Good. I don't get the fuss of it all. Genie, she's my friend back home. One of my friends, the dark haired one with the funny eyebrow. Long story short, don't try to shave your own down without help or you end up looking confused all the time. She keeps going on and on about this boy who's just perfect. He eats perfect. He breathes perfect. He probably farts perfect. What are perfect farts? Little toots of perfume."
"Or marshmallows," Gavin said, happy to be walking.
She smiled wider at him, "Yes, the perfect boyfriend must fart marshmallows, for all the hot cocoa one drinks. I guess he's only good for winter then. Need a boyfriend that farts ice for summer."
"A mage then," Gavin tried to circle the conversation back around to something he could understand. Perfect boyfriends were beyond his expertise.
"Ha," Myra rolled her fist around and small flames flitted across her fingers like the dancers at the chantry during satinalia. He watched the soft yellow fire when he felt her staring at him. "This doesn't bother you?" she asked, waving her hand back and forth as if the fire might suddenly leap out at him.
"Not particularly."
"Everyone back home practically shat themselves when I'd do this," she chuckled as if it was fun to terrorize her friends and family, but those smiling eyes drooped down, Myra staring at her flame.
"My mother is often casting spells around us, for as long as I can remember. It's hard to be upset when you can have a snowball fight in summer," Gavin said.
Myra closed her fist, smothering the magical flame, and she laughed, "Right, exactly. It's not scary, it's helpful, but..." She paused in her rant and glanced around, "Where are we going? Have we left the grounds yet?"
"Grounds?" he blinked in confusion. "We're deeper into the forest, if that's what you mean."
"No, I got that part just...is this land you know, part of your abbey?" she hopped up and down on her toes, enjoying it while also looking skittish.
Gavin glanced around the quiet forest, only birdsong and soft sway of the wind glancing shadows across them answering. "It belongs to the Arl. Which then I guess means it belongs to your father. I think."
"Yeah, right," she scrunched her nose up as if smelling something awful, then darted back to stare behind where they came. "And your parents, they let you come out this far?"
"Often," he nodded. Gavin caught the mark he put in a tree and bent over to lift up a fallen pine branch. Its soft needles provided cover and a difficult to squeeze under barricade. For a moment Myra eyed it up in caution, but she dipped down to scoot under it. Following behind her, but not too close, he heard the gasp and smiled to himself.
As he staggered up, he spotted the girl rushing towards the giant statue half submerged in the crystal blue pond. "Maker's balls," she gasped, then clasped a hand to her mouth at the swear. Gavin shrugged, having whispered worse under his breath when he'd nick a toe or a pig bit his fingers. She giggled at him not objecting where his parents would, and then spun back to stare wide eyed at the statue.
It was ancient, and huge. Carved from grey stone that felt out of place in this area, it reminded him of a horse, but didn't really look like one. There were no obvious gaps for the body or legs, the entire statue one giant slab, but it felt like a horse. If that made any sense. Only the potential horse head and top half of the body were visible, while a bright crystal blue radiated out from the slab into the pond around it. It practically glowed with blue, brighter than any lake he'd ever seen.
"This place is teeming with power," Myra lifted her hand and the fire rose higher off the fingers. She snapped it away with a giggle and then moved to climb up the statue. One hand gripping onto a front leg handhold, she paused and glanced over at him. "Is it wise for me to touch this?"
"I've been up there numerous times," he admitted, then blushed at her approving look. Gavin was nowhere near as skilled at climbing as she was. The girl made it look easy, her fingers finding grabs that he'd never manage as she moved up the statue like water. Perched upon the head that gazed forever down into the strange pond, she waved for him to follow.
Doing his best to not make a colossal fool out of himself, Gavin took the climb slower. He hooked a foot into the carved spine that was left evident of the hunched over horse, and grabbed onto a section he couldn't explain. It almost looked like a wing that'd long ago fallen off and the weather wore down. But flying horses? That was preposterous.
More sweat dripped down his arms and across his palms. If his father smelled like the inside of a bronto, he probably stank of its colon. Wonderful. That was something that put girls off, right? Smells of bad things. Maybe the shirt would keep it all trapped inside, he prayed while yanking himself the last climb up to perch beside Myra. He hugged tight to the statue on all fours while she pranced around practically on her tiptoes.
"Wow, how in the Maker's name did you find this?" she asked, stepping out towards the nose of the horse.
Gavin plopped down onto his ass, making certain he wouldn't slide off and answered, "I was chasing a rabbit."
"For supper?"
"For fun," he smiled, "we only eat rabbit for special occasions. My father's not much of a hunter. It dashed into the bracken and I all but fell into this pond."
"Wow," she repeated as if that was the most impressive story she'd ever heard. She was the daughter of a king, apparently did things that involved blood stains and dead bodies. His life was nothing but farming and tending to ill people. There was nothing interesting to it. After a time, Myra flopped down and let her legs dangle over the side.
"I like to come here to read, it's quiet and soft," he whispered. Gavin may not have any magic in him but he felt calm here in his private refuge away from his parents and work. Whether it was the statue or knowing no one else could find him, it was hard to say.
Myra snickered, "You've always got your nose in a book every time I see you."
"You see me?" he blinked, shocked that the girl would even notice him. "I..." the blush took over as he raced to apologize for himself, "I don't always, but when there's time to..."
"It's nice," she smiled, "and with your secret library I'm not surprised."
"Ah, that one," he flushed brighter, turning on the stone horse to stare at the abbey. "I don't, that isn't open to me the same as it would be to you."
"What do you read then if not Ancient Fart Face's Guide to Lighting Or Not Lighting Your Knickers On Fire: Depends On What You Want?"
Gavin softly chuckled at her summation of the magical literature that littered the abbey. No doubt his mother had her buried in books. She'd do that to people who weren't coming to her for training, Maker turn His gaze on anyone she'd actually plan to teach. "Histories, adventure stories, more or less." He tapped his foot into the horse and glanced over the forest. "The ones with knights rescuing kingdoms and getting into duels or battling monsters."
"Hard in Hightown?"
"No, that one my parents forbid for whatever reason, though they allow anything else."
"Psh, that one's barely got any naughty parts in it. Now his Swords & Shields books are..." Myra paused and, in a shocking twist, the area below her freckles lit bright red. He'd never seen her look unperturbed over anything, not even when the horses were being bred. "The, I mean, um, or the This Shit's Weird: Inquisition book."
"That one I know why they banned," Gavin said. He tipped his hands back behind him and leaned to a comfier position.
"Right, right, your Dad's in that one, ain't he? All those glorious tales of saving the day and chivalry and what not," the girl smiled, waving her hand around as if a sword was in it. "Worried you'll learn the truth of whatever happened during the Inquisition days?"
"No," he knocked his feet together into the stone and sighed, "they both tell me about it. Even my mother will discuss the blight, though not often or easily." Myra grimaced at that one, her eyes darting away.
"Parents, huh? Always prodding into things. Do this, do that. Act like you're still teething or some shit," she snapped her fingers and a poof of fire erupted out of the pond. It couldn't touch anything surrounded by water, but caught Gavin's attention. "Can't trust you to go two steps out the door before it's all 'take the mabari!'"
"'Keep a sharp dagger at your hip,'" he added in.
"'Did you tell Lunet where you're headed?'"
"'Pick any elfroot along the way.'"
Both turned to each other and at the same time said, "'And don't forget to wear a sweater.'" They broke into giggles, Myra brushing her hand against her lips to try and cover a snort while Gavin found himself transfixed by her freckles. There were so many it was like staring up at the night's sky. How long would it take him to count the multitude without her catching him?
The blush took hold harder and Gavin whipped his head away to stare at the treetops and get in a breath of air. It was hot here, the summer heat reflecting off the statue. Normally, the grey stone remained cool even in the height of the season but today it seemed to have broken its power. He felt his hand rummaging through the back of his shirt collar and he froze.
"My Mum, she hated the idea of me going to the college to learn. It's why I'm here instead of up there training with all the other like minded mages," Myra whispered. She cupped her hand as if holding an invisible ball and slowly a sparking sphere of energy rose upon it.
"I doubt there's any mage like you," Gavin whispered. Her bright eyes snapped to him, something unreadable in the depths and he floundered. "I mean, that, uh...you're very, the mages are..." Aware that his tongue flopped like a dying fish in his mouth, he turned away again, his cheeks on fire.
"My Dad would throw a fit if I ever wandered this far away. Home or Palace, that's it. Maybe we'll let Myra go to the corner store, but that's if she takes Muse and Lunet's watching from across the street. Even my friends can visit the Alienage without needing a fancy escort."
"Really? I often travel to the local village by myself and recently took a trip to Redcliffe with a caravan. Perhaps my, my parents are far too busy with other matters to be that concerned."
Her wide eyes shifted up and Myra skirted a bit closer across the stone head. "Lucky. I'd give anything to be able to get out and run free. Best I can manage is skirting around on some rooftops, which of course my Mum yells at me for whenever I do. 'You'll break your neck!' Oh yeah, wait until she learns I can do this!" She tugged a rock out of her pocket and hurled it into the air. On its trajectory down, she blasted it with a spell Gavin rarely saw his mother use. The rock slowed until it gently crested to a gentle plop against the pond's surface. A single ripple followed.
"At least you get to live in a city. All those people to meet, and talk to. I've known everybody here my entire life. You think your parents treat you as an infant, try having a good ten ex-templars call you Gavy the babe to your face." He grumbled at himself, before paling and then staring in shock for saying such a thing to a girl.
If she was planning on razzing him for it later, she didn't let on. Myra stretched out a bit, twisting on her side so she faced him but kept her head tilted down to stare at the rock. "Denerim's not the worst, though don't ask my Mom her opinion on it unless you like hearing about the murder rate, but... You must meet lots of people at Redcliffe. Other boys and girls. Pretty girls with pig tails, and red hair, and big blue eyes."
"None as pretty as you," Gavin's tongue bypassed his brain entirely. By the time the words hit his ears, he panicked so fast for blurting that thought out he began to slide off the statue. Scrabbling quickly with his fingers to keep from falling into the pond, he caught onto the horse's ear and hooked a foot into a nostril. "I mean, um..." he kept staring at his hands as they helped him climb back to safety, though he wasn't free of the burning embarrassment. Against the grey of the rock he looked browner than usual, a shadow from the sun, as his calluses scraped against the hard statue. He was a farmer, sun kissed at birth, with the hands and skinny body to prove his life was devoted to the land, whether he wanted it or not. And she was...
Maker's sake, he barely knew what she was. Fascinating. Confounding. Not Royal but kinda. And pretty. Way too pretty.
Not a single word passed from her at his confession. He may not know Myra well but he knew her silence was rare. She was often speaking over and through awkward situations and this was the mother of them all. How badly had he spooked her?
Swallowing against the tightening of his throat, he risked glancing up at her. She stared at him, her eyes sparkling with the summer sun. Gavin had to grip tighter to the rock to keep from blurting out again how pretty she was. Her thin, strawberry pink lips lifted in a smile. "You're cute," Myra mused before leaning towards him.
He barely caught on to what she was doing before he felt her petal soft lips glance across his. Oh Maker! His first kiss. What was he supposed to do? What was anyone supposed to do? Stop overthinking this and kiss her back! His brain threw those thoughts out lightning fast and Gavin tipped his head to the side, allowing him to press more against her lips.
Goosepimples rose off his arms and legs as the two of them hung suspended in this little kiss for what felt an eternity, but the good kind. Sitting at the Maker's Side kind of eternity where you didn't want it to end. He cinched his eyes up so tight he could see bolts of white lightning circling the sides while...he was kissing a pretty girl. Sweet Andraste!
Myra leaned back from him and Gavin finally risked a peek to see those lips he just tasted lifted in a quizzical smile. She didn't say anything to him, only sat waiting. Was he supposed to say something? A compliment or...?
"That, uh," he absently licked his lips with his tongue, then rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, "that was really nice."
She chuckled at his fumbling, "It was." The smile flattened to one of panic and a blush rose on her cheeks, "I've never, um, done that before."
"Me either," Gavin confessed, a full breath filling his lungs. What if he was terrible? What if he was the worst kisser in all of thedas and doomed to never being allowed to kiss anyone again? What if...?
Myra's soft fingers cupped against his arm, rolling towards the knot of muscle below. She lifted a shoulder and whispered, "Wanna do it again?"
"Uh huh," Gavin nodded, unable to hide the cheek bursting grin. Puckering up, he scooted closer towards her. Myra matched, her head tipping to the right this time. They were about to make contact when a noise like a dying goose erupted from below them.
"Oh come on!"
Both kids broke apart quickly and turned to find standing on the ground below the statue, wearing the exact same irate expression, were their fathers.
"Myra, what was the one thing I told you when you came out here?!" the king shouted, waving a hand as his daughter slunk as far away from Gavin as she could without falling off the statue.
"To invert my underwear so I could go longer without having to wash them," she muttered to herself before her eyes darted over to the boy she called cute. The blush rose higher, but it was no match to Gavin's as he caught his father snarling at thin air.
"Gavin, get down from that...whatever that is. It could be cursed. It's probably cursed. Everything is cursed," Cullen glared at Alistair who turned to him in shock.
"Me? You're blaming me for them...? Of course you're blaming me. You always blame me. Stub your toe on something. It's that awful King of Ferelden's fault! Find a dead mouse in your grain. Curse you evil Alistair! This was all your doing somehow."
"As if you could ever admit fault for any of your failures," his father turned on the man, seeming to miss that this was the King of Ferelden he was mouthing off to.
The grown men forgot their kids still sitting on the top of the horse statue, staring agape at the proceedings while their fathers tore into each other. Just when it looked as if it might come to blows, his father slicked back his hair and stared back up. "What did I tell you about getting down?"
"You too, young lady. And don't think your mother won't hear about this. I'm sure she'll come up with a much better punishment than anything I'd dream up."
"For what?" Myra talked back while Gavin silently slid to the edge. He stared at her in awe, never having thought to fight back like that.
"For..." the King waved his hand at her then to Gavin as if to explain. Myra glared at her father, daring him to say it. He sneered and spat out fast, "climbing freaky statues in the middle of woods. Very dangerous."
All Cullen had to do was glare at his son. No threats of getting his mother involved were necessary as he began to scamper down. Myra climbed off the horse's face while Gavin took the back. Just before he was about to vanish, she grabbed onto his hand and smiled, "It was nice."
"The barn," Gavin sputtered out fast in a whisper. Myra's eyebrows met in confusion and his wily brain, given its first taste of rebellion, finished, "No one's ever there after light's out."
Her cute little nose scrunched up with her smile and she nodded, "It's a date."
THE END
Thanks so much everyone for reading and commenting! I have a few more chapters of the kids growing up that's more or less fluff to follow. After that...who knows?