My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  He read about friends in books. The concept did not allude him, someone outside of your family that you cared for. That you'd protect and sweat or bleed for. It was the opportunity that kept slipping him by. Gavin hoped that...it was foolish. He was here to become a knight, anything else was just a bonus. Friends or no, he had a job to do first.

  They were never going to speak to him again, assuming the teasing ever broke enough for the others to not talk to him. He made a total fool of himself without even trying. Wonderful. People wanted the son of Cullen Rutherford to be suave and charming. All he could manage was a strange giggling and then utter silence while his brain tried to play through a dozen ways a conversation would go wrong. By the time anyone struck up a second sentence with him, he was in such a panic it became pointless.

  Reaching the fence, Gavin drew his fingers over the iron bars to try and find the hole. He was prepared to bat the shrubbery out of the way, but found nothing there. Odd. Maybe some of the other servants snuck out too. Cal had to learn about it from somewhere. Ducking down, he sucked in a breath and squeezed through the fence. It felt tighter this time, as if the bars were going to collapse his lungs and break his ribs. Foolish.

  He easily slipped back into the Bann's estate grounds unnoticed. Perched over the indigo grass and bushes, the house itself loomed like a staggering grandfather who may or may not have the bones of other children stashed inside the fireplace. No hints emerged out of the shadows if the depravity was all an illusion or the real soul of the place struggling to be seen. Only a single candle burned in the window, its light dancing back and forth like the window was winking to whoever walked past.

  He was trying to spook himself. Too many of those old horror tales his aunt loved to tell, even when she shrieked at the end of every one. Her lover would sigh each time, as if he hoped for a different outcome, but expected Hawke to leap up to her feet and hunt through the room for the scary ghosts. Young Gavin loved it, even as he clung white knuckled to blankets when the lights went out. Older Gavin wasn't so sure anymore, though he'd give anything for his aunt to be here.

  Maybe even stuffy old Anders. He'd grump about it, but it was kinda fun to watch him sneer about nobility from time to time.

  No, what Gavin needed was sleep. Proper sleep without the past trailing his every footstep. He turned towards the camp, when a shadow caught out of the corner of his eye. It flitted through the grass, hunched over to blend in, but obviously moving slowly. Far across the field, he watched the shadow sliding back and forth as if trying to get a sense of the place.

  It's a patrol. Or...could one of the others already be back? That was rather quick, even for the jokes the ladies were telling. Maybe it's...

  A lantern light shifted back and forth, its halo almost touching the mysterious shadow. If it was a servant, they'd stand up and confess that they were missing. Even the squire might try the same. This one slipped further back into the grass, Gavin barely able to follow. The guard on patrol wasn't in the mood to watch the fields, so he turned away, his light retreating from this stranger.

  Gavin picked up speed, darting through the grass as fast as he could run. The shadow must have sensed a problem as it too began to move, but towards the back fence. Attempting to make an escape? Not on his watch. With the gift of long legs and not fearing capture, Gavin rose up to stride confidently through the grounds. Whoever he was pursuing didn't have the luxury as the shadow kept bobbing back and down. It was clearly attempting to lose him, the head dipping towards the grass, but it left such an obvious trail even Anders could have followed it.

  His fingers wrapped around the handle of the blade on him, when Gavin drew close enough to his prey. Raising his voice to its loudest bellow, he commanded, "Stop, and tell me who you are?"

  The shadow paused and staggered up to its height, a good head or more shorter than him. Slowly, the stranger turned in place, moonlight glinting off a scrap of skin exposed upon the shoulder. It looked blacker than the indigo night itself in this desaturated world. Another turn and she stared right into Gavin's face.

  A woman? His fingers released off the handle. She was clearly not a servant, her garb covered in pouches the better for traveling light and fast across country. A tea towel was knotted around the top of her head, keeping her hair pinned down as she extended her hands up. It wasn't a surrender, but it wasn't an escalation either. She was eyeing him up as well.

  Moonlight glinted off her teeth framed by black lips as she snickered, "Hello there. Any chance you could turn back around and return to your whoring or gambling?"

  Gavin snarled at the idea, staggering up to his full height and sticking out his chest.

  "I was afraid as such," she laughed and shrugged as if it was no big deal. Cracking like lightning, a fist punched through the air. Gavin twisted back, her smaller hand whizzing just past his jaw. By the time he took in the idea she was fighting back, her second fist attacked. Plowing hard into his gut, Gavin struggled to keep in the air he needed.

  Aware she scored a hit, she spun her first hand back, about to smack him in the mouth, when Gavin blocked her. First one fist, then another, both landed upon his forearms and limply scattered away. "Oh come on," she groaned as if it was all a minor nuisance, "This is simple. You get a big black eye and go down whimpering. I escape. That's how it always goes!"

  Chuckling, he lashed out and grabbed onto her fist the same way he had with Cal. "I already have black eyes," Gavin said. In the list of witty comebacks, his uncle Varric would probably palm himself in the face and tell Gavin to head back to the drawing board. But it was all he could think of at the time.

  He clung with a secure but not too tight grip. He didn't want to hurt the woman, only hold her in for questioning. No doubt the Knights would be highly interested in her. Gavin sighed, "Please, don't--"

  Her elbow smashed against his cheek and, pivoting on one foot, she plowed the other right into Gavin's chest. For fuck's sake! More air hissed out of his aching lungs, and he lost his grip upon her. She could have run, fled back through the grass, but the woman seemed curious. Or perhaps she figured she had to finish him off as a sense of honor.

  "You're a big one," she chuckled, both fists raised to protect herself, "but you know what they say about big ones."

  "Not really," Gavin answered truthfully. He blocked one of her punches, then answered in kind. The woman was quick, far quicker than he, but she felt thin as wicker. Even her kick, which should have knocked him backwards, dented his pride more than his sternum. One proper punch from him and he'd have this.

  "You're kidding, you never even... What are they teaching you Fereldens these days?" she scoffed, her fists swinging like rolling thunder through the air. Gavin could block two thirds, the last one sailing to bash up his chest, or stomach. Oh, there were going to be bruises tomorrow. Assuming he lived to tomorrow. Focus.

  Digging his feet into the dirt, Gavin anchored himself. He let two of her fists sail past, then grabbed the next one. "So," he said, "you're not from Ferelden."

  "Oh ho, big and clever," she laughed. "Maker, I hate those." Spinning in place, she moved to try and kick Gavin but he expected it. Dropping her fist, he lashed both hands tight around the woman's ankle. By the time she caught on to her problem, he plucked her up from the ground and spun her off her feet. Like throwing a bale of hay out into the field, Gavin hurled her into the grass beyond.

  The hit was hard, an obvious impact of her chest bouncing and her rib bruising groan breaking apart the night. In the distance, he caught sight of the lanterns working their way through the rounds. Did they hear him? She didn't stay down long, the woman quickly scattering to her hands and knees.

  "Ya know," she snickered, unable to stop laughing even while fighting, "this has been a lot of fun, but..." Rising up to her feet, she posed against the silhouette of the moon behind her. With exaggerated movements, she reached to her back and gripped tight. "You're just not my type."

  Sounds of metal slicing against leather echoed o
ver their belabored breathing. The harsh moonlight glinted off a dagger's deadly edge, then a second as the woman armed herself. She intended to finish this fight to the death.

  Patting down his thigh, Gavin fumbled to find his knife. It was nowhere near as long as her daggers which bore a wicked curve at the bottom. Also, he only had the one. Why not go into battle armed with a giant cheese wheel and a butterknife next time? The woman slashed through the air, making an obvious show to him that she was well armed.

  Was she trying to give him a way out? The way she moved in hand to hand, she had to be fast with those daggers.

  Gavin's eyes wandered up to the lanterns still too far away to help. Gritting his teeth, and praying he was quick enough to keep from getting sliced apart, he locked in his form. With a flick of his wrist, he switched the grip on the blade so it was pointed downward. The woman paused, her face unreadable as she was shadowed by the moonlight, but he felt her movements growing cautious. She wasn't certain of what to make of him now.

  The right! Metal glinted through the moonlight, Gavin fast to block it with the blade. Left! This one came low, trying to slice apart his stomach. He had no choice but to roll on his feet, hoping the woman would stretch her reach too far. But no, she was too well trained to make such an obvious folly.

  Please. Hurry up.

  "Well, that was invigorating," she panted, the wind he knocked out of her not quite back yet. "Shall we have another go?"

  Gavin glanced behind her and decided to take his move. "Yes!" he shouted as loud as possible. The woman moved to raise her blades to begin again, but it was the barely armed squire that took the offensive this time. He attacked without form, hacking and slashing and most importantly driving her backwards. She danced through the dirt, not even blinking at the high grasses or mole holes scattered through the field.

  Slipping backwards from a wide slash of Gavin's, she drew her blades right towards his arm. He managed to avoid the long edge, but the curved back slicked right against his forearm.

  "Ah!" he cried, his skin burbling up with blood while his fingers screamed for him to drop the knife and protect the wound.

  The woman clucked her tongue as if it was his fault he got cut. "Didn't your momma ever teach you?" Tucking tight, the woman leapt straight off the ground like a cat. She extended both her daggers high as if to drive deep into his shoulders. All Gavin could do was lock his arms together.

  Her body plowed into his, Gavin's spine colliding with the hard dirt as he held his locked arms right above his chest. She pushed her daggers against him, both ends nipping right against his shirt. "Boys shouldn't play with knives," she chuckled. One good shove and she could dice him up without reprieve. Gavin shook off the agony from the first wound slicing up his arm -- the warm blood dribbling back up his sleeve -- and the pain in his back to focus all his power in his biceps.

  Don't. Give. In.

  The woman sighed, shaking her head at the inevitable, when her knee smashed right into his testicles. Sweet fucking Maker! White hot light seared up his vision, his entire lower half seething in agony. Gavin's hands slipped apart as they instinctively tried to protect himself. He didn't realize the folly until he looked up into her wide eyes.

  "Sorry," she shrugged. Yanking her arms back, she was ready to drive the daggers into him when a sword blade appeared against her neck.

  "Ma'am," a cold voice instructed from behind, the lantern light darting in and out over Gavin's gasping and grateful face. "Put the knives down."

  The breath she was holding relaxed out of her chest. With exaggerated movements, she extended her arms and slowly let the daggers crumble to the ground.

  "Step off of him," the guard ordered next, the sword all but dragging her away from Gavin. Without the witch crushing him, he rolled to his side and tried to curse every ache in his body.

  "Are you all right, squire?" the second guard asked.

  "Yeah," he sputtered out. After trying to tenderly make certain he was intact, he skirted a finger over the cut that was still bleeding. "More or less." Thank the Maker they recognized him.

  The second guard offered a hand to Gavin who finally rose to his wobbly knees and right into the snickering eyes of the caught woman. She tipped her head to him, "Buying time for the guards to arrive. Smart."

  He didn't feel particularly smart, the gorge still lingering in his throat from her final attack. Maker, what he wouldn't give to have an ice mage around. The thought of asking Myra to help flitted through his mind for a moment, but then he paled at even having to voice the concept of the anatomy in pain to her.

  Sneering because it kept him focused, Gavin got to his feet. He scooped up his knife and then her daggers. A scarlet ribbon circled both, the ends fluting through the still air as he waved them around.

  "Come along," the second guard patted Gavin on the back. He must have seen some of the fight as he kept wincing in a shared pain. "The Bann will have questions for you both."

  "The princess should be informed as well," Gavin added. Something told him this woman wasn't here for a simple Bann. Not with her hardware.

  Turning over her shoulder, even with her hands locked behind her back, and a sword at her throat, the woman smiled, "No hard feelings?"

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Anjali

  "My lady."

  A head bowed down as Rosamund dashed past, struggling to get an arm through her robe. The entire estate was in a ruckus, people rushing into her room and startling her from a shallow sleep. Her mind first assumed fire, Rosie reaching for whatever she could to save before a servant thought to inform her it was a quite different matter.

  By the time she knotted the robe on, obscuring her less than formal sleepwear, she emerged into the throne room -- though that was a far too generous description of it. Basically a foyer at the back of the house with a large chair dropped in it, the Bann stood at the top of a three step dais tapping his foot. Circled around him were his guards, one of their Knights, that squire her father pointed out, and...

  Eyes as prideful as a stark dawn turned to gaze back at the princess. Even across the room, Rosamund was struck by the certainty inside of them. At knife point, surrounded by hostile forces, this woman would bow to no one. Certainly no two-copper Bann waving his staff of office around as if it were another part of his anatomy.

  Trying to shake off the thought, Rosie raised her voice to call out, "Bann Micah, what has occurred?"

  "Your Majesty," he gasped, the staff tumbling out of his hands and clattering onto the floor. Wonderful metaphor. Swooping down the stairs, Rosie kept one eye upon the Bann and another on this intruder. It was what she had to be, why else all the pomp and swords.

  Skin of the richest earth before planting, the woman had a hungry look to her face. It was lean, certainly, with cheekbones that could cut harder than any of those blades in the guard's hands, but there was more too. She seemed the type willing to do anything necessary to accomplish her goals, her pouty lips not hanging static in thought but lifted in a small smirk. To her this was a minor setback and nothing more. She was dangerous.

  She was intriguing.

  "We caught this woman sneaking around outside on the grounds, your Highness," the Bann said, his eyes landing upon Rosie. As she stepped up beside him on the dais, she could feel them traveling right down to her chest and the display of cleavage below. She regretted not grabbing a more substantial robe, or thinking to dress in the flannel.

  Shaking off the thoughts, Rosie tried to calm the flutter in her stomach. She'd never faced down a would-be robber before. "Caught but not in the act, whatever that act is? And..." Her eyes traveled over to the boy, Gavin, standing beside the guards. He had a hand wrapped around his arm, dried blood scraped against the linen of his shirt. "Are you injured? What happened?"

  "It's just a scratch," he said, shaking his head as if it was no big deal. "My Lady," Gavin tacked on at the end, remembering his place.

  At that, the woman in question cracked up, a small laugh re
verberating up her swanlike neck. They always said that in books. Swanlike, to make it seem thin and fragile. Her entire look screamed I am as unbendable as the mountains, but that thin, elongated, swooping neck was as fragile as anyone else's. Delicate. Focus, Rosie. Not the time to get poetic.

  "Well," she waved a hand out, "we'd all like an explanation, if you please. I'm not a fan of being hustled out of bed by unexpected visitors."

  "I'll be sure to drop off a calling card next time," the woman snickered, seeming to enjoy this. The tip of the sword next to her neck bit closer, but Rosie held her royal hand up. It always froze everyone around her, as if people were afraid she could cast some sort of 'Execute everyone' spell.

  "Do you intend to tell us why you are here or shall we dance around the subject instead?"

  Her pink tongue lapped against lips chapped from the sun, and then she shrugged, "A dance with you does sound enticing." To finish, her eyes trailed across Rosie's form a moment before honing right in on her eyes. She felt the blush burn against her cheeks, Rosamund quickly losing whatever high ground she imagined herself to have.

  Behind her, the Bann scoffed as if the very idea was ludicrous. Two women dancing. Preposterous. And all that rot. Right? "Princess," he tried to step in between the two women who were trying to not stare at each other, "allow me to execute her."

  "Princess?" the woman snapped her head up. She looked about to let something loose from her mouth, when who should come stumbling in, but the prince? Cailan was shirtless, but at least he took the time to put on pants. Surprisingly, no bedwarmer followed behind him. It was Myra hot on his tails. Her thin frame was swaddled in a tunic that hid all of her figure, and a short pair of breeches cut off at the knee.

  "What in the void is going on here?" Cailan muttered, sticky fingers tugging his hair back and forth. Then he let loose a yawn as if whatever major political problem was occurring had little to do with him.

  Shaking her head, Rosie turned away from the unknown woman to her sister. "Myra," she called, waving a finger, "I need you." All the eyes except the guard's and the would-be robber's turned back to the half-elf standing in the doorway.