My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Still blissfully unaware that he had eyes on him, Gavin reached behind his back to try and scratch himself, when he paused. His eyes darted away from the book and he tugged one of the sunflowers down towards him. It was like a blighted painting; the shirtless chiseled man leaning against a tree, book open in his lap, while piles of sunflowers circled around him in a grassy meadow. How could Myra hope to possibly compete with that? People like that got with classy women, classy enough to know the right fork to use and had napkins stuffed up their sleeves just in case.

  Gavin slid his finger up the sunflower's head, capturing something inside of it. As he held his hand up to his face, he began to twist the finger around, a giddy smile shattering the stern warrior. Why couldn't she have that one? A silly boy who loved watching caterpillars crawl all over his fingers? Someone else could take the stoic knight man. With a gentle touch, he returned the insect back from where it belonged, his goofy smile fading away back to a serious turn.

  She didn't have a chance.

  "Come on," Myra yanked on Bryn's hands, "let's get out of here."

  "Oh, okay. Do you want to head back to the shore or..."

  "For fuck's sake, no. You can skip out, right? They aren't watching too closely," Myra said fast. Bryn frowned a moment, but her friend talked over her, "Don't worry, I can come up with a good excuse for you."

  Still keeping low, Myra waddled through the grass, one hand wrapped around her friend's. "Where are we going?"

  "To get good and drunk, because I...I really want to right now."

  "Twice in one week, what will your mother say?"

  "Myra Sayer, we have to be an example to the people, blah blah, so and and what not," she didn't care. She wouldn't even care if her mom popped in unexpectedly and threatened to drag her back home. Myra'd make a fuss, of course, but her ability to give a shit about the offense was pretty damn low along with her sense of self worth.

  Bryn laughed at the impression, having to often suffer the same growing up. At the edge of the fields, both girls stood up and began to run for it. "Whose booze are we stealing?"

  "The best," Myra snickered, "my brother's."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Baby Knight

  When the caravan came to a sudden stop, the squire beside him tried to peer around the wagons and mass of people all standing in the road. "I'll go see what's up," he groaned, "probably another cow or something." Without thought, he left Gavin alone with the assassin they were in charge of watching.

  Flexing his fingers tighter to the grip of his sword, Gavin let his eyes drift over to the woman who folded her arms over her chest and fell back into an easy stance. They were perhaps a day out from reaching Highever, the various advisors around her Highness ecstatic to get off the ground and into a real bed. Gavin didn't care one way or the other as he was certain to be sleeping upon the ground for a long time.

  "Well," the assassin sighed, a tuneless whistle erupting from her lips. She let a few more notes pass before her calculating eyes landed upon him. "This is fun."

  Gavin didn't respond. He knew better than to speak to people like her. Spies. Bards. Assassins. They could pluck thoughts from your head like balls of twine and knot them all up into something new. His job was to watch her, that was all.

  "Really?" Anjali moaned, her hands falling down. She was wise to not make any sudden movements towards him, and kept them dangling at her side. "Is it going to be all stern glares here on out?"

  "Yes."

  At that she laughed, her tongue drifting around in her mouth as she shook her head. "At least you're honest. But you can't be serious. We could be stuck together for weeks, maybe more." Gavin glared ahead. Whatever was keeping them held up must be serious. Two cows? "You can work that whole stoic, man of rock thing all you want, but...it's not going to work on me."

  "I am working nothing," Gavin said out of the side of his mouth. Suddenly, he whipped his head over and quickly gasped out, "Aside from keeping an eye on you."

  The woman laughed again, clearly enjoying whenever he was knocked out of place. Curse it all. This was why he didn't speak. "First fancy job, boy? Man? Which are you? It's a bit hard to tell."

  "None of your concern." Blessed Andraste, where was his backup? It couldn't be that difficult to get a couple cows to move.

  "Tell ya what, if I can guess your age you have to say something to me other than 'move' 'rise' and 'grunt.'" His eyes narrowed, the slits sliding over to glare at the woman, but she seemed to find the idea hilarious. There were few things that stopped her from laughing. "Hm..." Gavin's skin crawled as he felt her eyes stretching up and over him, taking into account his body as if it was dangling off a meat hook outside a shop.

  "Body sure says man, as I'm sure a few have taken advantage of..."

  He gripped tighter, his knuckles popping against the sword he yearned to draw.

  "But the face, I can't even see a hint of stubble and we've been wandering in the woods for some time so I'd guess 19? 20?"

  Gavin blinked and turned fully away from her to stare ahead. Something was moving through the piles of people, wagons, and horses, but he couldn't see what. Surely the jam would lift soon.

  "That's a no then? Higher or lower?" Anjali prodded, needing something to keep her distracted. "Come on, not even a hint?" She blew a breath out of her lips and smacked them. "I wish I could do that girl's weird staring at you and figuring you all out based upon your fingernails and stray hairs thing. Freaky, but useful."

  "You do not possess a tenth of the skill of lady Myra," Gavin hissed at the assassin wishing she'd be quiet.

  Unfortunately, her eyes lit up and a smirk donned her lips. "Lady Myra, huh? Well, baby Knight, now I know one thing about you. You've got it bad for her."

  "You know nothing of me," Gavin sneered while kicking himself for bringing up Myra's name.

  "Right. The way you all but hurled a white glove in my face for daring to demean your 'lady.' When boys do that they clearly don't care one whit for a nice pair of...legs?" Anjali tapped her face in thought, "Last time I saw her she was a couple of sticks prodding out of a mass of fabric."

  He couldn't stop the growl rolling through his throat, which was exactly what the cruel woman hoped for.

  "Oh you make this too easy, kid. Come on, confess. Out with it. You like her. You probably think about her all the time while...diddling with that sword of yours."

  Red swarmed up the sides of his vision, Gavin seriously tempted to march the woman to the back of the caravan and tie her hands to it. Let her walk alone with no one else forced to suffer her venom. But then she'd escape somehow, and they'd all be in danger. Damn it all.

  "I am sworn to protect her, as I am all the people my Knight directs me to. Your assumptions are baseless," he hissed at the woman's ear prodding out from below her headscarf.

  She shrugged as if the utter contempt in his voice was just water off her back. "As you say, baby knight." Exhausted and wishing to walk far from the woman's vitriol, Gavin turned his head away. "But," Anjali interrupted, "you really wouldn't care if your precious little lady was on the arm of another? Dancing at some fancy party, her body so close to some other man's it's damn near scandalous?"

  Gavin could feel his nose pickling upward in disgust, his skin itching to be ripped free from her prodding. He yearned to shake his sword in her face to get her to be quiet. Too bad the woman knew she would suffer no true interference thanks to the blessing of the princess. She tipped her head over towards Cal and a few of his buddies. "Like that tall, blonde one. He's easy on the eyes, right?"

  Only darting over quickly, Gavin snickered, "Myra is too smart to be enthralled with someone like him."

  He'd thought the matter closed but Anjali patted him on the back. It was enough to cause Gavin to whip over to her, prepared to toss her off, but pools of sympathy reflected in her dark eyes. "Oh, you foolish boy. That's exactly the ones young girls go for. Even if they know better. Especially if they know better."

  Rolling h
er off, Gavin let his eyes snap to Cal who was laughing and prodding his tongue out between two fingers. They didn't say anything to him upon their return from the brothel. No, they treated it all as if nothing happened, which was perhaps the best Gavin could hope for. He preferred to not antagonize Calenhad nor any of cluster. But if that empty headed, ill mannered peon dared to touch or demean...

  An arrow flitted through the air, sticking deep into the side of a wagon. Blighted hell! He spun on his foot, trying to find the source while scrabbling for cover. The entire caravan erupted into cries, voices screaming in shock and confusion. Gavin had enough sense to grab onto Anjali's hand and yank her with him to flatten behind the back of a wagon for cover.

  "Bandits," she hissed, cracking her free hands to pop the knuckles in preparation of an attack.

  Gavin unsheathed his sword, gristly aware of the chaos shattering around them. Someone was hurling cargo off of the wagons, boxes splintering into the dirt. Cover for the squires from arrows? Or were these bandits already coming to steal whatever they wanted?

  "Give me a weapon," Anjali prodded an elbow into his side.

  He glanced over at her and sneered, "You must think me a fool."

  "This really isn't the time for me to extoll everything I think of you, baby Knight," she jabbered. It seemed to be all she knew to do, her jaw never ceasing. "But if there's bandits about..."

  "So you say," he glanced fully at the woman, wishing he too could do half of Myra's magic.

  "What?" Anjali switched her weight back and forth on her knees, the two of them hunkered low to hide.

  "An ambush by assassins seems just as likely as a random bandit being stupid enough to aggravate the royal caravan."

  The woman snickered, "What I've seen of you Fereldens so far, I wouldn't be surprised if the local criminals are incapable of reading, or recognizing heraldry, or chewing with their mouths closed. So...weapon," she held her hand out as if he was about to press something into it. Gavin was not stupid, regardless of what everyone kept claiming.

  Crunching sounds, like boots stepping fast towards them, echoed down the line. His heartbeat matched the bounce of sole against dried earth. It was impossible to know who was coming. Could be one of the knights, or a squire checking up on the rest. Sucking in a breath, Gavin tucked his sword tight to his chest. He could feel the unknown person standing a mere foot away. Whoever it was paused, fingers running under the tarp across the wagon.

  Was it friend or foe?

  If he got it wrong...

  Spinning out on his foot, Gavin revolved right behind a man dressed in filthy leathers. A bow was slung across his back as he was too focused to reach under the canvas and steal goods to notice a man standing behind him. Barely pausing, Gavin whacked the flat of his sword against the back of the man's knees. He groaned, tumbling downward, as Gavin stood up. "What are you...?" the bandit cried, when the edge of a blade bit against his neck.

  "You will choose your words very carefully," Gavin instructed, suddenly realizing he had no damn idea what to do with a bandit. The man nodded his head, the chin bouncing into the metal blade while his hands tried to reach back for something.

  "Look," he sputtered, "let's not get too hasty here. I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding." The bandit kept bouncing on his feet, as if he could slip away, but all Gavin need do was tug his bicep in and he'd gouge the man's throat out. Moving was suicide.

  "Be silent," Gavin ordered, fully out of ideas.

  "Uh," the bandit suddenly glanced to the side. Gavin thought it a trick, until the sun blotted out above him. By the time he turned to look up it was too late.

  A body launched off the wagon at high speed and raced right towards him. He tried to twist his sword up to protect himself, but the newest attacker was fast. Hands beat into his shoulder knocking Gavin backwards as the female bandit skittered to the ground with a roll. Luckily, he managed to keep ahold of his sword. Less luckily, he was facing two now armed people and was laid out in the dirt.

  Twisting fast, his brain ordered him to move when a dagger bit into the ground right beside his head. He kept rolling, gripping knuckle-straining tight to the sword as he went. The woman that leapt on top of him was grinning madly, a single long Ferelden blade in her hand. She glanced over at her fallen comrade who got up to his feet and began to massage his throat.

  "Well, what are you waiting for?" he waved over at Gavin, "Kill him."

  Two women to fight in one week. Someone would probably call this a curse. He planted his foot, feeling secure in the dirt as the woman and her little dagger came after him. What he wouldn't give for a shield. It'd be easy to take a blow and then finish her off with his sword, but even now he had the better reach. And height. His problem was the first man.

  While Gavin kept throwing off the woman's wild stabs, the man was circling, trying to get in behind to flank him. If he took his eyes off of both for even a moment he was a dead man. Damn it! Where were the other squires or the knights? Why was he alone in this?

  Metal glinted before his eyes and he swung his sword up, knocking into the woman's wrist. Crimson drops beaded up on his blade, which he flung off into the dirt on the reach back. But in doing so, it opened him up not to her but the man. Gavin spotted the sword coming for his exposed side, knowing he was fully incapable of stopping it in time.

  The man knew it too, a cruel glint in his eye as he tasted death. He snarled something, about to get vengeance for the nick to his neck, when a fist popped into the back of his head. Snapping forward, he moved to spin in place to take on whoever dared cold cock him, when lightning fast black fingers fished the dagger off of his side sheathe and stabbed him thrice in the chest.

  Blood spewed out of the cheap leathers twisting the ground into a crimson mud as the man blinked in surprise from Anjali holding his own weapon against him. Turning to stare at his would-be murderer, he collapsed backwards. She took no chances, stabbing him again in the chest then across the throat.

  "You bastards!" the bandit woman screamed, turning all her wrath on Gavin. It wasn't much, her blows bouncing against his sword, but he could hear a sound in the distance.

  Anjali sensed it too, the assassin spinning in place and shouting, "Archers!"

  Thinking with his body, Gavin blocked off the bandit woman's attack, grabbed onto her arm, and spun her in place against him. The first arrow struck in her shoulder, then a crossbow bolt bit deep into her chest. She stopped fighting at that one, her hands falling limp and scattering the short sword to the ground. A third bounded into the tree behind Gavin, the archers attempting to reach him either above their dead friend or through her body.

  Barely pausing, Anjali scooped up the abandoned bow of the dead bandit, yanked an arrow out of the bleeding corpse of the woman in his hands, and fired it right back at them. Gavin lost sight of it through the glint of sun, but he heard a great scream erupt out of the trees in the distance. She struck someone.

  On cue, a dozen arrows flew from the knights and squires of their caravan into the same area Anjali fired. Even if they couldn't see them, that much of a barrage was guaranteed to strike flesh. With the immediate threat of death removed from the table, Gavin realized he was still clinging to a dead woman's body. Her blood coated his forearm as he dropped her carcass and staggered backwards from the impaled meat.

  Pacing through the mess, Anjali fiddled with a few pockets and hissed, "By the void, what were you thinking?"

  "What?" he gasped. He hadn't meant for the woman to die. She was, he needed her as cover. If they hadn't shot...

  Her eyes burned through him with accusations, "Kill the bastard first, don't let them talk. Don't let them get the upper hand. Just kill them."

  Gavin rose from his staggering breaths to spot a sword clutched in the assassin's fingers. He lifted his own and aimed it towards her, "Put that down."

  She glanced at what had him trembling and sighed, "You can't be serious. Hello. Attack. Unless you want to get me killed."

 
; "Put it down now, and you won't be harmed," he repeated, both hands locked tight to his sword.

  "Balmy, completely balmy. Are you incapable of thinking beyond two or three orders?" she reached over as if to tap on his skull when Gavin flinched. His sword drew right up against her and Anjali froze too. She may be able to best him when it was two daggers versus a knife, but when it came to swords her advantage diminished greatly.

  "Drop the..."

  A ball of fire erupted from further up the caravan, flames licking up to the sky. "What the shit was that?" Anjali cursed, dragging her free hand over her chest as if in a sign of protection.

  Gavin trailed the plume of smoke that bit the air and gasped, "It's the royal carriage! Come on!" Breaking into a run, he stretched his legs as far as they could reach.

  Beside him, Anjali followed, though she began to trail a bit behind. "So the sword thing...?" she shouted through gasps. Dead bandits lay scattered on the side of the road, Gavin's eyes darting towards the caravan proper to find a lot of their laypeople huddled together in shock. They didn't seem to be nursing any wounded -- good.

  "Protect the royal family," Gavin ordered, "then we'll talk about the sword."

  "Just what I wanted to hear," Anjali chuckled, the woman bending her head down.

  In the distance, he spotted the Theirin flag hanging limp against the sun. The pole must have snapped but not broken in half, the flag crushed downward at a 45 degree angle. Maker, may those inside of the carriage not have suffered the same fate. Digging his heels in, Gavin shifted to find a bandit rushing towards them. He had blue painted along the sides of his face, a beard -- as wiry as tumbleweeds -- flapping while he screamed battle obscenities.