My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Myra barely smiled at that, used to pulling one over on Reiss every chance she could. Andraste guide her for when the true teenage years hit. "But," Reiss pointed to the girls, "why have your friends not returned home?"

  "Because..." Myra danced back and forth on her toes before spitting out fast, "they were going to stay for a slumber party."

  "A what?!" Reiss hissed. All the girls cowered, hooded eyes shooting to their ringleader. Even Myra gulped, well aware that she had to run these things by her mother.

  "Dad said I could, and Lunet. I asked them and they said it was okay. So you can't go back on it. It's Sayer law."

  "It is not bloody Sayer law for you to go through the weak link in the armor in order to get your way," Reiss snarled at her daughter.

  Behind her she heard her turncoat husband snort, "Well..." At her glare, he shrugged, "Are you really gonna say that's not your family motto? Because from what I've seen..."

  "Alistair, you are not helping. And you, young lady--"

  "Mom, it's dark already. Right? And all their parents said it was fine for them to stay."

  "Of course they did, they get a free night of babysitting," Reiss growled to herself.

  "So, are you saying you want to spend the entire night walking all my friends back home to make sure they're safe? Or are you going to let all of us poor, helpless kids run through the dangerous streets without any supervision and hope they all make it back safe and sound?"

  Blighted hell! How was she cursed with such a cunning child? She knew to ask her father, because it was her easy going, doesn't think things through father. She also knew to wait until Reiss wasn't due back until after dark in order to felicitate her plan. Unfolding her arms, Reiss had to admit when she was beat.

  "Fine, they can stay." The girls clapped, their enthusiasm snapping back in an instant. Reiss leaned into Myra and hissed, "But if you ever try to go behind my back again, you're grounded for a month."

  "Kay Mom," she nodded wildly, the threat of the future punishment nothing compared to the promise of a potential sleepover with all her friends.

  Reiss eyed up Lunet still sitting in the corner with a sly turn to her lips. "Since you approved this without me, I see no reason why you can't stay and help."

  "Ah, shit," Lunet cursed to herself, before blanching at the ten little ears listening in. But these weren't the cultured ladies of the palace district. Myra's friends at home were all weened on the streets, none of them blinking an eye at an adult's swearing. No doubt they probably knew even better ones by age five.

  "My," one of the girls asked, "what do we do next?"

  Her daughter put a finger to her chin and she gazed upward. Reiss could feel Alistair's glittery stare at the move. He was always insisting Myra picked it up from her, but she couldn't see it. There was far too much of her father in there for starters. Rolling her eyes, Reiss slotted in beside the man still trapped in a chair thanks to the seven year old kidnappers surrounding him.

  "Let's go raid the bakery next door!"

  "Myra!" Reiss sniped at her daughter.

  "What?" she rolled her eyes, "Old Man Titer's always saying I can stop by whenever for free food. Ooh, I bet he's got bearclaws the size of your heads."

  Alistair flinched, "Ugh, I still walk funny after fighting that one bear with paws like this." He held his hands out extended a good foot in width.

  His loving, sweet daughter rolled her eyes and sighed, "Whatever, Dad."

  Maker, it was going to be a long slog to eighteen. Reiss could already hear a bottle of wine calling her name from the secret stash. After having given her order, Myra turned to the gaggle she ran with. It was hard to say how many were close friends, as the top spot seemed to change with the wind, but the gang was always together. They began as adorable pig-tailed girls skipping stones to play hopscotch in the back alleys and -- with her daughter at the head -- grew into jaded, world-weary individuals. At least until something glittery, pink, fluffy, or a nonthreatening boy crossed their path. Then it was instant squeals and babbling incoherently about something amazing and cute.

  The girls scattered to grab up their cloaks, most patched or barely skirting to their knees. Myra smiled as she buttoned her thicker wool one up and then grabbed onto both Ellen and Juniper's hands. One by one the girls all locked up to form their own blockade. They always stood the same, the trend being to wear bracelets made of different colored yarns that matched up with the locked hands to form a rainbow. Some parents feared it was all a secret sex code, but Reiss knew it was a simple matter of an old spinner had excess yarn to get rid of and kids, when bored, will create complicated social rules for fun.

  Myra moved to lead the horde towards her friendly neighborhood baker, when Reiss spoke up, "Young lady, do you leave your house in the middle of the night?"

  "Uh..." Myra spun back from the darkened agency. Reiss could see the smart ass answer of 'if I can get away with it' bobbing in her green eyes, but the child was wise enough to keep it held back. "No, I guess not."

  "Lune," Reiss turned to the least adult grown up left, "go with them."

  Her daughter smiled wider, happy to have her sometimes accomplice along. The fun aunt was much better than some stodgy old Mother technically related to her. Lunet placed her bottle down and got to her legs, "Alright, but I get the first bearclaw. Or anything with cherry inside."

  As the brood of girls and one adult who should know better slipped into the agency, singing songs at the top of their lungs, Reiss turned to the man painted up like a chantry board. "What did they do to you?" she sighed, trying to wipe the star off. In the process she coated her thumb in gold glitter and smudged a side of the star across his cheek until it turned into a comet.

  "I can say no to one kid, two sometimes, but you have ten little hands coming after me armed with brushes and tubes of pigments and I panic!" he flared his hands out, sending a few of the stickers flying.

  "Right, I'm to pretend you didn't enjoy any of this," she sighed, sliding in closer to the man she really hoped to sample without having to worry about nearly a dozen little girls overhearing it.

  Alistair's hands curled along her waist, that hauntingly pink-purple lipstick rising in a cheeky grin, "Me? Never. Though I think the blush does compliment my cheekbones well."

  She tipped closer, aching to kiss him, but paused at the ghastly color. Tugging backwards, Reiss got a good grip on his hands. "Come on," she hauled him up to his grumbling feet and began to drag Alistair towards the stairs.

  "Where are we going?" he twisted his head around.

  "To the apartment," Reiss explained. "I'm going to clean all that mess off of you."

  "Ah," he tipped his blonde head, barrettes raining down from the fine hair that couldn't support the girl's complicated updo.

  Reiss spun and flattened the man into the doorway that led up to her room. As her chest knocked into his, she ran her fingers down to his hips and purred, "And then I'm going to clean the rest of you." Tugging down his head, she risked tasting that cheap-ass lipstick in order to kiss the man she loved. It stuck flat to her mouth, drying her lips like a desert wind, but Reiss didn't mind as she stared into the lustful eyes of Alistair.

  He managed to knot his hands around her hips and yank her higher, wanting to go back for another kiss, when he paused. "What about the girls?"

  "Please," Reiss waved it away. "It'll take them a good hour to decide what they should all get at the bakery and another one to sit and eat it." Alistair laughed at her as she tugged him upwards to her apartment to have a bit of fun before the real work began. Myra was going to be putting in extra time around the office for this round of trickery. But, Reiss' eyes darted over to the father Myra talked down for a visit to hatch her scheme, at least there were some perks for the mother.

  #

  9 Years Old...

  Maker, take him! Cullen stomped around the still overflowing trash pile his son hadn't scooped one inch free of, as he'd promised to do hours ago. A light misting of spri
ng rain dotted the area, turning the very air itself into a grey fog, but as he held his hand up to his eyes he spotted a small speck of cobalt blue dashing out of the abbey refuge.

  "Gavin Gray!" Cullen shouted, hoping to catch the boy before he vanished into the thicket, but either he was too far away or Gavin refused to hear him. Both seemed a growing possibility, chores often left fallow while he was off traipsing through his own fantasies.

  Snagging a cloak off the peg, Cullen wrapped it around his freezing cold body and dashed after his impudent son. "It's a phase," he repeated what Lana was always spouting to rush to her boy's defense, "he's young." As if he was too young to master a bit of discipline. Cullen wasn't expecting him to kit up and march into battle, merely clean up around the place when he had time. Yet Lana acted as if he wanted the boy to grow into a full adult overnight. Cullen was in charge of far more as a child, and he had another two elder siblings to help balance the weight. Expecting his son to remove the garbage, look after the chickens, and clean a few of the rooms wasn't exactly 'save the world from the Blight.'

  He grunted, a foot sucking deep into the mud that rose up courtesy of the never ending rain-fog. After excavating it, he whipped his head up to spot the same blue cloak drifting deeper into the woodlands. Great. He must be off on one of his flights of fancy while I'm left to chase after him. Cullen thought about calling to his wife to either warn her to mind the place or chase after their wayward son instead, but he was losing the kid quickly.

  Blessed Andraste, when did Gavin get so fast?

  Huffing to catch up, his breath smoked in the humid air, trailing behind Cullen as he went for what felt like his first run in years. Perhaps since the boy was even born. A decade of neglect hadn't been kind to him, Cullen's lungs aching as they struggled for a breath of air through all the hanging water. But he wasn't about to give up on this. For the past three days every time he turned around to find his son he'd discover that Gavin had vanished. Sometimes for hours, and when put to questioning his boy would only say, "I was in the woods."

  No explanation no matter how hard Cullen pried, no reasons given or excuses for why he missed lessons or chores. Simply "I was in the woods." Perhaps he should be proud his son was above straight up lying, but he'd prefer the full truth instead of a lie of omission. It would also have kept him from having to hoof it through this dismal weather.

  Tugging the cloak tighter to his body, Cullen entered into the edge of the trees no one could tame. Their place butted up near one of the ancient forests across Ferelden that saw so much bloodshed and battle that no one could ever conquer it. Every once in awhile Lana would walk out into it to 'handle things.' She didn't go into details but Cullen knew the scent of demon blood when he smelled it.

  Which, of course, was where Gavin seemed to love playing most of all. Maker, was that the mage blood flowing in his veins drawing him to danger? Or... He never outright forbid his son from reading the exciting adventure stories about knights and sometimes even templars facing down demons and dragons, but Cullen bit his lip hard to hold it in. Playing swords was one thing, the two of them standing off with sticks and then wrestling in the grass together until Honor had to butt into the middle.

  But he knew that look rising in his son's eye. It was the same that pushed him at all of 13 to badger the templars into letting him join. He was too young and naive to be trusted with such a decision that warped him. And he'd never wish the same upon his son. Surely, he wouldn't embrace that life. Every day he spoke to those who suffered from battle, from the war against magic and demons. Befriended them, helped to medicate and soothe them, sometimes broke down when he learned that they were not long for this world. If anything should turn his boy off of that life, it would be growing up in the abbey.

  Wiping the rainwater out of his eyes, Cullen spotted the blue cloak twisting through a few trees. It weaved far easier past the bracken than the wider adult could manage. Sucking in to make the pass, but mostly shattering long fallen twigs and branches, Cullen pursued. He stopped shouting for Gavin, afraid the boy would bolt rather than face up to his punishment.

  It should have been easy for his son to stay ahead, perhaps even double back and return to the warmth and dry of the abbey while leaving his father floundering in the woods, but the blue cloak stopped running. Gavin must have dropped to the ground, his little body hiding something as Cullen's only beacon through the fog sat immobile. He was so immersed in it, tugging something from the satchel around his hip, Gavin didn't hear his father approach until he bellowed.

  "What do you think you are doing, young man?"

  "Father!" Gavin spun around, the wet sheen of rain barely dimming from the amber shock in his eyes. He must not have heard him pursuing.

  Cullen stomped closer, "You were assigned the task of..."

  His lips hung open a moment before he tipped his head down and groaned, "Cleaning out the garbage pile. I was going to do it--"

  "Later," Cullen finished, "as has been your constant excuse for the past week. This is unacceptable. You are required to pull your weight same as anyone else. That means chores, no matter how unfun they are."

  "I know, father," he mumbled, not rising off his muddy knees. When his head tipped down, the water beaded against his close cropped curls.

  "Running off to your little fantasy games is no excuse for avoiding your duty," Cullen continued, droning on as he often did whenever his son's attentions wandered. Normally he'd get a few 'yes fathers,' and 'I understand' in response, but this time Gavin all but spun in place, a hand smacking into the muddy ground.

  "I wasn't running off! I..."

  Cullen paused to realize it wasn't rain clinging to his son's cheeks but tears, large ones dripping from his eyes as he stared defiantly up at him. The raw edge in his tone slid off, but Cullen remained curt with the wayward boy. "What are you doing out here?"

  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.