Love's Blush

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Gavin wouldn't answer, only drew the sleeve of his cloak under his nose before glaring at the ground.

  "Tell me now, son, or you will not like the consequences."

  His lips bunched up as he tried to hold in what looked like either a curse or a sob. Still glaring through nothing, Gavin slipped to the side and he jammed a finger towards the exposed roots of a tree. "This!" he cried, the tears drying to anger.

  Cullen bent down closer to find it was a nest of old straw and feathers. Tucked inside of it seeming to be dozing through the rain were two tiny bodies, the fur whiter than snow. "Fennic kits?" he turned in surprise to his son.

  "I was trying to feed them, to take care of them, but..." Gavin thudded both fists into the ground and shouted to the rain, "it's not working! They're dying and it's my fault!"

  Oh Maker! Cullen scooped a hand around his son's shoulders and hugged him tight to his chest. "Shh," he tried to soothe the tears renewing in vigor while rocking his boy back and forth, "it's not your fault."

  "Yes it is!" Gavin continued, sobs ratcheting through the words. "I...I bring them milk, and they ate it at first, but, but now they don't want it. They just lay there and," he turned, burying his face into Cullen's chest. "Daddy, I don't want them to die." The boy practically bowled him over from the force of the hug.

  "Okay," Cullen tugged his son back and expertly dried away the tears with his thumbs. "It'll be okay. Let me have a look." Gently, Cullen reached a hand in towards the nest terrified that the babies would suddenly spring up and attack his thumbs. When no teeth emerged, he skirted his fingers over the fragile bodies. A breath lifted the soft fur, but they felt cool. This rain couldn't be doing them any favors, for certain.

  Shifting his knees, Cullen reached in and snatched up the kits, nest and all. With a gentle hand, he tucked the babies under his cloak tight to his chest while his son watched.

  "What are you doing?" Gavin mumbled, rising with his father. His amber eyes honed in on the babies he'd been taking care of.

  Cullen rose to his feet, staring down at the little white foxes fast asleep. "Taking them to your mother. She'll know how to help heal them."

  "Okay," Gavin whispered, trudging after his father. For the first time in years, Gavin clung tight to Cullen's cloak as if he didn't want to let go of his father.

  Lana asked few questions about the white foxes clutched in her husband's arms, though her motherly instincts must have picked up on something as she brushed a hand over her dour son's head before plucking up both kits. After laying them out on a counter, she turned to Cullen and said it would probably be best if they waited in the hall just in case she couldn't do anything. He gently patted into Gavin's back, the boy worrying his fingers against his sopping wet cloak as they both stumbled into a pair of chairs left out for their residents to enjoy the summer sunsets.

  Fog rain sleeted past them, the air chilly but his son seemed frozen to the chair. Amber eyes stared through the void, his head hung low while he mouthed something. Cullen's heart pinged at how tight Gavin had his hands clasped together as if he could will life back into those tiny bodies by mind and spirit alone.

  Running a hand behind him, Cullen sighed, "Is this where you've been going every day? To care for those babies?" His son lifted his head an inch before letting it fall back down. Giving of himself for no reason. "You're so much like your mother," Cullen smiled. He wouldn't call his wife soft, but she could be as gentle as a stream for those in need and Gavin seemed to share that ability.

  Gavin sneered, his small fingers wrapping tighter together until his nails dug in. "It's my fault," he spat out, beginning to rock back and forth.

  "Sometimes nature can be cruel. It isn't fair, but life rarely is. If it were those kits time then..."

  "No!" He spun in his deck chair, eyes narrowed to slits while Gavin's lip curdled, "It's my fault. If it weren't for me they wouldn't...they wouldn't be dying and, and they'd still have their mother." A fresh round of tears rose up in his son's eyes, but he twisted his head away and tried to bury the emotion burning inside of him.

  Cullen patted his back, trying to soothe out the explosion building below the surface. In the rain, Gavin sniffled against the tears drenching his cheeks. He jammed his elbows into his thighs, staring hard at his hands as if in shock that they existed.

  As if he could see blood on them.

  "What happened?" Cullen asked, breaking the ice.

  "The chickens," he began, his voice distant. "I'm supposed to watch 'em, feed 'em, protect 'em as you said. And, one day I see there's feathers everywhere. And blood, like a-like a fox got to them."

  Oh dear.

  Gavin slunk lower in his seat, as if his head grew heavy with the sins weighing upon him. He couldn't look at his father, but Cullen kept trying to rub the pain out through his back. "So I follow it, the feathers and blood, like a hunter into the woods. Like I was taught. I see one of the chickens, Belinda, dead on the ground and the white tuft of the fox dragging her under the tree."

  His son told him about the dead chicken days back, but that discovery was rather commonplace. Accidents, disease, creatures, and sometimes the chickens wandering off because they got it in their tiny heads to do it happened. He hadn't thought much of the loss, nor that his son would have tracked down the source.

  "I took my bow with me," Gavin continued his tale, his face curdled like sour milk. That would explain why Cullen hadn't seen his son playing with it much lately. "And...and I shot the fox, the fennic. That's what it is, right?"

  "Yes, they're fennics."

  "Shot her right through the heart, instant kill." It should have been a proud moment. It probably was when he accomplished it. Saved the chickens from further deaths and ended the fox's life quick and clean. "But when I went to gather up the body, I heard...there were these little." Gavin fell quiet a moment, his eyes tearing up again, "I didn't know it was a mum. I didn't, I wouldn't have..." His tale vanished in a wave of crying.

  Taking pity, Cullen tugged his son to his chest for a hug.

  "I'm sorry," Gavin begged, his hands clutching tighter to his father. "I didn't want to. And the babies, they were all alone without their mum. They cried a lot and were hungry. I wanted to help. I had to help. It was all my fault!"

  "Shh..." Cullen wrapped his boy tighter, trying to knock away the blame and pain sitting on his heart. He carried it alone without telling either of them of the guilt nestled like thorns inside of his body. Had to right his mistakes even as the world conspired against him. Maker, how was his son cursed to be so much like him?

  Cullen whispered, "It's okay, Gavin." He moved to try and clean off his son's cheeks but found his hands shaking as they hadn't in years. His heart cried out in harmony with the boy's, both carrying the burden of blame for things that were their doing but they couldn't change no matter how hard they prayed. "It's okay."

  "No, it's not!" he cursed, a hand swatting at his nose as he continued to beat himself up.

  "If you hadn't killed that fennic, how many more chickens would she have gotten?"

  His son's eyes glanced over a moment, but his face remained contorted in pain, his body hunched to try and hide away from the good of the world he thought he didn't deserve. "I dunno."

  "I know, it's not easy, but...sometimes in life we have to make hard decisions. We have to protect those important to us and that requires extreme measures."

  "But killing's wrong!" he cried, a hand swiping through the air as if he held a sword. It was a good thing the boy was all but crumpled into his lap as he missed the look of horror his words dredged on Cullen's face.

  How many...?

  He thought about it sometimes, in the middle of the night when he'd wake drenched in sweat and sliding out of bed to not wake his wife. How many people, innocent people, had he cut down? Doing it on orders was no excuse. That was what created the red templars, what destroyed the order itself. They followed orders to their doom and the near doom of thedas. How many souls weighed upon the scale
s of whatever good he could do in the world?

  There was nothing in his power to change the past. It took a lot of prayer and reflection to reach that point, to cease holding his hands to the fire in the hopes it would burn away his guilt. All he could do now was try to help. To save the orphaned.

  Cullen sifted his fingers through his son's hair, wiping a smudge against the boy's forehead. "Right and wrong are easy when it's the bad guy who's kidnapped a princess or it's a dragon burning down villages. But the stories never mention if the bad guy has children that he dotes upon, or the dragon steals food to feed starving orphans."

  "Dad?" Gavin crinkled his brow, confused at the introduction of grey morality into his simple world. It was easy out here in this idyllic farm away from the politics of the world. But even in remaining apart, they made a choice. They left the fighting, the death, the hard decisions to someone else. Washing your hands of something was still a choice that bore consequences.

  "All you can do is try to be your very best," Cullen sighed, well aware he wasn't capable of explaining these confounding thoughts to his son.

  "But..." Gavin glared at his hands, the same fingers that drew back the bow, notched the arrow, and let it fly into the fennic's chest. "But how do I know? What if it's wrong and I hurt people?"

  Cullen swallowed hard. He hid his hands shaking with sin by bundling his son's into his. "Trust in Andraste and the Maker. They gave you your heart; your loving, caring heart. Listen to it, and it will guide you to the right choice. Not the easiest one perhaps, but the right one."

  Eyes surveyed his dad's face, no doubt looking for the lie or trick. But this was the openest Cullen had ever been with his son, all but exposing his sins laid out in order for the child that looked up to him since he could walk. He wasn't perfect, his past was littered with pain and deceit, but he had to try.

  "Father?" Gavin whispered. "Can I...can we pray for the kits?"

  Cullen smiled, "Of course." Folding his hands up, he watched Gavin follow the same, the boy's eyes closed so tight as if his belief would save them. "Blessed Andraste, bride of the Maker, look after the two baby fennics placed into my son's care. Keep them safe, give them a chance at life, heal them with your everlasting love."

  "In the name of the Maker, we pray," Gavin recited, gripping tighter with his palms.

  Watching his son with head bent, begging for the Maker to shine his light upon him, Cullen was struck by the memory a decade ago. When he too was down on his knees begging Andraste and anyone listening to keep them safe. Even though he felt unworthy of Her assistance, of Her love, he pleaded for it because he couldn't live without his wife, or his boy. Wrapping his arms around Gavin, Cullen pulled the still praying boy tight to his chest. He tipped his head up to the sky, letting the rain wash away the tears stinging in his eyes.

  The door opened and Cullen released the tight hug on his son. Slowly, Lana emerged out into the rain, her fingers gripped tight to her cane. Gavin twisted impatiently to his mother, "Well...?" He gulped, afraid to continue, "Are they?"

  "They're going to make it," she smiled at them.

  Gavin sprung off the seat and dashed into the room so fast he nearly toppled over his mother. Luckily, Cullen was there to catch her, a hand sliding along her back to keep her safe. "What was that all about?"

  "I'll explain later," he promised, pressing his lips to her head. Lana must have spotted the tracks of tears as she caught Cullen's cheeks and pressed her thumb against them. The question of his pain hung in the air. Trying to shake it off, Cullen whispered, "Gavin's more like me than I feared."

  "Oh," she locked her hands around his shoulders, tucking her cheek to his chest, "honey eyes."

  "Mom, mom," Gavin rushed out into the rain, his cheeks stretched into a great grin. Both hands grabbed onto her fingers as he pulled her inside.

  "Go careful, Son," Cullen reminded him.

  "Yes, Father," his vibrancy subdued a bit, allowing Lana to limp at her speed back inside.

  Within an old wooden box two pairs of little black eyes poked up from their nest. Gavin giggled, his fingers reaching over towards the first kit. "Ah..." Lana moved to warn her baby boy away from the wild animal, but the kit rubbed its face against the child that saved it from death. Smiling, he began to scratch both babies at the same time, a happy chittering emerging from the tiny fennics.

  "They were a bit malnourished, but nothing terrible. It was mostly the cold, I think," Lana surmised, snuggling tighter to her husband while tears of joy dripped off her son's cheeks.

  "Mom, Dad," Gavin plucked the first baby out, the fennic clinging the length of his tiny forearm. "This is Snowy," he said, so proud of the kit he worked hard to save. While Snowy nuzzled against the boy's sleeve, Gavin unearthed the other more quieter of the twin, "And this is Corn Chowder."

  "What?" Cullen blinked in confusion, "Snowy I can grasp, but why Corn Chowder?"

  "Because I like corn chowder," Gavin explained in the way only children could. It made sense to him and that was all that mattered.

  Cullen tentatively reached a finger over and gently brushed back Snowy's huge ears. The fox glanced up, seeming to smile at the attention. "Son," he patted Gavin on the back, "it's going to a big responsibility for you to feed and clean up after these two."

  "Does..." he turned, his mouth agape while staring up at his father, "does that mean I can keep 'em?"

  "At least until they grow up and are strong enough they can head out into the wild," Cullen said.

  "Oh, thank you Daddy! Thank you!" He tried to hug his father while his arms were full of foxes, which only made Cullen chuckle. "Thank you Mummy for saving them," he added, smiling up at his mother.

  Cullen slid back to his wife, who watched her boy carefully place both fennics back into the box. But Gavin wasn't finished with them. He gripped onto the table and placed his chin right upon it in order to stare eye to eye with his babies. In a gentle voice, he began to talk to them, telling the fennics about his room and all the luxuries they could enjoy at the abbey under his care. Lana wrapped a hand around Cullen's arm and whispered, "You know they're never going back to the wild, right?"

  "I assumed, but...they're his," problem, responsibility, penance. Gavin took them on because he had to, his heart told him it was the right thing to do.

  "Cullen?" she turned her head, a hand reaching up to cup his cheek.

  He patted her warm fingers that nursed the kits back to health and sighed in contentment. Tipping down to his wife, he whispered in her ear, "Our son's a good young man."

  A sweet smile lifted her cheeks as she whispered back, "Just like his father."

  #

  13 Years Old...

  "How many saw?"

  Myra clung tight to her shins, chin perched onto her knees as she stared through the night air of Denerim. Her fingers stung as if she'd frozen them in ice, and her hair stank of old ash. She barely noticed the streets traffic trickling to a standstill in the dark because her ears were honed in on the conversation below.

  "It wasn't too bad," her dad didn't answer her mom. "We put it out fast, and no one got hurt. That's all that matters."

  "For fuck's sake, Alistair, that is not what matters."

  Her mother's half smile twisted to rage when Myra returned home with her father clinging to her shoulders saying they had to talk. Whatever mom was going to ask died in her throat as she spotted the burn marks against the hem of Myra's dress. Instead of comforting her daughter, she grabbed Alistair's hand and marched him straight up to their room, telling Myra to get cleaned up. Never one to listen well, Myra snuck out the back window to climb to the roof. If she sat quiet, she could hear her parents, often eavesdropping on them when she was bored or waiting for them to fall asleep before sneaking out.

  "Shh," dad whispered, "do you want Myra to hear?"

  "Maybe she should hear. For the love of the Maker, I told her to control it. She swore she could, and this. Now. In front of..." Her mom's voice drilled down into dangerous ice te
rritory. The one criminals and the like got just before the sword came out, or Myra heard whenever she left half eaten food in drawers on accident.

  "You haven't told me how many people."

  A groan echoed from her dad, it sounded as if he was pacing in the apartment below her. Smart as her mom was, she never figured out that the chimney flue could amplify voices giving Myra a perfect was to listen in. "The cousins," he spat out, "and a few Banns, and some other kids of the higher society types."

  "Maker damn it!"

  "But," Dad raced to protect her, "it's not that bad. Spud was quick to step in, to laugh it off and say it was all a big party trick."

  "And you think that worked?"

  "You've met the nobility. Call a dragon a puppy, put a collar on it, and they'll all be fricasseed while lined up to pet it."

  Her mom sniggered a moment before sighing, "That doesn't make it better. It'll happen again and again unless she learns some Maker damn self control. Why'd it even happen? Do you know?"

  "No, I was...I missed that part."

  Myra lifted her fingers and flexed them. A puff of smoke erupted from the palm followed by three tiny flames. It was the cousins. Rossie and Cailan's cousins. They weren't any relation to her, as they were always very quick to remind her of. Her siblings...half siblings were fine to visit with, but there was a pack of cousins a little older than Myra that adored sharpening their claws on the bastard half-blood. She was so good at shaking it off, using the techniques Lunet taught her to bite back with her tongue instead of her dagger. Plus Mom wouldn't let her go to a castle party armed, she was pretty strict about that one.

  But those, ugh, those thoses kept prodding at her. Maybe it was because Rossie had fancy crown things to do, maybe it was because her dad was busy inside, but they wouldn't stop talking about her mother. Elven concubine when they were trying to be polite, knife-eared whore when Myra's back was turned but they knew she could hear. When that didn't work, they'd turn on her. Half-blood, they'd all but holler it at her from across the garden in their frilly voices and frillier skirts. When one of 'em asked if she didn't have points to her ears cause someone cut them off, Myra lost it.