"Oh?" She'd not wanted to lie about anything with Anjali, figuring that the honest truth would be best in the end.
"I thank you for telling me, for coming to me with this but informing me every time you have planned an 'appointment' leaves me on edge. Just, point me towards a game of Wicked Grace and let me not wonder why you're busy that night. Please?"
That was more than fair. She should have thought of that. Thought of a lot of things. That first year of marriage was trying in a lot of ways, all of them stumbling to find the right rules they could all follow. "I promise," Rosie nodded.
"Honestly, I don't know how you get through it at all."
"It is a challenge," she admitted. But the reward made it seem almost worth it. Even if Lizzy was in her 'No' to everything stage at the moment.
Anjali cracked a smile and turned to her, "Lie back and think of Ferelden?"
"Actually," Rosie curled her hand along the side of Anjali's waist. It tugged on the cursed shirt that was still in the way, but outlined her breasts better. "I think of you."
"Really?" Anjali snorted.
"Every time, I close my eyes and picture you strumming me better than anyone else could ever attempt."
Her beautiful lover cracked a smile as she swooped a hand around Rosie's side. The princess prepared for a hug or kiss, but Anjali tipped the both of them down to lay upon the bed. At Rosie's confused look, Anjali suddenly fished out the newest toy and chuckled, "It's time we try this one out."
"I've missed you beyond counting," Rosie began while Anjali's lips ministered to her aching heart.
"Ah," her assassin pulled away a moment and wagged a finger, "we don't have time for any of that. Now, off with your drawers!" Both women laughing, the clothing was shed in record time while Rosie made certain that cursed door was really locked.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
New Home
"How many more of these are there?"
The box barely made it towards the ground before it fumbled in his weary hands and crashed to its resting place. A few of the propped up knickknacks shuddered but nothing fell over. Taking a deep breath, Gavin moved to wipe at the sweat building on his forehead. It'd been cool across the city for weeks, but they had to chose what turned out to be the warmest day of spring to pack all their belongings into a wagon and move it across town.
"I dunno," Myra was a flit at the edge of his eye. He'd hear her voice, but by the time he turned to find it, only a dash of blonde remained. A shame as she looked adorable today. She'd tied a red kerchief in her hair to try and keep the dust away, put on a simple ivory tunic, slipped on a pair of his old trousers that were hemmed to her calves, and left her shoes somewhere between here and her mother's place. It was quaint and simple, but that made his heart pang every time she dashed past. The smile was helping immensely as well.
"What's even in this one?" Gavin asked while shuffling around one of a dozen of boxes marked as "Myra's". He'd included detailed instructions on all of his, but she seemed to be of the opinion that it wasn't important since you'll open the crate and figure it out anyway.
"Is it hissing?" she dashed through the open front room, her arms overladen with serving spoons and ladles. Blessed Maker, why did they have so many ladles?
"Um," Gavin nudged a toe into the box but nothing inside snapped out to devour him, "no."
"So not my enchanting equipment," the ladles all landed in a pile on the kitchen table they found in an old tower on the palace grounds. A little dusting, some varnishing, and purging a long dead ghost was all it needed to get it back into shape. As the spoons clanged to what was probably going to be their resting place for a few days, Myra jammed both her hands on her hips and glared around the room.
"I swear it's got to be around here somewhere. Maybe I left it at Bryn's..."
When Myra moved back to Denerim she officially settled back in with her mother, but the old childhood bedroom proved to be a bit too confining. So over time her things began to filter across various corners of the city, which required them to go on an epic quest to find everything. Gavin tried to draw up a list, but some of the entries were far too vague, such as 'That box with the liquid that might be a solid now.'
Pausing in her mad searching, Myra groaned, her eyes drifting over to Gavin in his little sea of unpacked and ready to be put away belongings. "You must hate me," she chuckled, a foot nudging into a massive crate that held both her winter coats and summer dresses. "Look at you, all prepared and organized..."
When her weary hands landed on her legs, Gavin stepped over the stacks to curl an arm around her waist. Myra murmured about how it wasn't necessary, but she leaned into him and pressed tighter. "You're...chaotic," he whispered.
She snorted, her lips pressing against his shaggy cheek. This move threw off pretty much everything in their lives, his toilette regimen included. "Can't find my ass in the middle of an ass storm, you mean? Mmm," Myra nuzzled against him, the warmth of her body tempting Gavin to forget unloading the wagon, take her upstairs to the bedless mattress, and break in their new bedroom. "I don't know how you can stand me."
"It's not that difficult," he whispered against her. "Not when I love you."
"Such a sop," she giggled before pressing her strawberry lips to his for a kiss. Two years, four months, and some change they'd been at this. It wasn't always easy, Myra having to head up to the college for a couple months to finish up her work right after they began. Gavin often being sent out if not to the dwarven kingdom, then on regular knight errands. But they always wrote to each other and when they were able to be together again it was...beyond anything he could imagine.
"Here I thought I was stoic and distant," Gavin said while leaning back.
"Nope," she bopped her finger against the tip of his nose and giggled, "total softy. Which I love."
Gavin tipped lower, his breath wafting close to her ear, "I daresay you rather love when I'm hard as well."
Instead of blushing, or waving a hand on her cheeks, or stepping away while giggling, Myra waggled a finger near him. "Oh no, you can't tempt me -- okay, you can, but not right now. We HAVE to get that wagon back or Qimat will have my head. She needs it for...something. Agency something that my mom was blathering on about."
With a regretful sigh, Gavin opened his arms and released his love back into their mess of a house. It wasn't much by Knight standards. Certainly not by daughter of the King one's either. But it sat equidistantly between the agency and the palace, giving Myra easy access to both of her parents and letting Gavin swing into work when needed, but also have a place away from it all when he wished. Quaint, the apartment was three rooms -- a large living room that sat near their hearth, and two bedrooms tucked up the stairs. One was slightly larger than the other, but on a given day Gavin had trouble guessing which was which. He'd leave it up to Myra to decide which would be their bedroom and which the spare.
Myra patted the ladles as if to make certain they were all content before she dashed out into the road to pick up more boxes. He'd offered to carry them in while she unpacked her things, but Myra insisted that he deal with his stuff and she hers. It didn't take him long to realize that the house was going to be 25% his meager things and 75% Myra's stuff.
"Did you steal away the entire college's library when you left?" he asked, his arms and legs straining from the never ending stream of books he had to pick up and move.
"Ha ha," Myra's voice echoed from outside. When she appeared, her face was blocked by a set of crates in her arms, "As if your mom didn't own a copy of every single book ever printed in the history of thedas. I remember that library, and the other library, and the one in the closet. Books everywhere!"
While she hustled up the stairs with her haul of hopefully her underthings they had yet to find, Gavin stirred around in his box. Two and a half years since he lost his parents and the hurt was always there. He despised how morose it made him, the smallest things often turning him dour and insular from the pain seeping free. He didn't want to be that way, especially
the few moments he was free to be alone with Myra. But she was sweet about it.
She wouldn't get mad that he was once again blubbering, just sit there and wait. Sometimes she'd rub his shoulders, or snuggle in his arms, or hold him tight. It had to help him heal greatly, and Gavin couldn't imagine the unending pain he'd be in if he had to mourn completely alone. Without Myra it'd have been unbearable to suffer through.
Her parents were far too kind as well, insisting he stop by for holidays and always at Lady Sayer's home. It was nice, at the palace he was on duty, but there in that tiny one room apartment he could laugh at Myra's father's jokes and help her mother with the cooking. Unbeknownst to her daughter, Gavin tried to learn a few of Myra's favorite recipes from her mother.
His cooking was subpar, but could keep him fed. He wanted to do better, to surprise Myra with something fantastic -- once he stopped causing things to catch on fire and char to a briquette. Elven cooking was more involved than he expected.
Shuffling through his pile of old letters and books, Gavin's hand stumbled into the box and his heart froze. Slowly, he lifted it out and stared at the lid. It bore no markings, it wasn't well crafted, there was a good chance it could give someone a splinter, and it was chosen happenstance. But he knew what was inside. Maybe he should...
Gavin glanced around the room with very little furniture so far, unless stacks of boxes counted. They needed to find themselves some chairs, and a rug or two. And a bed. Something to put beside the bed. A cabinet to store glass bottles -- he was living with a mage after all. At least they had the table.
His hands drummed a beat upon the wooden box, when he turned towards the hearth. Heart of the house, so they said. Though for now a puny fire snapped from inside in preparation of tea later, nothing more. Cracking open the box, he scooped up what nestled inside in a bed of straw and placed it upon the mantle right above the fireplace.
After making certain it was secure and wouldn't tip over, Gavin moved to step back but his fingers clung tighter to the old memento. The only one he took from the abbey. Its mahogany wood looked as pristine as the day it was shaped, lines of blue crystal embedded deep like pulsing veins. A silver ball sat at the top, never used to cast any spells, just to help keep it in the hand of the woman who needed it.
Her last cane. His last cane. The last one his dad carved for his mom before she didn't need it anymore, before he couldn't do it anymore. There were lots of old mementos in the abbey, flashy things left over from the Blight, the Inquisition, their life after -- but this was what Gavin wanted in his life, in his home. His parents forever watching over him while he did his best to make them proud.
"A hem," Myra's throat clearing drew him away from the sentimentality. Gavin wiped away the treacly tear and he turned to find her standing right outside the door. She was tapping her foot and had her arms crossed as if he should be doing something.
"Yes?" Gavin asked.
"We got all the boxes inside," she said, her head tipping back and forth, a beam of sunlight firing up her mass of freckles.
"Wonderful," he sighed, grateful that they could move on to the next step. Gavin leaned down to try and unbox another crate, when he felt Myra's gaze burning through his ear. "And...?" he prompted, uncertain why she was still standing in the street.
"And it's traditional for the man, you, to carry the woman, me, across the threshold," Myra said with a rising smile.
Gavin scrunched his nose up in confusion, "I thought that was only true for a married couple."
"Oh for...you and always having to follow the rules. Just," she waved her hands as if she was trying to shoo away a fly and Gavin stumbled outside of his home towards her. "Humor me, okay. I know it's probably stupid, and corny, and other dumb things, but..."
Brushing his forehead against hers, he chuckled. "Very well, meadow flower." Myra locked her arms around the back of his neck and with almost no effort, Gavin swung her up into his arms.
With her legs kicking into the wind and the side of her chest pressing into his, Myra sighed, "We really need to talk about that nickname, by the by."
"So you wish to be carried over the threshold, but I can't have a pet name for you?" Gavin began.
"Just..." her beautiful face buried into his chest a moment as she muttered something about how foolish it was even while he could see how much she cared, "I don't know. Walk and...and then we can get back to work."
"As you say," he smiled and took a step forward. Myra lifted her head up and focused on the house but Gavin froze in place. Confused that they weren't moving, Myra began to shift a bit in his arms. Not enough that he was afraid of dropping her, but it put a strain while she made little clip-clop noises with her tongue.
Chuckling at her certainty, Gavin began to bend his back leg until his knee struck the ground right outside their home. Myra sat perched upon his upright leg, her green eyes burning into his with deep concern. "What...what are you doing?" she gasped, looking as if she feared he'd suddenly gone mad or was about to tip over in illness.
With his hands full of her, Gavin took in a great breath. He stared deep into her eyes that were still whipping around in confusion but began to slow. "Gaavin...?"
"Myra," he couldn't hide the small tremor in his voice as he weighed the words on his tongue, "when I first met you, over twelve years ago--"
At that she snickered, "And walked right into a beam. Oh, I remember."
Rolling his tongue along his teeth, he coughed and tried to continue. She shook off the memory and locked her arms in tighter to his neck. "I never could have imagined how important you would be to me. What you would mean to me. There is no chance in the void I would have made it through these past two years without you."
"That..." her jovial tone flash froze and she nuzzled her cheek against his a moment. "You're the strongest person I know," she said, trying to flatter him.
"Myra, for a long time I faced this world with you held at arm's length, never knowing if anything between us could be more, be so wonderfully better."
"Yeah," she nodded her head, her teeth tugging on her bottom lip, "that was shit and then some."
It was. He didn't realize how truly he hated it until she was in his arms, laying beside his body in bed, pressing her cold feet into his back in revenge, or tenderly wiping his forehead from a fever. For too long Gavin ignored how badly he loved her, how his heart entwined with hers of its own accord all those years ago. And when that pressure was removed, when the two were free to wrap around each other yet again, it felt as if everything in his life clicked.
It wasn't easier, but it was better because she was there with him.
"You're a light all of your own, one that can shake away the greatest darkness in thedas. When I look at you I feel...stronger, braver, happier than I ever dreamed possible. I never want to face another day without knowing you are by my side."
"Good thing we already got ourselves a place..." Myra's laugh faded as she honed straight in on him, her lip beginning to tremble.
"Myra Sayer Theirin," he smiled wide while staring deep into her meadowy eyes, his hands locked safely around her back while her warm body pressed harder into his knee, "would you do me the prestigious honor of letting me be your husband? Of marrying me?"
Her mouth fell open and she slapped a hand to it. "By the Maker's ballsack!" Myra shrieked, her eyes so wide the whites seemed to fill her face. She began to quiver, her teeth biting down on her fingers while Gavin hung on a heartbeat for an answer.
"Um, Myra..." he glanced around, his stomach burning in terror that he gravely miscalculated, "is that a...?"
"Fuck yes!" she screamed while falling forward to kiss him. Her lips traipsed up and down against his while she kept repeating her declaration. A thousand "fuck yes's" landed upon him before she paused and began to laugh, which he joined in on. Maker's breath! He wanted to scoop her up and dance with her. Happiness nearly cracked his face in half from a smile that dug in so deep it may never leave. He hadn't felt this much joy i
n his soul in far too long.
And she said yes. She really did.
Forgetting about her earlier plan of being carried across the threshold, Myra slid off of Gavin's knee. She planted her feet on the cobbles and rose up, but offered a hand to him. Happy to take it, Gavin stood and stretched. He moved to tug his fiancee into a hug, but she was pulling further away with her fingers locked around his.
"Where are you going?" he asked while jabbing a finger back to their unpacked house.
"To get married!" Myra shouted in glee.
"What? Now?"
"Yes, now. Why wait?" she was practically giggling while swinging back from her mad dash to press a kiss to his lips.
"Because..." Gavin scratched his head. Didn't weddings take time? There was planning, and shipping in relatives, and something involving a feast, and a bunch of sewing inside a chest. But then Myra's exuberant, joyful eyes burned into his and he smiled. "Yes," he nodded. "Now, let's do it now."
"Right! I'm sure we can wrangle up a Mother out of the chantry. Uh, I'll have Bryn stand by me, I assume Lambert can do it for you."
Gavin nodded his head with her planning, the excitement swelling in his heart as well. Married! He was about to become a husband in the range of anywhere from an hour to a day and he felt only joy. There was no nagging sense of failure, no terrified twitch that this was improper or should be weighed more carefully. How long did he ache for this too? To have his hand knotted with Myra's for as long as they both lived? It was too much to hope for.
"I can gather together the agency people, tell Mom. Oh, do you think you can get Dad?"
At that he blinked furiously, his feet stumbling. "Perhaps it would be better if you fetched your father, and I assemble Reiss and her people."
Myra snickered, "Nah, I show up and Karelle will lock him off behind thick doors. But you can waltz right in under the pretense of Knight stuff. It'll work perfect."
There was that trepidation Gavin knew should be in there. "Hello, Sir. How are you? Your daughter and I are going to be wed. When? In about an hour, could you consider joining us at the chantry?" He was a dead man.
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