
Table of Contents

Chapter One

Future

Chapter Two

Cat & Mouse

Chapter Three

A Beautiful Princess

Chapter Four

No Way!

Chapter Five

Knights & Squires

Chapter Six

Flowers

Chapter Seven

Cattle Call

Chapter Eight

Girl of Nots

Chapter Nine

Heart to Heart

Chapter Ten

A Trip

Chapter Eleven

Memory

Chapter Twelve

Obstinate

Chapter Thirteen

White Rabbit

Chapter Fourteen

Fur

Chapter Fifteen

Promise

Chapter Sixteen

Anjali

Chapter Seventeen

Healing Touch

Chapter Eighteen

Intriguing

Chapter Nineteen

Hot Head

Chapter Twenty

Baby Knight

Chapter Twenty-One

Tactics

Chapter Twenty-Two

Through the Heart

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ambush

Chapter Twenty-Four

Helpless

Chapter Twenty-Five

How To

Chapter Twenty-Six

Shot to the Heart

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Closet

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Hate's Breeding Grounds

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Can't Win

Chapter Thirty

Meadow Flower

Chapter Thirty-One

Comfy

Chapter Thirty-Two

Sinking

Chapter Thirty-Three

Fire and Steel

Chapter Thirty-Four

A Lie's End

Chapter Thirty-Five

Tea Kettle

Chapter Thirty-Six

Stuffed Crocodile

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Spud

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Trust

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Sketching

Chapter Forty

Cleansing Rain

Chapter Forty-One

Sapheela

Chapter Forty-Two

Bad Penny

Chapter Forty-Three

Duel

Chapter Forty-Four

Peachy

Chapter Forty-Five

Coverup

Chapter Forty-Six

Blinders

Chapter Forty-Seven

Innocence Lost

Chapter Forty-Eight

Blood of Friendship

Chapter Forty-Nine

Wounds

Chapter Fifty

Justice

Chapter Fifty-One

Cold Truth

Chapter Fifty-Two

Wolf's Bite

Chapter Fifty-Three

Bring Him Home

Chapter Fifty-Four

Worry

Chapter Fifty-Five

Old Sins

Chapter Fifty-Six

Returning Home

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Three Weeks

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Open Door

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Who You Are

Chapter Sixty

What's In A Name

Chapter Sixty-One

Locked

Chapter Sixty-Two

Shattered

Chapter Sixty-Three

Walls

Chapter Sixty-Four

Father

Chapter Sixty-Five

Sacrifice

Chapter Sixty-Six

Salvation

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Judgment

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Friends

## Chapter One

### Future

He heard nothing save the shift of feet and jangle of leather slapping into thighs. The roar of the crowd, the other fighters squaring off in their own circles around the arena, all of it faded away to just his heartbeat pounding with assurance. Gavin stood in front of nearly the entire Arling all peering down from the stands to watch a 17 year old show off his prowess, but in his heart he was back at home trying to best his father in a little sparring before dinner.

A sword whipped towards his head, but he dodged out of the way, the blade harmlessly flailing towards the ground. Spinning on his toes, he rammed his own dull edged blade towards his opponent's shield arm. It should have barely touched it, but the boy's stance wilted like flowers in high summer. Gavin had to pivot fast to keep the blade from slicing up and knocking into the boy's teeth.

In doing so, he spun closer to his opponent. Lifting up his own shield as both protection and to mask his face he whispered, "Pst, Evans. You have a shield, block with it."

The boy who was a good head or more shorter seemed to stare at his arm in shock before nodding that he did in fact have a shield. Greener than the Hinterland meadows, Evans limply lifted up his shield towards his opponent as if to assure him that he still held it. Gavin nodded that it was the right idea then folded tighter behind his.

"Okay," he ordered the boy a few years younger than him. "Now, charge at me."

"Charge you?" Evans muttered, clearly out of his depth. He spent the entire sparring time whipping his sword around like a scythe to mow hay. Which wasn't that surprising. Nearly everyone there was a farm kid or the occasional chantry orphan who couldn't hack it as a priest.

"Yes," Gavin tried to hone all his strength through his arm, forming his brick for a shield wall as his father taught him. "That's what it's really about."

"I thought I was supposed to cut you, ya know, with this," Evans' wrist twisted the blade around a bit more, failing to flow with it so the heavier metal waned to the ground.

"Just...give it your best," Gavin said.

Nodding, Evans dropped his shoulder down and ran full bore at Gavin. The kid's ropey shoulder stuck hard against the wood, rattling Gavin's body from the unexpected source. Evans was at most 100 pounds soaking wet, but he threw his all into it. Scrabbling, Gavin dug his toes into the sand, trying to stop the runaway kid from knocking him onto his ass. That'd be rather the spectacle in the end. The most promising squire beaten by a fifteen year old kid that could vanish in a birch forest.

Sweat dripped down his back, Gavin getting a grip with his toes in the waning footing. With a little twist, he turned in place, surprisingly light on his feet. Evans stumbled onward, while Gavin playfully touched the blunt flat of his blade against the kid's backside. The kid wasn't able to stop as easily, his feet flopping in the sand as he fought for the brakes while Gavin spun right back to face him.

Never take your eyes off your opponent.

Flailing, Evans dropped his sword and had to spread both his legs far apart to catch himself. But, he finally stopped. Chuckling, he turned around and shouted, "That was amazing! How did you do that?"

"It's not very difficult," Gavin said. He tried to keep the smile off his face, to remain taciturn in such simple matters, but there was no denying the pride at his hard work. "I can teach you how later."

"Maker, yes you will," Evans shouted again, the enthusiasm infectious. He wasn't the youngest one here, that was a girl barely even 14 who apparently was terrifying with a spear, but he seemed the most naive. A bit like a puppy, Gavin wanted to pull Evans under his wing and set him up with a nice warm box to sleep in.

"Pick your weapon up," Gavin said, jerking the pommel of his sword at the ground. Evans gulped and fumbled around for the metal at his feet when a horn blared through the arena.

Every would-be squire froze in their little test-at-arms, some dropping their weapons same as Evans did, others sheathing them. Gavin preferred the latter, having been taught to appreciate his tools. As the dust settled along with the stilled feet, the Knight-Commander stepped out into the middle of the ring.

He was a friendly sort who Gavin met on occasion at his parents urging. While the others gulped at the shine on the man's armor, the rank insignia and the crimson cape stretching off his shoulders, Gavin noticed that a bit of mutton stew remained in his snowy beard.

"Please," the commander said, "line up here before me."

All the squires nodded at each other and, one by one, fell into an uneasy line. It was foolish, they'd already been accepted. This was a simple matter of tradition and a bit of spectacle before the tourney began. Still, Gavin couldn't hide the small swell of excitement as he lifted up his chest. He'd been working for this day for years. Since he was ten, really, and his mother caught him trying to figure out how to unsheathe one of his father's old swords.

Squinting in the summer sun, Gavin caught sight of the fancier chairs near the Arl's box. Sitting in one was the white-blonde hair of his father, the man with his back straight and no doubt a grit in his jaw. Beside him was a dark skinned woman, her hair spilling off both sides of the blue clothed chair. Gavin's mother kept waving at her son as if he couldn't see her, then turned to his father to nudge the man in the ribs to join in. One was happy for him, the other...cautious.

"Step forward, Erin Womack," the Knight-Commander ordered. A girl from Redcliffe skipped towards him, her head bent. "You shall squire for Ser Quentin."

Erin's eyes grew wide, before she reached out and with both hands grabbed the Knight-Commander's hand in her own. That caused the man's scroll to shake a moment. He hadn't expected such a response, but after a time returned it.

"He's over there, if you can get to your Knight, please," the Commander chuckled, getting a laugh from the audience.

Blushing hard enough her freckles turned bright red, Erin waved at the crowd while turning to her Knight. She'd be trained in all the proper ways, not just fighting, but culture, serving the crown and chantry, and be on the fast track to her own knighthood. The moment Gavin expressed an interest in having a Ser before his name, it was squirehood he strived for to get his boot in the door.

Evans nudged an elbow that was all bone into Gavin's side, "Whatever Knight gets you is gonna be so lucky. You're the best one here."

He should have been here a year ago, maybe two, but his parents keep insisting it wasn't the right time. That he wasn't strong enough, or ready. Perhaps they had a point when he was fourteen, but now Gavin stood taller than his father and could carry bricks from one side of their lands to the other all day should the need arise. He was more than ready, he was meant for this.

Tipping his head up, he kept the idiotic grin off his thick lips but he couldn't hide the shine in his amber eyes. One by one, the Knight-Commander called people up to him and gave them their assignments. The people they'd serve for two years, no questions asked. It was how they learned discipline, and the decorated Knights didn't have to lug around their heavy armor all by themselves.

Their ranks began to thin, a pair of twins being split apart. They didn't make a fuss about it. In truth, the Redcliffe knights all remained at the castle for the most part. Save a few trips out into the forests of the arling, the squires would stay in the same room and see each other often. That he would be under Arl Teagan's watch was probably the only reason his father finally relented. Even with the straining yoke of his parents influence, Gavin was glad. He...when left to his own devices, his decision making was questionable. A few years answering to a man or woman who reached the point of Knighthood would surely be helpful in teaching him.

"Huh," Evans kept whispering beside him. His eyes darted up to Gavin, "Must be saving the best for last."

"Evans," the Knight-Commander said in his booming voice before returning to the scroll. "That's all it says. Evans?"

"Aye, that'd be me."

"Is that your given name or family?" the man focused on the kid who was trying to knot up his sandy hair.

"Dunno, my dead mum never told me and the Sisters just shouted 'Evans' at the top o' their lungs when calling for me."

"Well..." the Knight glanced around, his fellows all chuckling at the rambunctious young man. "You're with Whitley, who will hopefully find you a good second name."

As Evans darted off to his future, he glanced back at Gavin and winked again. He wanted to laugh with the boy already chosen to be a squire, but only three more people remained beside him. Surely they wouldn't pull such a prank as to single him out? As if that would be funny. Most people upon asking to meet Gavin Rutherford, son of the fabled Commander of the Inquisition, took a long stare at his soft brown skin and asked if it was a joke. He stood out whether he wished to or not. At least on the field he could convince himself it was for his skills and not more obvious reasons.

The Knight-Commander waved in the next two people, giving them to their futures. For a moment, Gavin let his eyes drift over to the last one beside him. Pasty Pete was the name he heard bandied about in the squire tent. It was rather apt, the 16 year old more blinding white than even his father who could act as a beacon in a storm. Realizing that only two of them remained, Pasty's cheeks turned bright red. Poor kid didn't want to be picked last and be shown as a consolation prize. That wasn't how it worked, the Knight-Commander made the decision months back when they all tried out in battles that meant something.

Back when Gavin climbed out of the armory training yard in Redcliffe, the Knight-Commander had clapped him on the back and said he was guaranteed to become a squire. He practically skipped the entire way back to the refuge, only to wind up tending to Mrs. O'Leary's open sores while telling his mother the good news.

It seemed cruel though, to leave Pasty Pete hanging upon such an edge. Even knowing they belonged, being last was not...

"Peter Pastile, step forward."

Oh Maker. While the second to last squire hopped towards the Knight-Commander to accept his appointment, Gavin felt the blood pool in his cheeks. He could hide a blush better than most, but with every eye watching as the son of the once Commander of the Inquisition was picked last to be a squire, it had to be visible from the treetops.

No. Perhaps Evans was right, and they are saving the best for last. It's a farce, or, they're attempting to put him in his place. Humble him. Yes, that had to be it.

Locking his back into place, Gavin stuck his chin up higher and prepared himself. For a moment the Knight-Commander's eyes lingered over the young man he once knew as a boy and a pang of confusion lanced through them. "Alright," the man turned on his heel and raised his arm to the coupled up squires and their knights, "let's get off the field so the jousting can get started."

What?

All the blood in his cheeks drained. That can't be right. There was one more. Him. He had to be assigned. To be told where to go. Who to serve. Around him he could hear the whine of whispers, judgment itself passing upon the lone young man standing adrift. What was going on?

How did he fail?

"Ser..." Gavin tried to call to him but his voice was frozen in his throat. The threat of tears burned in his eyes but he shook them away. Not here, not with everyone watching. He turned towards the stands where his parents sat and found the seats empty. Were they so embarrassed by his failure they had to leave the tourney in shame? His brain churned though a dozen thoughts, most of them freezing his blood cold. It wasn't a matter of losing, it was as if he lost before the game even began.

What was he supposed to do now?

A few harrowed eyes darted towards the shadow left behind from the light, but all the other squires were too busy having equipment dumped into their ropey arms. It would be their job to handle it, carry it, oil and clean it, learn their master's every whim as if they shared one mind. While Gavin...he had no idea.

Horses trotted past him, the jousters in their frilled finery marching past the crowds that were rising to their feet in anticipation. His parents didn't bring him often to the tourneys, but on their rare chance to escape the abbey he'd sit upon his father's shoulders, fingers knotted in the blonde curls for balance, and stare in awe at the mighty warriors. Now only a spitting rage dulled with frozen failure filled him. Barely glancing at the horses, he dipped his head low and tried to skirt out of the arena without drawing any attention.

He hated farming. It was nothing but keeping things alive just long enough to kill them. Day in and day out, plant the seed, water the seed, tend to the plant, harvest the plant, walk the livestock over the stalks before winter. Repeat come spring. He wanted...Maker, his father would cuff his ears for it, but he wanted the same adventures people spoke of when it came to his parents. Or his Aunt Hawke. Even when his father grumbled about the fairy stories, she'd sneak into Gavin's room by candlelight, pull a giant blanket over her massive form and tell him about the time she fought the Arishock or took on a would-be god.

It was what he wanted since he was little. To be a knight, to fight for what was right and help people. Not like his mother, not with potions and slapping on ointments with his hands and back. But that wasn't to be, apparently. Gavin wasn't built to be anything but the pack mule at some backwater abbey in the middle of nowhere.

His head slumping so far down his chin skimmed near the middle of his chest, Gavin turned towards the south and the direction of home. In his wallowing state, walking the three days there seemed preferable. He had no weapons to his name, no food, no shelter, not even a cloak, but it was that or face his parents and having to tell them that he was wrong. That he failed.

"Master Rutherford," a voice called out from the side.

Gavin didn't turn. That was what people called his father, when not all but bowing while dropping a Ser. He kept his eyes squeezed tight and remained shuffling sadly into the distance, when the voice picked up, "Gavin, stop..."

Now he did, and turned to find Arl Teagan out of breath and running towards him. He was dressed not in traditional finery for watching the tourney but typical riding leathers. "Buggering, brothers of..." the Arl gasped, almost tumbling to a knee as he came to a stop. Instinctively, Gavin reached out to grip onto his elbow to keep him upright as the elderly man gasped in a breath.

At that moment, who should appear but his parents.

Ser Cullen Rutherford eyed up the situation with a distant concern, while Gavin's mother yanked him towards the ill Arl. "Teagan," she cried out as if running to an ailing friend's bedside. While his being a friend was apt, the running was not. His mother had to hobble on her cane, his father taking most of her weight as he guided her closer.

"No, no," the Arl tried to wave away her healing hands, "I'm quite all right. Just thought I'd make it in time and misjudged." Crystal blue eyes landed upon Gavin who gulped at such focus from a high Lord. "Forgive me, son. I meant to reach you before the ceremony, but was delayed."

"Teagan?" his mother leaned closer to the old Arl who'd been as bald as a river rock for all of Gavin's life. She mentioned on occasion how he had the most striking red hair when she first met him but that was ages ago.

A breath rattled in the old Arl's lungs like gravel trapped in the spokes of a wheel, but he smiled brightly at Gavin's mother. "The Knight we assigned your son to..."

"Good man," Cullen said, nodding his head. _What did he know of it?_ Even Gavin had no idea who it was until today. But his father had been in on it, and most likely his mother too? His father never made a decision without her input.

"Yes," Teagan nodded brusquely, "but also incapable of fulfilling any of the duties prescribed to him. I'm afraid he suffered a hunting accident a week earlier, fell into a poorly marked bear pit."

"Oh Maker," his mother gasped, her fingers covering her lips. "Is he alive? Do you need...?" She waved those same fingers through the air, twanging it with magic that only Gavin and his father could feel.

"No, he is recovering, but at his age and then injury, I'm afraid he won't be up to fighting speed to take on a squire."

He didn't fail. Gavin gasped as if a massive weight as freed from his chest. No, your to-be mentor was nearly killed. Which means...? "What now?" Gavin asked, he turned to his parents first before orbiting to the Arl.

His father's hand clapped him on the shoulder, "You try again next year. It's not such a long wait." Wait again? He'd already skipped it twice over, to be eighteen -- a true man -- and looking into squiring? Every knight would laugh him out of the running.

Tears lifted in his eyes, not of sorrow but rage at the cruel finger of fate. He'd been so close to this. Proved himself, had made friends with many of the other squires already. They'd been trading letters since the trials, getting to know one another in preparation of sharing quarters and now...

"There is another option," the Arl said, his words instantly drying Gavin's frustration. A flicker of hope danced in his chest. "A Knight in Denerim lost a squire and is willing to take on someone fresh. Now, they've already been training together for a few months, so there'd be catchup but..." Teagan tipped his head at Gavin's mother, "knowing your boy I think he can handle it."

"No," Cullen threw his foot down in an instant.

"No?" it was his mother who turned to him, a hand on her hip. If she added the other, he was done. "For the Maker's sake..."

"Lana, no," he cupped his fingers around his wife's arm and shook his head more. "We had this all planned out. Knew who Gavin would study with, have him close to home so we could..."

"Could what, father?" Gavin leaped in, tired of his parents taking over his life.

Cullen took a slow sigh and the same amber eyes he saw in a mirror glared at him. "Watch over you should the need arise."

"I'm not a child," Gavin jabbed at his chest. "Look, look at what I did out there. What I accomplished in the trials. I have done everything you've asked of me. Made every sacrifice, learned all I could, proved myself every step of the way!" His normally soft, bass voice was rising in anger when not dipping into a low growl at the inequity of it all.

His father got to lay out all the rules, all the steps necessary for him to prove he was ready. And the moment a single rock threw it off, everything Gavin did, all the blood and sweat he lost, meant nothing. No. He wasn't having it. Shaking his head as if a bee lodged in his ear, Gavin stepped away from Lord Rutherford.

"I'll go to Denerim on my own," he stated as if he was seven years old again and planning to run away because his mother tried to make him eat leeks. Forgetting his sense, Gavin didn't turn to the Arl to ask who this knight was, or even the proper direction of the city on the other side of the country. Nope, he just stepped forward and kept walking.

"Blessed Andraste," his mother cursed behind him, "Gavin Grayson Rutherford, you get back here this instant." The full use of his name froze him in his boots. It wasn't magic, but it may as well have been.

"And you," Lana spun on her heels, having to drag down Cullen's stature to stare her in the eye, "You'll not be playing the part of stoic but cautious father. Our son is right, he's earned this. Denerim is not the edge of the world. It's not as if he's being shipped off to Tevinter."

Shocked, Gavin turned back to find his father's eyes darting around the grounds as if he was a dog that got caught crapping on the rug. The shame was palpable from his wife's tongue lashing. "But we don't know this Knight," Cullen tried to argue.

"We know our son," his mother extended her knotted hands to Gavin. A callus that never went away skirted over the back of his hand as she tugged him over. "He's a good boy, man, sorry. Still getting used to that. Besides, didn't you...?"

"Fine," his father threw up his hands, giving in almost instantly. Gavin could hardly believe it. He'd been excited about being somewhat under his father's long shadow, always having people look towards the great Rutherford before risking the son's safety. But in Denerim! Maker, not a soul would know who he was. He could be Gavin instead of Cullen's boy.

"And," his mother shrugged, "it's not as if he'll be completely alone or unlooked out for. We can always ask --"

"Do not say his name," Cullen grumbled, catching Gavin's attention. There were a lot of people his father couldn't stand. Most of them, come to think of it, but few he refused to name verboten.

Lana stumbled towards her husband and cupped his cheek, "Oh Honey Eyes, it's been nearly two and a half decades. Don't you think...?"

"You're asking me to trust him with our son?" his father crested his forehead over his mother's. Gavin immediately looked towards the horizon, far too used to his parents behaving mushily.

"He's good with kids, and keeping people safe," his mother whispered before sounds of kissing followed from behind his hand as a blinder.

As Cullen pulled away, his eyes landed upon Gavin and he sighed, "I suppose, Teagan, our son will be heading to Denerim to become a squire."

Yipping, Gavin raised his fist in the air before the self consciousness struck him. Squires probably weren't supposed to hoot and holler about such things. In a more demure tone he said, "Thank you, father." Then he tipped over and hugged his mother, "And thank you for convincing him."

She skirted her hands over his shoulders, as if still shocked he wasn't a little boy climbing in her lap for a story. That was always his problem, his parents couldn't stop seeing the child and everyone here was happy to indulge them because one was a great warrior and the other...they had no idea.

Standing up, Gavin glanced around to find where he left his meager belongings. He might need a bit more if he was to set out for Denerim, but traveling light would be best. "I should find a horse, set out to the city before dusk fall," he said, a plan falling into place. There were a few maps around to guide him down the road, it'd be an adventure. The start of his adventure. Maybe he'd meet a shifty character in a tavern.

"Hold up, son," his father's hand landed upon Gavin's shoulder. They met eye to eye, and despite Gavin having the younger age and slightly wider frame, his father kept him pinned down.

"There will be a convoy leaving for Denerim in a week's time, my boy," the Arl said. "It's best to travel together on such an endeavor."

"But..." the words and whining faded. He turned to watch what was to be his life slipping into various tents, all of the new squires humbled by their workload.

"Do not be so hasty to run headlong into a lifetime of drudgery," Teagan chuckled. "Come, I believe there is jousting occurring."

Perched beside his mother and father, who shared a box with the Arl and the Arlessa, Gavin watched the tourney as a spectator. Hopefully, the next time he sat at one of these he'd be a full knight in his own glittering armor and banner.

## Chapter Two

### Cat & Mouse

Her head pivoted as she watched the shadows skip down the alleyway, crunching of broken cobbles no one would ever repair giving them an extra bounce in their step. Perched on the wall above, she focused on the greasy form of a man skittering towards her like his ass was on fire. Which it wasn't. Her mother had been very specific on that point.

Clucking her tongue, Myra shifted into a crouch upon the two inch thick wall. She could do it on skinnier ones but had to account for wind resistance.

"Jeff." Her voice froze the man on the run, his head tipping back high to spot the girl waving cheerily at him. In his haste, the hood he pulled over to disguise himself fell off revealing a mop of oily hair that some people thought was cute. Stupid people with too much time on their hands, but never on a person like Jeff. If you fished a rat out of a gutter, shaved it, and put it in a coat, that'd be him.

"Jeffy, Jeffery, Geoffrey," Myra continued to talk, her fingers gripping to the staff across her lap. "What's with the one they spell Geoffrey anyway? Does the Geo make it fancier? Or did someone who couldn't spell start it?"

Barely any of the mage lights reached here, only a torch she left on the upper wall gave illumination to Jeff yanking out a sad little dagger from his pocket. Shrugging her shoulders, Myra scrunched up into her thighs and then leaned forward. It wasn't much of a fall, she'd taken worse, but Jeff skittered back as if afraid she'd splatter apart into a bag of guts.

Landing upon her back heel, when Myra slapped her toe down, she extended her staff and whacked right into Jeff's shocked wrist. The baby dagger tumbled to the ground without any fuss. Assailant disarmed. Good. Now to the next step.

"Come on, Jeff," Myra whined as he moved to crouch and retrieve his lost blade. She spun on her well crafted shoes, knocking her staff end into Jeff's upper arms and legs. None of the blows would do more than sting, but she moved so fast it kept the man confused and pinned in place. "You know how this goes."

"Just..." Jeff scratched at the pile of whiskers reaching off his cheeks, "just let me go, okay. You can say you didn't see me. I was one o' them ghosts. Woo!" Poor, deluded Jeff waved his hands around and made a few more woos while Myra shook her head.

Despite being a girl, of the fresh-faced seventeen and in bloom variety, she towered over the little gutter rat. Most men either met her eye to eye or struggled onto their tippy toes to try. Cursed or blessed with great height and reach, Myra was able to counter any of Jeff's attempts at attacking her. She waved the end of her staff back and forth whacking his hands apart, turned a knee outward to bring him to the ground, and then slid closer as if about to brain him.

But rather than finish it, Myra paused and slung the weapon over her own shoulders as if she was to carry water buckets dangling off the ends. "Can't do that, Jeff. You know how the detective gets."

"I could, uh," on his one knee, Jeff moved to reach into a pocket that was probably filled with rat droppings, "make it worth your wild."

Myra laughed at the serious look in his face, like there was anything he had that could get her to turn on her employer and mother. Suddenly, Jeff sneered and his grubby fingers lashed out for the fallen dagger. Barely shifting, Myra jammed the end of her staff onto his hand, pounding the bones into the cobbles, then twisted it back to whack under the man's chin. When poor Jeff's head snapped upward, Myra jammed the end of her staff right into his gut and leaned in.

"What else ya got?" she whispered, when a bright white light burned at the end of the alleyway.

"Myra Sayer," a shrill voice echoed down the not so silent street. Groaning, Myra tipped her head back as a woman in her early 50's, dressed in a signature yellow coat and brimmed hat sauntered onto the scene.

Reiss Sayer, fancy detective who worked for herself and anyone with coin, folded her hands up and jerked her chin at Myra, "What do you think you are doing?"

"What you told me to do," she lifted the pressure on Jeff a moment before squeezing harder into him.

Snarling, Reiss shook her head and marched closer. With one hand, she snatched onto Jeff's thin wrists and hauled him up. "I told you to play with your food?"

Suddenly, Jeff's eyes shifted from the elven woman shackling him up, to her half-human daughter who'd had him on the ropes. He cried something pathetic at the thought of Myra no doubt planning on eating him. Ugh. Guy like that'd taste of mud, shit, and smog.

"It's a metaphor, Jeff. Knock off your whining," Reiss thumped him in the back of the head to get him to shut up. "And you..." she turned to Myra who returned the staff across her shoulders. Raising both fingers up to point at herself as if she did nothing, Myra tried to look innocent. The dark blonde hair and piles of freckles sometimes fooled people, if they had a narrow idea of what innocent was. It never worked on her mother.

"A staff," Reiss turned her accusing finger to the weapon of choice.

"I didn't do any magic with it, like you instructed," Myra grumbled. She could have solved the Jeff problem in a minute, but no, we need to chase him down on foot because your mom likes to watch you run around like a rat in the pipes.

Reiss took control of Jeff, the man's fight long gone as he accepted he was once again heading back to jail. With a death grip on his shoulders, she marched him out of the alleyway. But even with a suspect, she couldn't stop haranguing her only daughter. "What happened to the sword?"

"Didn't like it," Myra muttered to herself, a finger running down the stick that had no fancy ornamentation. It wasn't really a mage's staff either; any lightning bolts she'd try to cast down it would fry the thing.

"Myra," Reiss glared at her, death coming in the color of bright green eyes, "do not mumble." She didn't elucidate her point by gesturing to the missing right ear, but Reiss whipped her head around to get the good one near her grumbling daughter.

"I said I didn't like it! The grip was all wrong and it was...it was heavy, okay," Myra shouted exasperated. "Was that loud enough for you?!"

"Yes, quite," Reiss sighed again, letting them lapse into silence as they walked a wailing Jeff through the quiet streets of Denerim. She'd lived in this city her whole life, save a few summers when they shipped Myra off to learn magic. Sometimes she missed that, getting to know what her body could do with a little coaxing of her mind to spit fire or sparkles from her fingers. But her mom needed her here, and honestly, the city was far more interesting than some old abbey healing clinic out in no man's forest.

"There's the signal from Lunet," her mom suddenly said. "Run on to the office while I take care of Jeff."

"Take care of or... _take care of_?" Myra asked, her head tipped down to make her eyes look maniacal.

Her mother shook her head, not answering her bait. Continuing on towards Lunet, Reiss sighed, "Do as I say for once, Myra."

The thick boots of the Solver leader carried down the better repaired cobbles while Myra tipped her head back and forth. She waited until she was certain her mother was gone before grumbling, "All I ever do is what you say, because all you ever do is order me around." Twisting with the undulating streets of the alienage section of Denerim, Myra followed the paths she knew by the soles of her feet. Her eyes trailed the old eaves and poorly laid bricks. It'd take nothing for her to scramble up the side of this apartment building and take to the roof. Maybe leap from eave to eave like a cat out on the prowl.

Rather than make good on her plan, she turned to the left and wound up in front of her mother's both agency and home. It was quiet, only the embers in the fireplace flickering. Everyone else had gone home for the day, probably because it was late into nightfall and only prostitutes, piss-collectors, and very lost people were out on the streets.

"Hey Bryn," Myra called to the silent agency. "You home?" No voice answered. Most likely her friend was working late, or found somewhere else to crash. She'd been doing that more, preferring beds closer to the castle. Psh, it wasn't that far of a jaunt. Myra'd been doing it since she could remember.

Laying her staff on Auntie Lunet's desk, Myra tugged up a file that was marked with red ink. That meant it was one of those salacious ones she wasn't supposed to know about. Flipping through the notes in Lunet's tight script, Myra sighed. Woman married to man, caught sleeping with another woman who was also sleeping with her husband. There weren't even any in depth details.

Boring. She'd been stealing and reading better dirty files since she was thirteen. Hell, the Pearl madame would recognize her on sight and sometimes ask how her schooling was going in the middle of the market. The first time Myra wanted one of those giant dragons to swoop in and gobble her whole. Now, it happened so often she'd sometimes pass notes from her mother.

With her hands free, Myra began to unplait her hair. The braid usually snaked around her neck during work, because no one wanted to deal with an armed gang while hair smacked you in the face. But she preferred to leave it free when possible. Her face looked harsher than it already was with all her hair pulled back. Tucking the green ribbon into her pocket for tomorrow's braid, Myra combed through her gold hair. Not like the pretty gold that made up shiny new coins, more that ochre-like gold that people found at the bottom of muddy ravines after a carriage went over a cliff.

After thumbing through her mother's desk and finding nothing, Myra curled up with one of her many tomes on spell casting. Most weren't very helpful, often dealing with something called entropy and how to fight off other magic users. Myra didn't care about that, any mage who went loony would be hunted by the knights or the college itself would send someone. No, she needed the destructive spells, stuff that would turn a street fight to her advantage.

Myra fell into that world of droll run-on sentences and big, fancy words because it made the writer feel super important and not at all regret how little his Daddy loved him. She was trying to weave together something that would make grease when her mother popped back in. Reiss always took her time, shaking off her signature yellow overcoat to place upon the rack before adding her hat as well. Sometimes when clients came in, they'd try talking to the hatrack first instead of any of the people.

"You home?" Reiss called, a hand digging into her shoulders.

"No, I got lost on the way back. This is a robber you're talking to. Ah shit, I shouldn't have said that. We're all mice back here. Nothing else. Squeak," Myra said, thumbing through her book.

What would have gotten a pursed lip from her mother a year ago only received a soft sigh. Slowly, Reiss glanced over at her daughter with her shoes up on the desk, the girl tipped back in the chair. "You should get to bed. It's late."

"We have big plans for tomorrow? Ooh, maybe we can catch Jeff again. Because that was a great use of my time."

"Myra."

"How many times have we had to haul him in? Six, seven? I'm losing count because I swear every time we check the messages there's another from the jailor saying good ol' Jeff's done pulled a runner," she jerked her hand through the air in an awe shucks move.

Reiss wiped her hands over her face, tugging upon the loose skin to emphasize her wrinkles, "What would you have me do, then?"

"Let him go," Myra said, "Or kill him."

"Kill the man for stealing bread?" Her mom crossed her arms and glared at her logic.

"Or break his legs. I don't know. He's gonna keep escaping, we're gonna keep taking him back, which is when they lengthen his sentence which causes him to decide to escape yet again," Myra closed her book and chucked it onto her pile. "I'm pretty sure I'll be chasing Jeff down until I'm as old as you and he's dust."

Reiss snorted out of her nose, "Well, if he's dust then it should be easier to catch him, right?"

"I...suppose that's true. You could keep him in a jar, hard to get out of that without hands," Myra's whining fell apart as exhaustion took over. All she wanted was to crumple into her bed and not wake until the rooster was boiled. Was that too much to ask? Struggling to rise, Myra's leaden shoes hit the floor as she began to slide to her room.

"Oh, Myra," her mother's summons made her stall, her arms hanging in the air, "your father's got a request for you."

"Father dad or King dad?"

Reiss rolled her eyes, "When has he ever asked you to do anything as King?"

Myra scratched her chin, "I think he told me to clean my room once."

"And considering the crater of a sty you live in I can see how well you listen to your sovereign's orders," her mom shook her head before getting to the meat. "Seems the Rutherford boy will be coming to Denerim and he wants you to keep an eye out for him."

The Rutherford boy? A few memories flashed through Myra's brain of a thirteen year old with shaking hands who clumsily reached for hers. Warm, pouty lips slipping and sliding past hers before landing back in place for her first kiss. Bright shining eyes that glittered like mead on a hot day.

"Gavin?" Myra tried to shake away the old memories, "What's he doing here?"

"Apparently he's going to be a squire."

"Why?" she pinched up her eyes, fully confused. Squiring involved standing around all day being ordered to do things and having drunk Knights shout at you. That soft spoken, skinny lad she met all those years ago was the furthest thing she could picture trapped in that boorish life.

"I don't know, Myra. You can ask him when he arrives with the caravan out of Redcliffe," Reiss sighed, already falling into her chair. It was a long walk up stairs to get to her bedroom. "Just...do it for your dad, okay?"

"Fine," Myra sighed as if it was a huge burden, but her curiosity was piqued. It'd been a few years since she last heard from Gavin. What'd he been up to since? Resuming her slow shamble to her room, Myra tried to hide the blush of young infatuation beneath the pile of freckles on her cheeks.

Before Myra vanished behind the door to her sanctuary, Reiss shouted, "And clean your damn room."

Myra tipped her head out and made a motion of bowing low, "Yes, my liege."

## Chapter Three

### A Beautiful Princess

"My lady," a head tipped to her, but she didn't have time to properly wave or even give a little nod. Rosamund may have been short, but she was using the full length of her stride to not-quite run through the palace walls. Running from royalty implied a major problem certain to cause panic, practically but not-yet running meant she was very busy and to get out of her way before she barreled through someone. Hands behind her picked at the quiver, which easily tugged away, then tried to grab her bracers off.

"How late am I?" Rosamund asked, twisting her head behind to one her ladies. She raised a single black eyebrow to try and get the girl to cough out an answer, which she'd been dodging since Rosie heard the bells and ran clear across the meadow at full bore. Sweat clung to her forehead and drenched her back, very un-princesslike sweat. It'd probably shock people to learn that not only was the crowned princess of Ferelden prone to sweating out her dresses like no one's business she also, on occasion, passed gas and had rather thick and dark leg and arm hair. Her ability to charm woodland creatures to do her bidding was also taking time to emerge.

"It's not bad, yet," Tess insisted, trying to tug off the leathers Rosie had on while out in the field. They may not breathe all that well in the summer heat, but they worked through tall grass better than a skirt.

"Yet?" Rosamund gasped first in concern, then from her lady tugging the belt tighter to get it off. The scabbard at her hip fell to the floor. "Maker's breath," even as the fury undressing her picked up speed, Rosie bent down to pluck up her sword. She'd had it for years, designed by one of the greatest smiths in all of southern thedas. Gifted to her by her father from when she cleaned her entire room for a month straight. She was rarely far from it.

Hands plucked the scabbard out of her fingers, and Tess' pinched face pinched tighter. "Sorry, my Lady, but we'll keep it safe."

"We...?" Rosie began when a flock of women seemed to appear out of the woodwork to circle around her. They all locked bodies, shielding the princess as she was stripped of the last of the fighting leathers and thin linen shirt. No doubt to the others passing across the mighty staircase or from one room on the second level to the other it looked like a teeming anthill. Perhaps they caught a sliver of Rosie's pale skin slipping into a tan sleeve, or a girl cinching up the golden belt before letting the skirt covered in gold embroidery of rose bushes fluff out.

Tipping her head up, Rosie took in a deep breath while nimble fingers cinched up the laces on the bodice, trapping her well proportioned breasts behind a fluff of lace. It was modest for the future queen without being stuffy on a twenty something girl. Even still, Rosamund's bust size allowed a handful of her soft flesh to poke out of the top of the coverings. She was hard to strap down with anything other than a tight band double knotted and up to her neck.

"Are we done?" she asked, her hands still out at her sides as if afraid they'd begin adding more clothes to her.

"Wait a moment, my lady," one of her cousins said. Her mother made her take a few into Rosie's entourage, the ones that their fathers hoped would either find a nice noble man to marry, or fall into eternal servitude to the queen. Fingers dabbed a dash of pigment onto her lips -- red as her namesake. With a soft brush, others drew powder across her closed eyelids, green as the forest in shadow, to match her striking eyes.

When the pressure removed from her eyes, Rosamund risked taking a peek to find the multitude of women sliding back from her. She blinked a few more times, trying to sift any excess powder off and then gave a little bow. "How do I look?"

"Like a princess," Tess sighed.

"That doesn't really help me. I was hoping more for imposing diplomat, but..." in the distance Rosie heard the bells peal again. "What time is it?"

"Um..." the girls clutching to her training clothing and weapons all blinked and gulped at each other.

Oh Maker, it was even worse than she feared. Hitching up the skirts, Rosie revealed her pair of riding boots. Well, no time to change them out for slippers now. She jogged towards the stairs, Tess tight on her heels while the princess insisted yet again, "How long have they been waiting?"

"Not very, your highness."

"Give me an answer in numbers, please," Rosie was tired of people dancing around the subject already.

"Um," Tess swallowed hard and spat out, "an hour...or more."

"An..." Rosamund's trained poise shattered apart. This was her first time let off the lead and she, she stupidly... She should have stayed here in the palace, prepared, read through the notes again. Made certain she was on top of it all, but no, her nerves got the better of her and she thought a bit of sword training would work them out. Then the time got away and--

"My lady," Tess interrupted, "it's all right. Royalty often keeps their lessers waiting. For instance, your father..."

Rosamund took a deep breath and stared hard at Tess. "I am not my father," slowly, her eyes trailed to the looming door behind which her first solo meeting with the heads of state for Denerim waited, "though I wish he was here right now." He'd have walked right in with horse muck clinging to his boots, made some charming joke about how there was a traffic jam on the streets, and everyone would love him for it.

Calm down, Rosie. You know this. She'd been reading reports about the state of Denerim's food storage, sewage, and road requirements for the past two weeks. Every night before bed in preparation for today she'd lower the light on her lantern and dig into refuse and unburned corpse numbers.

Lifting her chin up, Rosamund stared through the air as if she could command the room itself to bend to her will. With that burst of certainty in her step, she opened the door and walked in to find a group of five adults all sitting at the conference table. They looked bored, feet up on the table, a few waving stacks of books around without a care in the world. When their princess stepped into the room, all the shoes hit the ground. A few of the men moved to rise, but Rosie waved them off.

"Forgive the lateness of my arrival, I was..." in the middle of mastering a back kick, "delayed." She shuffled back towards the chair that sat at the head of the table, perfectly aligned in front of a red stained glass window. For months her father sat there while Rosie took a chair against the wall, watching and learning. Now it was her turn.

"Will your..." the Arlessa of the Alienage spoke up, her eyes trailing Rosamund as she sat in place, "the King be joining us?"

"No, it is only me for the day. Though I will pass on all we say and decide to him," Rosamund's smile was as phony as the sense of leadership she could command, but she trudged on through it. Would they call her on it? Make her go and fetch the proper King, or walk out and refuse to have the meeting? Her damn heart beat twice as fast as it had while she ran to get here.

"Well," the Arlessa chuckled, "we should get through this a lot faster."

"No terrible jokes," the city steward agreed, laughing at the idea of no humor.

"Or having to explain things five times over," the Arl of Denerim added.

Right. Rosie shut her eyes, letting a moment of calm chip away at her anxiety. This may go well. No, this will go well. She situated her shoulders and moved to begin the proceedings when she caught Tess still standing in the doorway. Rosie moved to tell her she could go, when she noticed the horrified look in Tess' eyes. The lady in waiting lifted up her hand and pointed at Rosie's right shoulder.

As if aiming for a scratch, the princess reached up to find a dagger's hilt still strapped to her back under the dress.

_Damn it._

* * *

She'd been sent for officially by the King. He never did that, her father of the mind that if he wanted to talk to someone he'd wander around until he found them. Didn't matter if the person was busy with a meeting, certainly didn't matter if the King himself was supposed to be in one. He seemed to float through all the pomp of royalty never letting it touch him. And now he wanted to talk to his daughter, in private.

As private as one could get on the archery field. When the servant bearing the message found Rosamund trying to cool off by the fountain and wick away all the embarrassment from her hot cheeks, she shook it away as her father being silly. The meeting ended a few hours ago, leaving Rosie with a pile of information she had to condense down into a report for her father and the candle of shame burning bright in her gut. Surely he didn't already know about her rather small mistake of fully forgetting about the meeting.

Watching the man stand at the line and lift a bow up with his left arm, Rosamund realized she was in ten kinds of trouble. Normally, the yard was teeming with soldiers. Knights, the guard, just people rushing from one end to the other to move equipment, and always training. It was why she preferred the meadow where the horses ran to the official yard. Also because people were less likely to gawk at their future Queen attacking a scarecrow head on.

Despite being near his 60s her father remained trim, and also kept his simple and efficient wardrobe. The armor softened over the years, wool padding being a favorite, but he preferred wearing the assuring splint mail about like a bathrobe. It was as much a part of the King as the crown was. As he tugged out an arrow and moved to nock it, a massive burst of smile lines crinkled at the side of his eye. Even when his face was neutral, he looked as if he was about to break into laughter or song. Rosie had more than a few memories of her father serenading diplomats or politicians who pissed him off.

Alistair released his notched arrow, the shaft bobbing as it struck the second outer ring of the target. "Ooh, I hit it that time," he cackled, his fingers reaching back for another.

"Father," Rosamund called to him.

The King didn't stop from grabbing up the arrow, but as he turned, he used the arrowhead to scratch his scalp. "Rosie," he called out, a full smile raising his cheeks high, "get on over here. Show me how it's done."

Unable to shake her own lightness at her father's joy, even while her soul weighed in regrets, Rosamund tugged up a bow from the rack and slung a quiver upon her back. She fell into the lane beside him, her hand plucking on the bowstring to get a feel for it. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched an arrow go flying. This one stuck a bit closer to the target, but nowhere near the bullseye.

"I thought you hated archery," Rosie said. Nocking her first arrow, she let her fingers ruffle up the fletching. Her arm remained slack, watching as her father rolled back and forth on his feet.

"I wouldn't say I hate it so much as archery hates me." He launched his second to last arrow, this one digging into the dirt as his arm fell too low. "See! Pretty sure all the arrows get together at night to talk about that dreadful King Alistair. Let's mess him up tomorrow, they laugh to themselves, all plummet to the ground or veer wildly over the top. Arrows don't have much of a life."

Laughing at his incompetence with a bow, he shrugged, "Give me a sword and a shield and I'm good, but this...there's aiming, and precision, and being able to see all the way down there."

He waved his aging hand towards the targets that weren't even at regulation range. Rosamund bit her lip at the reminder that time didn't stop for any of them. She hated having to accept that her father was getting old. Even when all his hair went from straw to snow, he never stopped seeming young -- even more childish than the royal progeny running after him. Tipping her chin up, she drew the arrow back. The feathers skirted against her cheek before she anchored her thumb, got her sights, and then released.

"See," her dad cupped her shoulder while looking at her shot. "That's a bullseye."

"No, that's in the circle beside it. Not bad, but..."

"So modest, my Rosie. No idea where in the void you get it from."

"Mother," Rosamund said, plucking up another arrow, "and the dozen or so finishing schools she made me attend."

When the arrow whizzed past, her father chuckled. "I never could figure out what you were finishing there. Furniture? A good soufflé recipe? A relay race?"

"Finding long lost treasure of the ancient Imperium," Rosie said, her voice certain.

Alistair blinked madly a moment, "Really?"

"No. It was all about knowing when one should sit, when one should stand, when one should speak, and when one should hold her tongue." Rosie fired again, this time striking close to a true bullseye. "The last was apparently meant to happen all the time."

Her father shook his head, the white scraggles of his scruff seeming to fascinate his bored fingers as he roughed up his chin. "Sounds like the chantry. Sit down, be quiet, do as you're told, and answer us when spoken to. The mothers didn't like it when I pointed out we couldn't talk and stay quiet at the same time." Rosie chuckled at the idea of her father anywhere near the chantry. He'd tell them about it on occasion, as a lark, but the way he described the templars was confusing for their modern world. They were an order that felt as ancient as something from the Imperium in Andraste's time.

A few more of Rosie's arrows sunk into the target, all circling the bullseye like a dog hunting for the perfect spot to lay down. "So," Alistair said, rising up and down on his toes, "how'd it go?"

"Fine," she sneered. Placing all her power into her upper shoulder, Rosie yanked the bowstring so far back when the arrow hit the target it sunk down almost to the quivering fletching.

"That fine, huh?" her father laughed, a finger rubbing the stubble on his upper lip.

Rosamund's head tipped down, the shame she couldn't flee from no matter how hard she tried circling her. She was to be Queen, she'd been told as such since she could understand what a queen and king were. This was what she was born to do, but...

"Did they come to you?" she whispered, her fingers strangling the leather guide for the bow.

"Yeah," Alistair scratched the back of his ear, "but they always do that." Rosie glanced over in surprise. "The meeting's just for show. Stomp around, read the same words everyone does, adjourn at the same time with the same promises to do nothing useful. After, that's when they tell you the real important stuff."

"But that," she shook her head, "that makes no sense. Why not inform me then, when we can all handle the situation?"

"Because then everyone else at the table knows their shit stinks same as the rest. The Denerim folks ain't too bad about it, just if something big's bugging 'em, but those diplomats." Alistair whistled, "Granted, nothing can touch the Orlesian problem. Pick a successor, Celene. It'll be for the best your giant dressness. Might want to do it before you die. Well," he shrugged at the mess of Orlesian politics, "west of the frostback's problem, now."

He wandered off to the rack and selected a single arrow with blue jay feathers on the end. Slowly, Alistair picked up his abandoned bow and tried to aim. He always kept his elbow up too high, all the power in his arm. She'd tried to tell him that, but awhile back Rosie figured out her father didn't want to do it right, he just wanted to do it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, barely peering through her thick eyelashes up at him. Alistair stopped aiming and turned his puppy eyes upon her. Even with age crinkling his lids that grew heavier each year, nothing could dampen the excitement always lurking in his eyes. "I was in the meadow, attending to my own frivolities, and misplaced the time. It will not happen again. I swear to prioritize Ferelden's needs before my own."

"Ah," her father reached over, his spotted hand cupping hers inside a pair of calfskin gloves. "Don't say that, Rosie. Don't think that either." He patted her once more before returning back to his final shot. Alistair took longer with this one, the tip of the arrow bobbing as he struggled for an aim. Sucking in a breath, he let his eye sight down the shaft and let go. It wasn't a bullseye but this one struck closer to the center at least.

His eldest daughter was about to congratulate him on it, when Alistair turned an almost heartbroken gaze upon her. "This life, it's...it'll eat you up. People come by like ducks that spotted bread, each bill jabbing deeper and deeper as they take a piece. Gobble here. Gobble there. Peck peck peck. If you don't set demands, insist on your own time, your own hobbies, they'll pluck you to death. Every day there's a new problem, a new crisis, that only the King can solve."

Alistair shifted the bow down, using it again to keep himself upright, "Some of 'em don't even have that. They just want to feel important by being seen talking to the King. Keep yourself you, okay. It may have to go into a box sometimes, but don't lose it to that Maker damn crown."

"Okay, father," Rosie felt her cheeks burning at the sincerity off of him. They'd been so close when she was younger, but when the lessons on her becoming a full queen began in earnest it felt as if a wedge slotted in between them. He'd still take her on wild horse rides, or visits to hot springs but the playful dad she knew cooled to a more gentle father.

"Your brother, sweet Maker is he a handful and a half," Alistair sighed, tipping his head back. "He left some sheet of vellum that was nothing but numbers on my desk. No idea what it meant but it's got the astrologers and the tax collectors all in a tizzy. I keep waiting for the day that kid either gives us an oopsie grandchild or unravels the veil itself on accident."

That was a fair assessment of Cailan -- the spare who didn't have to concern himself with politics, at least not officially. Sure, people who wanted to curry favor with the princess would turn to the prince, but they quickly learned he cared for only two things: numbers and women. Everything else in his world were just distractions. He was the only one in the family to flat out refuse to attend tourneys. Even their mother would sit in the Queen's box happily waving flags and cheering people on. She was more of the 'I hope everyone has a good time' variety, but still. If Cailan had no interest in it, he saw no point in bothering to even feign attention.

"He's got it pretty easy, being of the no ambition aside from how many bed notches he can make type," her father surmised. "But you, sometimes I'm sorry that all of this landed on your head."

Rosamund smiled at his plea, "Don't worry, father. I'm not afraid of this, and, besides, you'll still be around to suffer the wrath of impressed upon Arls."

"Thanks for the reminder. That damn Denerim bastard kept on and on about how it was all a blight upon his family name that he was dared to be inconvenienced. I shoulda shot him in the ass with this," Alistair lifted up his bow.

"But you probably would have missed and taken out the person behind him instead."

Her father didn't rage the way a king was supposed to, didn't grow pompous or insist everyone admit he was great at all he tried. No, he cracked up and slapped his knee as if his first born told the best joke in thedas. "My damn kids, you all know me too well. I'm sure you'll be a great queen, the kind of leader Ferelden was hoping for when they got saddled with me. Just, maybe make sure to show up on time for the next few meetings. It keeps them on their toes, otherwise they start slacking off too. Nothing scarier to a pile of politicians than making their sovereign wait for them."

Rosamund smiled at the idea. Her father played the idiot, but his advice always proved far more productive than what she'd been taught in all those finishing schools across thedas. Her mother wanted her well rounded, charming, and indomitable; her father wanted her to be happy. Running her finger up and down the taut bowstring, Rosie thought of the other child in their complicated family.

"What of Myra?"

"Hm?" the king turned at mention of his youngest, his eyebrows meeting in the middle.

"I am to be Queen, Cailan is already on the fast track of being a Chancellor with mother picking out his to-be bride."

"So that's why Bea's been eyeing up all the marrying age girls across thedas. I was worried she was about to go all bathing in the blood of beauties to stay young forever."

Rosie barely blinked at her father's joke. "What do you have planned for Myra?"

She was the bastard daughter, which could be useful for those in power. Any link to royal blood was one that was exploitable, but Alistair was against using any of his children for leverage. Shrugging, he walked towards the rack to return the borrowed bow. "Myra's got her own will that can't be shaken no matter how hard you try. Gets that from her mother. She'll come up with something eventually."

Eyeing up her groupings and mentally chastising herself for her waning training, Rosie turned to find her father, the King of Ferelden, leaning against the equipment shed. He fiddled with a single brass button on his armor. "Promise me, Rosie, that when I'm gone." His daughter groaned at that. "I know, no one wants to do the will talk, but...keep an eye on your brother and sister. Don't, don't go all royal family and start wars with each other. No daggers to the back and poisoned frogs slipped under bedsheets. Please? I don't think Ferelden could take it."

Rosamund tipped her head to her king, and then hugged her father. "Of course I will," she whispered, trying to shake off the tears from the thought of losing him.

"Good," Alistair rubbed a hand over her back in comfort before breaking away, "now, let's go get some cake to celebrate you taking over all the Denerim meetings from me."

## Chapter Four

### No Way!

Crowds gathered on the edge of the street to wave at the Arl's cavalcade rolling into town. It was less that they were all super excited to see the Arl of Redcliffe and more stepping out gave them something interesting to do aside from the doldrums of work. Also, a few of the vendors were working the sides pilfering off food about to go from 'it smells a bit funny' to 'kill off a quarter of the population.'

Perched upon a brick wall sat Myra staring a few stories down at the procession. She had a spyglass to her eye, sometimes switching if she used the left or right depending on how exhausted it was getting.

"Seen him yet?" the girl beside her asked. Bryn managed to weasel someone else into taking her shift at the palace giving her a chance to sit with Myra while they searched for this mythical Squire Gavin. Myra was glad to have her old friend beside her to cut down on the boredom, but she didn't really need much help with a stakeout. It wasn't even raining to obscure the view, easy peasy.

"Nope," Myra waved the glass around a bit, "got a lovely view of a horse's anus though."

"Huh," Bryn stuck a hand to her chin in thought, "what's Mrs. Mellinger doing there?" Both girls put their heads together and giggled at the mention of their harridan of a neighbor who'd mercifully moved on around the time Myra got shipped off to the Rutherford farm.

Shifting in her seat, Bryn grabbed onto Myra's shoulder for leverage and tried to look closer at the street below. She was a year and a half older than Myra, a girl dumped on their doorstep by a mother who ditched her in the dead of the night and ran for it. For a time Reiss tried to find the woman, but even the fabled Solver couldn't solve every case. Rather than leave the girl without any other family in a crumbling orphanage, Reiss took the elven Bryn in. She'd been living in Myra's room, the two getting up to terrible things together ever since.

While Myra was all gaunt cheeks, sharp lines, and a pointed chin to use as a chisel, Bryn was round and sweet. Her entire face was wide, her head almost oval shaped, with great big blue eyes and a tiny nose. Even her ears were wider than most elves, which she decorated with five earring studs that Reiss at first tried to stop, then gave up on. Myra was the one to pierce Bryn's second hole but never grew up the nerves to let her friend do it to her.

"What about him?" she pointed at a stand of young men. A rash of blonde and red hair filtered past and Myra shook her head.

"Nah."

"This is hopeless. There are tons of guys wandering around in that thing. We'll never spot him," she lifted up her apron and tried to dot a bit of the summer heat off her forehead.

"Trust me," Myra smiled, "he'll stand out."

Bryn's eyes shifted from bored to shrewd in an instant. "So, when are you going to tell me about him?"

"I, I did," she felt her cheeks beginning to burn. "He's someone I met during mage training."

"And kissed!" Bryn shouted at the top of her lungs. It was so loud the spectators who were hanging out their windows below and across the street from them looked over.

"Not so..." Myra tried to wave her friend down. "Yes, we kissed. A bunch of times." In fact, he was her first kiss. All of her friends practically melted into goo when she told them about this skinny farm boy who took her to a magical pond, told her she was pretty, and then kissed her. It was a story that got Myra a lot of clout in the 'thirteen to fifteen year old girl romance' department. As the rest of her friends grew up and all found beaus or even proper courtships, they didn't much care about her childish fumbling.

"Well," Bryn nudged her shoulder into her, "give me the rest. What's he like? Look like?"

Myra dug a hand into the back of her neck and sighed, "Scrawny, really bookish. Don't think I ever spotted him not nose deep in a book, when he wasn't doing his chores. Um,  thick warm lips that could look so dorky when he smiled and..." she hefted the spyglass up to her sight before sighing, "the prettiest damn eyes you ever saw."

"Really?" Bryn giggled. "Prettier than Prince Cailan's?"

"Ugh," Myra spat at the thought. "That's my brother you're talking about."

Her friend shrugged, "Doesn't mean I can't look."

Trying to not think about her stinky footed brother in any form of being attractive, Myra twisted the spyglass back and forth through the crowds. A fresh line of horses clip-clopped in something of formation ahead of what looked like those bringing up the near rear of the parade. Twisting her line of sight around, Myra noticed a few of the banners of Redcliffe, boys her age all waving at the crowd. A man with dark skin standing proud and...

No. No way.

She spun right on the brown line in a sea of white dots. He towered a good head above the other boys, his eyes focused before him as if afraid of any distractions. The jaw was chiseled and swooped back, his chin slightly wider and more pronounced than she remembered. How he carried himself emphasized the wide shoulders, his chest muscles thrust out as he marched with pride. He'd shaved his head down, a fact Myra saw on occasion, though she enjoyed the really curly hair too.

It couldn't be him. There was another in the mix, that was all. Somewhere down there was the same skinny kid she knew when she too was a skinny kid. Myra wasn't a kid anymore but she stayed annoyingly skinny. About to break away and search through the back half, Myra paused when the unknown man turned in her direction. Bright amber eyes beamed at someone in the crowd. Something must have caught his fancy as he lifted his hand and he smiled exactly like the boy that walked smack dab into a low beam on accident.

"Holy shit," Myra gasped.

"What?" Bryn tried to scoot closer, but she'd risk falling off the roof.

"That's him," Myra pointed to the body that apparently belonged to Gavin Rutherford.

"Who is?" her friend blinked.

"The brown skinned one, that's Gavin."

Bryn yanked the spyglass out of Myra's limp fingers and began to inspect Gavin. A whistle erupted out of her teeth, "Sweet Maker! If that's your idea of scrawny, I'd hate to see your brawny. Damn, though. Did you see his arms? Look." Shamelessly, Bryn pointed at the muscles straining from a tunic designed to go on a skinny fifteen year old boy, not a man.

Unaware of the eyes on him, Gavin continued to march head held high with the rest of the convoy towards the palace. "Nice ass too," Bryn continued to narrate, making Myra squirm even worse. "And _you_ got with him?" She yanked down the spyglass to eye up Myra, "Really?"

"Yes!" Myra staggered up to her toes, growing hot on her face. "Why would I lie about that?"

"Because, if I was sent off to some forced school camp to learn mage shit and there was someone that hot running around I'd pretend I made out with him. A lot. Maybe write it down too."

"He didn't, he wasn't. It was different. He was different! Weirdly goofy, but sweet." That man intimidated the hell out of Myra, while the Gavin she remembered just made her want to jump in puddles and cuddle under trees with. It couldn't be him. There had to be a mistake.

Rising up to her feet, Myra eyed up the roof beside her. Not too far. Breaking into a run, she leaped onto the next building. "Where are you going?" Bryn shouted, waving the lost spyglass at her.

"To see if it's really Gavin or not," Myra called back, already leaping to a story below her. There was no way she'd get to them until the entire mass converged at the palace. Sliding down a ladder, Myra hit the ground running. She had to duck under someone's laundry, already spinning her heels through the alienage shortcut. Not a lot of people knew if they leapt over one wall, ducked below a passthrough, and then hopped over the river, it was nothing more than climbing a few wedged out stones of the viaduct and another palace wall to wind up right inside the royal gardens.

She'd been taking the shortcut since she was ten, sometimes her mother watching but just as often left on her own. Normally, a few of the elven neighbors would wave to her and ask if she was off to see her father, but today everyone was either at work or watching the parade. Hurling her body over the river of sewage, Myra held her breath to keep from smelling it and climbed upward.

While the exercise wasn't much out of the norm, her heart wouldn't stop racing. What was its problem? She'd done this run dozens or hundreds of times before. Sometimes without either of her parents knowing, usually because she was mad at one or the other and wanted to stay with the not mean one. It was no big deal.

_Warm brown fingers curling through her hair. A voice whispering, "I like it when it's down. I mean, because it's soft to touch, but the braid looks nice too."  _

Myra tried to shake off the memory, but in leaving that younger, more naive Gavin in the dust a new horror clung to her. What if he didn't remember her? Maybe he'd kissed so many girls since then she'd be nothing to him. Or worse, what if he didn't want to admit to knowing her? What if he found her embarrassing?

Her body tumbled her over the wall and Myra landed feet first into a dirt patch. There used to be sky blue flowers growing here, but the gardener gave up and decided it worked best as a landing pad instead. Her brain was telling her to turn around, to head home and tell her mom she saw Gavin, therefore her job was done. She got an eye on him, it's all good. No reason to drag this...

"Lady Myra!"

Ah shit.

"Karelle," Myra turned to find her father's Chamberlain bustling towards her.

"If you're here to see the King, I'm afraid he's embroiled in meetings that..."

"Don't worry," Myra interrupted, "I'm not going to yank him away from business I'm sure you had to trick him into." Karelle didn't even flinch at the implications. Everyone knew the king's opinion on dealing with some people and work in general. "Actually, I was hoping to meet the Arl's group."

"Oh, Arl Teagan? I didn't realize you knew each other."

He was kind-of her great uncle in a way her dad never explained well. But that wasn't it. "Actually, there's a boy coming to join the squire group."

Karelle pinched her eyes together, "Squire? The squires were all assigned months ago. Curious." She seemed to think Myra was lying, an understandable assumption as she would on occasion sneak into the palace for her own means. Like that time her and Bryn stole the entire Satinalia goose. They wanted to rescue it from slaughter, and were only eleven at the time. Her mother was going to make them return it, when the goose bit Bryn and scurried up the Alienage tree where it refused to come down. "Here," the Chamberlain smiled, "allow me to present you."

"That..." Myra was about to wave her off, saying it wasn't necessary, when she caught the glint in Karelle's eyes. She may be old, but the woman would handily truss up Myra and dump her in front of her mother if she caught the king's bastard daughter doing anything underhanded.

"That would be lovely," Myra tried again, fading in beside the Chamberlain. It took forever for Karelle to greet everyone in the pack of nobles trying to find their shit and wipe the smiles off their faces. Lord this, Lady that, titles whipped around Myra's lofted head. She tried to keep above it all by staring at the sky, but then Karelle would feel the need to introduce her to all these fancy people and they'd have to greet her. Bastard though she may be, she had that fancy blood in her which necessitated some manner of acting like a total prat about such things.

Peering through the crowds that were growing to thronging levels, Myra was about to give up hope, maybe say hi to Teagan before heading home, when she caught a flash of brown hidden in the peaches and tans. Her head pivoted to find Gavin coming to a halt beside a knight in full armor. That one wasn't wearing the colors of Redcliffe but Denerim. _Was he being ordered to his new digs already or...?_

Nope, the knight spotted a woman in the mix and ran to her instead. Poor Gavin seemed bereft of where he belonged, his hands banging together in concern.

"Is that the young man you mentioned?" Karelle whispered in Myra's ear. The sound threw her off so fast, Myra practically leapt out of her boots. She had no idea the Chamberlain snuck up beside her, she'd been too fixated on Gavin. Crap.

"I would assume so," the woman smiled, almost knowingly now that she got a look at him. Parting through the fields with Myra hobbling behind her, Karelle called to Gavin. "Excuse me, young man." He didn't turn, seeming to be certain that it had nothing to do with him. The terror that she'd be unrecognized by him gripped tighter to Myra and she tried to hide behind Karelle. As the woman had to have been part giant it wasn't that difficult.

Finally, Gavin turned to the Chamberlain and pointed at his chest in surprise. "Me?"

"Yes," Karelle sighed, 'country rubes' clearly hidden in the exasperation. "I have a young lady here who wanted to say hello," she twisted her head around and stepped to the side revealing the girl hiding behind her.

_Shit._ Wiping off her pants as if she was suddenly self conscious of the stains, Myra tried to bide her time before facing down amber eyes that'd cloud in confusion. He'd shake his head and claim he had no knowledge of this scrawny, straw haired girl. Humiliating Myra at the palace was practically a Ferelden pastime anymore.

After tugging her braid behind her, she finally stared right at Gavin. He blinked a moment in confusion, as was to be expected, then clapped his hands and rushed over. "Myra!"

Forgoing the etiquette all around them, Gavin extended his arms as if to sweep her into a big hug. She felt the beginnings of a blush on her cheeks at the idea, when he paused and seemed to feel the eyes around them. One arm went right back to rub the nape of his neck while the other drifted towards her for a handshake. "What are you...?" he began, before his dusky cheeks lit up red, "Right, you live here. Of course you'd be here in Denerim, and I guess your father lives here _here_ , so..."

A breath filled Myra's lungs. He may have grown into a swan package, but there was that boy she remembered still inside. "My mom, she asked me to keep an eye out for you. Give you a proper Denerim welcome to the city. Make sure you get settled in, I guess."

"Your mom," the giddy smile shifted a moment into a frown, before his hooded eyes drifted around the throngs of people who all seemed to know someone at the palace. Whatever was eating him up snapped away and he seemed grateful. "Thank her, and your father for me."

"How's your mom?" Myra asked. She hadn't written as much to the Lady Rutherford as she should have. Actually, Myra was terrible about writing to anyone. It was how her and that first kiss fell apart. Distance and fickle attention spans.

"Good," Gavin nodded his head, "very good. Her and my father recently returned from a trip to Rivain."

"They went all the way to Rivain and didn't take you?"

The boy grimaced, "It was meant to be a sort of anniversary gift."

"Oh," Myra's eyes widened. She'd stayed with the Rutherfords for two summers and understood perfectly well why Gavin would have stayed behind. And Myra thought her parents were big into macking out all over each other. "Got it, don't blame you for a bit."

He smiled gratefully, and said, "It allowed me to continue my training."

"Yes," Karelle inserted herself into the conversation, "about that, young man. You are to be a squire apparently?"

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded crisply.

"Strange as we'd already assigned them all two months ago."

Gavin didn't bat an eye at that, "I am to replace a squire that was injured. The knight specifically requested one from Arl Teagan, ma'am."

That second Ma'am won Karelle over. Her war room stance didn't fade, but her eyes softened as she gazed over at this boy in a man's body. Maker's breath, how was Gavin so tall and broad? He looked like he couldn't even fit into the typical knight armor, never mind the squire outfits.

"Here," Karelle extended a hand to Gavin. "Allow me to take you to the knight's quarters. We'll check in with the commander and get this all squared up."

Gavin nodded his head and tugged up a rucksack he had at his feet. "Oh, thank you kindly," he nodded, moving to follow after the Chamberlain. Before turning away, he said to Myra, "I hope I'll be seeing you again." Together, the Chamberlain shifted the masses away while Gavin stared in awe at the palace behind her.

As Myra watched him vanish into the crowd she thought, _Oh, you can count on it._

## Chapter Five

### Knights & Squires

The friendly Chamberlain led Gavin around outside the palace proper. He caught glimpses of the white-grey stone edifice and windows of all colors glittering like rainbows off the river. They'd been thrown open for the most part, on occasion shadows shuffling past, but none inside seemed to draw any attention to the boy being taken away from the gathered entourage. His trip across country was rather unexciting all things considered. For a time the Arl's son traveled with him, the two conserving across their horses about Denerim proper. While he offered to give Gavin a tour upon arrival, the fact a dozen advisor's flocked around their future Arl told him not to consider it a promise.

Besides, he'd rather set out on his own without any of his parents influence getting in the way.

"Through here," the Chamberlain paused, the fluffy skirts on her hips expanding to almost fill a smaller doorway. The entire structure was wooden and built on a slant. No doubt any furniture inside that wasn't tied down probably ended up in a pile with a slight nudging.

Shaking away the woodworker thoughts his father pressed into him, Gavin nodded his head in understanding. The woman, Karelle, tipped her head down a bit while Gavin had to nearly bend to his waist to make it without bumping himself. As he stood up, the pressing heat struck him first. His whole life he'd lived inside grey stone that was often open to the air circling the dark forest. It could become oppressive in high summer out in the fields, but it was pretty easy to cool down somewhere within the abbey.

There was no hiding from the heat inside this wooden oven. Dirt circled the middle, seeming to have been placed there on purpose, while bunk beds lined the sides. Each one had a single thin blanket tucked tight into it and at the foot of the beds sat two sets of chests. Was this where he'd be sleeping?

"Huh," the Chamberlain sighed, "I thought someone would be here. Well, this way." She tipped her head and guided him out of the barracks. "Did you run into any trouble on the roads?"

Gavin inched his fingers under the low beams, trying to shake off any concern rising inside of him that once again no one seemed to know he was coming. It struck him that the Chamberlain was talking to him. "No," he gasped out, then struggled to lower his voice, "no, it was rather quiet."

"Good, the King will be happy to hear that." Rounding past the wooden house filled with beds, Karelle guided him to an obvious training arena. Racks to hold weapons sat against the walls of small sheds, but were empty. Stacks of straw bales circled three fighting areas, which also were empty.

Perhaps in deference to the heat, a pile of people sat near a single olive tree. Its thin branches required them all to cluster tight together, heads of short hair drifting near and gazing off into the distance, until one of them caught sight of Karelle. Slowly, one person, then more stood up, fingers gesturing at the Chamberlain, before landing upon the boy behind her.

"Ho there," Karelle called, pausing before she stepped onto the first straw bale. "You squires, where's the man in charge?"

A boy perhaps Gavin's age or a bit younger stood up. He had the tight cropped blonde hair that seemed popular amongst the squire set, a tuft of it standing up at the front. Wiping a hand down his legs to get rid of the grass he shrugged, "Ol' Bandy's off cooling down inside."

Karelle sighed, "Why am I surprised? The man is to remain in charge of you during court matters, but will he listen?" She turned on her heel and to Gavin said, "Stay here, I will find him and sort all this mess out."

Uncertain what to do, Gavin nodded his head dumbstruck as the Chamberlain walked towards the palace proper and vanished inside its gilded walls. Clinging tight to the canvas strap across his back, he wished Myra had remained by his side. At least she would have some idea of where things were if this all went pear shaped fast.

"So," that first boy that stood up stepped closer to Gavin. "What are you doing here? One of Karelle's new lackeys?"

That got a cackle from half of the group that swarmed him, all boys in various heights and weights. Some with dark hair, more blondes than not. A couple were skinny as a rail, but most were built in the fashion sometimes called meathead. One who staggered around the edge of the group was more rotund and shorter, but he had nearly a full mustache perched upon his upper lip. As the group moved towards Gavin like a pack of wolves singling out a lone elk, he caught sight of one shadow remaining beside the trunk of the tree.

Standing up straighter, Gavin met this boy at first eye to eye. Then, as the boy drew closer, Gavin had to look down. "I'm a squire."

"Oh?" the boy laughed, jabbing an elbow into one behind him. "Is that so?" His eyes were bluer than ice and the face twice as cold. He seemed unhappy about not quite making Gavin's height and tried to rise up on his toes in intimidation.

"Yes," Gavin glanced about at the group who were clearly flocking around the obvious leader. _Oh Maker, what trouble did he run head first into?_

"Funny that," the boy scratched along his chin, "'cause we're all squires and I've never seen your ugly face around here before."

"I'm a replacement," Gavin said, trying to slow the rising beat of his heart. Surely Karelle would return soon, and this would all be sorted out. They'd prove him in the right, and he and all the boys would become the best of friends.

"A replacement, eh?" the boy slid closer, his breath wafting over Gavin as he ran his eyes up and down the new guy's frame. "What makes you think a farmer like you...? Shit," he pinched his nose and waved a hand back and forth like mad, "You stink of shit!" The gaggle backing him up began to chortle, while Gavin's blood boiled. "Were you rolling in it on the way in? Or is that it? You come from a shit farm where your daddy and grandaddy did nothing but farm shit all day?"

More laughs broke out from the group around them. A single voice cried out, "You tell him, Cal!"

"That why you're here? Think you're gonna be a famous knight instead of some dirt poor shit farmer like your nameless daddy before you?"

"I am here to be a squire," Gavin hissed, his fingernails digging into his palm. He knew better than get into a scrap; his father was always distilling that into him after every sparring. A good warrior knows when to not draw his weapon, when to fight, and when to step back. The worst thing to do would be to get into it with the rest of the squires on the first day.

Cal chuckled again, his flat cheeks whiffling as he glanced around at his fellow sycophants. That's what they were, every member flocking to the loudest, most obnoxious voice for protection. Gavin caught the shadow again by the tree, eyes watching him, to amend almost all.

"Look here, shit farmer," Cal grabbed onto Gavin's tunic knotting the split neckline into his fists, "I get that you're new to all this. Probably ain't even seen a city in your whole life, but there's rules we follow in civilization. See, I ain't just some goat fucker from down the road like your pappy."

He was certainly a goat fucker, but of the high class variety.

"My mother, she's a Bann in Amaranthine. So, if you want to be smart, you best start calling me Sir. Yes, sir. No, sir. All respectful like," Cal grinned wider, showing off a line of teeth Gavin wanted to punch out one by one.

Sucking in a breath, Gavin stared into those soulless blue eyes and made no movement. It was Cal who blinked, his eyes fluttering while he turned to his friends as if he finished his little pissing match. When Cal released his grip on Gavin's shirt, he finally spoke, "Spare or further down the line?"

"What?" Cal spun back.

"Spare, or third or fourth from the Bann? I mean, if you're here being sent away for squiring then you can't be that important to the line of succession." Gavin sneered, his eyes honing right in on Cal's raging face, "Every shit farmer knows that."

"Why you son of a..." Cal moved to swing, but he practically announced his punches. Easily avoiding the first, when the boy sent his second, Gavin caught the fist in his palm and squeezed.

Twisting it down fast, Cal yelped but there wasn't a crack. Good, no broken wrist. "It's not nice to make insinuations about other people's mothers," Gavin said to the boy who snarled in response. Cal lifted his second arm about to try and attack, which Gavin would grab again, when a loud cough whipped all the boy's heads back to the entranceway.

Karelle stood there with a smaller man beside her. His bald plate shined in the summer sun, only a soft circling of snow flanking it. Dressed in a slightly nicer doublet than the boy squires, the man had both of his legs bent downward to give the illusion he was about to squat. "Gentlemen," the Chamberlain said in her cool voice. Damn near every boy shrunk inward. Gavin glanced once at Cal before releasing his grip and both boys locked their hands safely behind their backs.

The man apparently in charge of the squires dashed forward and moved to inspect Gavin. He had to yank a pair of spectacles out of his pocket and place them on his nose before giving him the once over. "You came from the Hinterlands?"

"Yes, sir," Gavin said, nodding his head.

In a not quiet whisper, Cal said, "Shiiit farmer."

"He says he's to be a squire," Karelle explained no doubt for the umpteenth time. She still sounded dubious of the whole matter. "As a replacement."

"Ah right. We had that washout, remember," the man turned to her before waving his hand, "Never mind." He reached a hand out to Gavin and smiled, "Good to meet you, Squire Rutherford."

A deathly silence thundered through the crowd as every boy's head pivoted to stare at Gavin. They all knew who Rutherford was, the great Commander who served valiantly in the templars and then in the Inquisition to destroy a would-be god and save the world. His father. Most didn't see it at first, only spotting the soft brown skin, but when they looked harder it became rather apparent. He was cursed or blessed, depending upon who said it, with his father's face. A slightly rounder nose and fuller lips, but otherwise it was a perfect replica. Some even suggested he get himself the same lip scar, as if Gavin wanted to be a copy of his father.

No doubt Cal and the rest of his buddies were recalculating just who he took on without thinking. If this were Orlais, Cal would have been challenged to a duel for such dishonor and then, if he survived, disowned by his family for being so stupid. Lucky for him this was Ferelden, and Gavin was in no mood to use his family name. Turning to the side, he shrugged, "No hard feelings."

"Uh, yeah," Cal gulped, the shit stirrer for once brought to his knees. He may be some third or fourth in line to a tiny Bann up by the Wounded Coast, but Gavin was the only child of a great Ferelden General...and a woman who they had no idea about. His father was one thing, but if he ever told the truth of his mother all hell would break loose.

Karelle folded her arms and smiled, "That would explain it. Well, I assume you have him well in hand. I should return to the King's side." The Chamberlain moved to leave when she suddenly paused and turned back to Gavin. "Was there anything you needed to tell His Majesty?"

"What?' Gavin squeaked, causing Cal and his buddies to snigger. "No, no, I'm certain my...no." He ended with, feeling a colossal fool for it. For her part the Chamberlain only shrugged and returned to her duties. Maker's breath, was he supposed to meet with the King? The last time he had he...was chastised for a half hour for kissing the man's daughter. _Blessed Andraste, did he still remember that?_

"Here, Rutherford," the man ordered, jerking his head to the side.

"Ah, I'd prefer Gavin if possible."

He blinked at that, but shrugged, "Whatever, you'll be serving Ser Daryan."

Behind him Cal broke into irreparable laughter, "Ol 12 bottles Daryan? He won't last the week with her."

"Squire Calenhad," their leader sighed, "you would do well to remember your place lest your Knight teach it to you."

"Yes, Sir," Cal feigned saluting but when the man's back was turned, he flipped him off.

Unaware of any ill offense, the man eyed up the rucksack over Gavin's shoulder, "You should put your things down. The only open bed is with...Squire Snowy."

Gavin braced himself to see which of Cal's goons came running for him, but it was the lone shadow by the tree who stood up. The boy had a large head and broad features, even broader than Gavin's. It wasn't until Snowy marched closer, a little hop to his step that Gavin realized he was a dwarf.

"Nice to meet you," Snowy stuck his hand out and Gavin took it.

"Think you can show him the ropes?"

His new bunkmate smiled wide revealing a missing tooth, "Aye, I think I can handle that. Come on new meat, home sweet home's through here."

Sure enough, Snowy returned Gavin to the first room. He tried to treat it as a dramatic reveal while Gavin only clung to his rucksack and nodded. "What? No gasping? No clutching tight to your collar? Ain't this the kind of room that'd send people with fancy titles through the roof?"

"I..." Gavin tried to insert himself into the conversation, but Snowy laughed uproariously and began to walk towards the beds.

"Shit, even Lord Cal out there practically shat himself when he learned he had to share not only a bed but a room with people. Was funny watching Bandy shout him down over that. Thinks he's got a fancy name to go throwing around, but..." the dwarf paused and turned a shrewd eye up at Gavin, "it's nothing on you."

"I don't have a title, or any land to my name." He felt himself shrinking at the scrutiny. Why did he think people in Denerim wouldn't know the Rutherford name? At least out in the Hinterlands there was a brief moment of recognition, people asked him to sneer, and then they all moved on. Here, the way people went on, it was as if he was claiming to be a long lost son of the King's.

Snowy drew his index finger and thumb together to perch his beard free chin upon it. "Interesting, most interesting. Is that why you left all those riches and wealth to sleep in a sweat and piss stench-filled building with a dozen other disgusting boys?"

"Ah," Gavin melted at the straightforward question, "I, I want to be a knight."

"And you're going about the squire route? Your rich daddy can't just buy it for you? Well," Snowy reached over and tried to slap Gavin in the shoulder. Sadly he was far too short to reach and had to settle for Gavin's forearm instead. "You scared the ever loving piss out of Cal and for that I think we need to be friends."

"I'd," Gavin reached his hand out and took the dwarf's, "I'd like that."

"Bed's this way," Snowy jerked his head towards one along the wall, "And I get top bunk!"

"Very well," he fell into step behind the more experienced dwarf and placed his bag of few belongings onto the straw mattress below. "Which is my...?" Gavin pointed at the two chests. At the right, Snowy nodded his approval and Gavin began to unpack all the shirts and pants his parents insisted he'd need.

"Your name, Snowy," Gavin began while the dwarf scurried up a ladder to land upon the top bunk. He stretched out upon his stomach, his eyes darting down at the human.

"What of it?" the dwarf seemed to get personal, his voice dipping into a growl.

"Just, I-I used to have a pet fox that I named Snowy and I thought it was..." a burr of shame dug into his gut from the way the dwarf was looking at him. "Um, our barrack sergeant..."

"Ah, he's Ser Morris if you didn't catch it."

"Morris?" That wasn't anything close to the nickname. Confused, Gavin turned away from the cord that knotted together a pile of his folded knickers, "Why do you call him Bandy?"

"Duh," Snowy spun in place and lifted both of his legs up, "he walks around all banded leg like. Something that happened a long time ago. Why he ain't an in rotation knight and is stuck watching us pisspots. Just, don't ask him about it."

"A sore spot?"

"Shit, no, he won't shut up about it. Bandy loves nothing more than droning on and on about the glory days. He ain't so bad. Do your chores, fight in the pit every once in awhile, and he goes easy."

Gavin gulped, "The pit?"

His bunkmate slid closer to him and winked, "Just what we call the sparring rings. Every once in awhile the fancy ones in court like to swing by and watch, place bets. Pretty sure that's how Bandy gets to live in such finery."

Grateful for all the heads up from his new friend, Gavin returned to his laundry. It was Snowy who watched, his light shaded eyes piercing through the back of his head. "You ever been friends with a dwarf before?"

"I," Gavin paused and dropped his head. A lifetime of isolation and loneliness washed over him as he admitted, "I've never been friends with anyone."

Snowy's bushy eyebrows met in the middle as he stared Gavin up and down. "You ain't got a third arm, or a big pustule on your face. Could have a tail stashed down your trouser leg but I doubt it. Is every human where you're from touched in the head?"

"They," it would be difficult to explain why he was kept in isolation. He'd meet others his own age, certainly, but there was always a distance. Gavin lived at the refuge, a place that people went when they didn't feel well. It wasn't where you wanted to stay, which kept the possibility of any friends distant. He'd thought that the blonde girl sent to stay with them could be, but... Shaking it away, Gavin smiled. It was a long time ago.

"I think they may be."

"Well, stick with me, kid," Snowy twisted back onto his bed, "I'll keep you from making a total arse of yourself."

* * *

Gavin had fully unpacked and even found time to clean some of the sweat and dirt of the road off his body when his Knight came to find him. He'd tried to get the gist out of Snowy, but the normally talkative dwarf went silent and just kept saying he'd figure it out. Knights were knights; bossy, loud, prone to quaffing, the usual.

When riding heels clipped through the wooden floor, and a female voice commanded, "Where is my squire?" Gavin staggered up off his bed. Knight Daryan was tall for a woman, her fading red hair tucked back into one of those fancier plaits with two tendrils framing her face. Soft blue eyes whipped from one end of the room to the other, obviously trying to hunt out anything she could find. Her nose was bloated and her face rounded despite the obvious age to the wrinkles clinging to the sides of her eyes. She was dressed in simple boiled leathers, but kept a sword hanging upon her hip.

Folding her arms, she stuck both scabbard and hip out. "Well?"

"Sorry, Ser," Gavin scattered towards her, trying to hide the embarrassment burning on his face.

"And you are...?"

"Gavin, Ser. Gavin Rutherford."

At his full name she gave a single noise. It wasn't quite a gasp, nor an exhale of disappointment. He'd almost put it as a sound of understanding overlapped with concern. "Right, well, you're squire Gavin from now on, is that understood?"

"Yes, Ser!" he staggered up, his eyes staring right at hers.

"That's," Daryan reached a hand over and gently patted his shoulder, "that's quite alright. You can keep it to a minimum when moving around here. I've got enough hearing loss, I'd rather not add to it."

"Sorry," Gavin winced, feeling he'd already failed.

"You're kinda big to be a squire," she looked fully at him for the first time. "Not sure if the usual uniform will even fit. May have to let out the pant legs, and the chest." Daryan blinked a moment before adding, "And the shoulders too."

"Don't worry," Snowy popped up beside him, "he can take whatever I don't need." Gavin wanted to smile at the enthusiasm but his knight was watching.

"Ah yes, the dwarf. I imagine your knight is looking for you. Best head on out and find him."

Snowy nodded his head, but under his breath whispered, "Since it's before noon, I doubt it." Still, the dwarf skedaddled out of the room as if he was late for an appointment.

Daryan crossed her arms and turned her head. She seemed to be staring past Gavin while also categorizing everything about him. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Sweet Andraste, you don't look it. Well, kid, it's you and me here on out for a couple years. You know what that means?"

"I..." Gavin was about to launch into the duties expected of him, when Daryan interrupted.

"You do what I say. No questions asked, no back talk. Just get out there and do it. Even if it's hard, even if it's not fun, even if it means you have to sit in the middle of a hot field all day while everyone else is in the shade, you do it. Got me?"

He didn't blink, didn't shirk a moment, just slapped a hand to his chest and shouted, "Yes, Ser!"

Daryan wiggled her pinkie in her ear and sighed, "Well, regardless this will be interesting."

They didn't understand. Cal and his goons circling Gavin didn't bother him, Ser Daryan trying to scare him away wouldn't work. He'd wanted this since he could read, since he knew what a Knight was. No one was taking this opportunity from him.

## Chapter Six

### Flowers

For the last few days Myra'd been busy with her mother's client list. Nothing too exciting, sadly. Just the usual -- file this paperwork, get a statement from a witness, jot down descriptions of the crime scene. It kept her busy and away from Gavin...

The palace, it kept her away from her dad and the other people who floated around the place. Sometimes she'd swing by to talk to her brother or sister, but the age difference made it kinda weird. And the legitimate difference too. After so many years people were used to the bastard daughter poking into things, saying hi, and generally getting in the way, but they had no idea how to handle it. There wasn't really any fancy precedent. Princesses belonged here, princes should do this. Children the king fathered with women that used to be his bodyguard, uh, well, you could take up knitting?

Myra was terrible with needles. Too much sitting in one place and counting. Maker, the counting. That was what Cailan was for. She was pretty sure the Maker put him on thedas to do all the number crunching no one else wanted to do. Even Rossie would pass her work off to him, slyly mind, but Myra knew what was up. It'd probably unnerve a lot of the higher up castle staff to learn how much the bastard daughter knew about them.

She'd planned to visit with her dad, but he was in a meeting. Pretty normal, but it gave Myra time to wander. While the armory was a fun stop at times, and she liked wandering the halls filled with portraits, she found herself trailing through the servant side of the castle to winnow away time.

This was the uncarpeted, nearly unfinished, often drafty parts that all those serving his majesty bustled through. And, contrary to protocol, Alistair would often run through it too. Sometimes to cut down on time, often to avoid people, and every now and then in pursuit of his kids. There was this great staircase that was so warped, if you grabbed a thick enough rug you could slide down it. Rosie taught her about it when she was seven.

Myra was about to turn away, when she heard her friend Bryn's voice. It was too muffled to make out the words, but she'd know that one anywhere. Instead of in the muffled and subservient tone she used at work, it was the same high pitched giggling one her and Myra traded late at night while talking about unimportant life things.

Cracking open a door, Myra trailed after the sound. This room wasn't anything special, one of many storehouses, but she spotted a great open window and found Bryn curled up on a box right next to it. A few of the other servant girls flocked around her, all their eyes on something on the ground.

"Oh blessed Andraste," one of the girls, a human who always had pigtails in her hair fanned her hands while watching.

"Was there splash back? Why couldn't there be any splash back?" the second whined, her arms crossed.

Clopping without any of the grace she had, Myra stomped into the room. "What are you...?" she trailed their sight to find Gavin dressed in little more than a tight ivory tunic and very thin trousers hauling a bucket of water out of the well. When the bucket reached the lip of the stone, he paused and drew his arm across his forehead to wipe the sweat away. All the girls around her squealed in delight. Unaware of the affect he was having a few stories up, Gavin hauled up the bucket and continued to walk around the building.

As one, they got up and raced through a side door to find another open window. Piling haphazardly around it, all the girls stared down as Gavin lifted the bucket of water and tossed it onto a stump of all things. His biceps tugged against the tight sleeves of the tunic, to the point Myra could almost see that one intoxicating vein below.

Shaking away the thought and hopefully getting the blush on her cheeks too, she honed in on Bryn, "What in the void is he doing?"

"His knight, Daryan, seems she told him to water the stump until flowers bloomed," Bryn snickered.

"What? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," Myra stuck a hand on her hip. "You can't get flowers to grow off a tree. They need dirt. Everyone knows that."

"Shh," pigtails waved her hand at Myra. "Who cares about logic? Look at him. Those shoulders..."

"That ass," the other added, both leaning their heads far out the window to trail his retreating form while Myra felt the urge to retch.

"That's nothing," Bryn inserted herself. "You should see his eyes." Then she turned and snickered, "Right, Myra?"

"Wait," pigtails spun away from the window to glare right at Myra. "You've seen him, face to face? Did you talk to him?"

"Oh please tell me he's got a deep voice. You'll ruin it all if he squeaks like a dying mouse," the other begged.

"His voice is, it's fine. It's a normal man...boy voice!" Myra felt the urge to turn and run but the molasses of hormones stampeding through the air kept her stuck in place.

"She's done even more than that, right Myra?" Bryn grinned wickedly at her roommate, showing off her teeth. That got a glare from Myra, who wanted to toss her out the window, or maybe leap from it herself. Enthralled with the idea, both girls turned to Bryn for more information.

"You're saying her and...him? Like all sweaty and--"

"We kissed, okay," Myra snarled, "That was it."

Pigtails held up her hand, "It's just, ya know, you and him. I mean, look at him."

"I seem incapable of stopping you," she rolled her eyes, planning on making Bryn's life hell after this. She could hide a dead fish in her bed, or fill all her ink bottles with soap. Or tell on Bryn to her mom! No, that last one was far too cruel. Best to go with the fish.

"He's so damn..." the second girl faded against the window frame, her fingers picking at the edge.

"He's the Commander's son," Bryn said smugly, clearly enjoying having so much to lord over people.

"What? The Commander of the guards?" Pigtails scrunched up her face, fully confused.

"Not that commander, The Commander. You know, the one from before, in the sketches."

At that all the girl's eyes opened wide and they hung their heads out the window even further. Myra knew of the sketch, it was damn near impossible to not have it passed from under one teenage girl's bed to another, but she never had it. While her mother and father would have thrown a fit to rival some prophesied end times, it was meeting the man the sketch was based upon in person that killed any attraction. He wasn't a bad person, he was just so stiff, and certain. It was boring. And old. He was really old too.

Gavin had seemed different. There were a lot of laughs whenever they snuck off from work or training, and he didn't make her stand at attention or judge her when she was being silly because she wanted to be. And he had the most adorable blush she'd ever seen.

But this Gavin was... He was a squire? One of the same blockheaded idiots who'd cart around a blockheaded knight's kit while slipping away to get trashed on old wine and heckle servants? It seemed preposterous to think of. All the squires Myra was cursed to run into were morons of the highest caliber. They truly elevated the art of moronhood to its upper echelons at times. There was one who got stuck in the well. He helplessly mewled for hours while all the rest of the squires sat around laughing. It wasn't until the Chamberlain got sick of the noise that she told him to use the damn rope to climb up.

"Oh," the girls broke through Myra's mental fuming, all three heads craning out the window as Gavin paused with an empty bucket. Maybe he'd finally wise up and realize he was wasting his time on such a bewildering task. He could hide out somewhere cool and when he heard his knight coming pretend to dump a bucket on the stump. That's what Myra would do.

But no, that fool and the giddy ones watching, all gasped as he lifted up the hem of his shirt to try and dab away the sweat now percolating off his forehead. A scrap of stomach muscles emerged from the exposed midriff along with his soft brown skin. Myra remembered there was a birthmark beside his belly button, the scrawny thirteen year old often running around his farm shirtless, but not the pile of abs making her friends drool. Had he lost all his senses in exchange for muscle? It would make some sense.

"Damn it!" Pigtails cursed as Gavin laid his shirt flat and moved back to the well. "I thought for sure he'd take it off that time."

"Remember Daryan's last one? She had him at that thing for hours. He's got to give in at some point." The two girls put their heads together, already scampering back to the well window while Bryn paused and smiled.

"Why not have Myra head down and ask him to take it off?"

"What?" Myra panicked, reaching over to try and wrap a hand around Bryn's mouth to get her to shut up.

Despite Myra being taller than her roommate, Bryn was able to slip free and wave, "They already know each other."

Both pigtails and the other girl paused in their watching to turn heads right at Myra. Her cheeks paled at their deathly focus and she staggered backwards. "Yeah," they shouted together, "that's a great idea."

"You, you want me to," Myra stuttered, barely able to process all of this. "To go down there and...fine. Fine!" She had no idea what she was doing, but she wanted to get far away from all of that as fast as possible. Spinning on her heel, Myra headed to an open window. If she climbed out onto the trellis, she could shimmy down it and then walk over to the dumb squire.

She managed to get one leg out, when Bryn called, "Are you really going to do it?"

"I don't know. I guess," she felt like she had to prove something. Bryn didn't believe her claims about having kissed Gavin, there was no way the others in the palace would either. Maybe if she got them what they wanted they'd have to take the idea seriously, or get off her back at least.

As she scrabbled out onto the window ledge and reached towards the white picket fencing laid against the stone, she heard pigtails ask, "Who do you think will bed him first?"

The girls threw out a couple names, none of them Myra of course, before Bryn suddenly gasped, "What if it's the princess?!"

"Imagine the scandal that would cause," they giggled again.

Sure, just slap the hot new squire with her sister, why not? It wasn't as if Rosamund wasn't perfect. With hair as dark as night and skin not really white, more of a soft peach skin kind of color, it was hard to not imagine any man not wanting her. The fact she remained unpromised to anyone while sitting upon the potential throne made her beauty inconsequential but a major plus. They were already using her likeness and body shape for numerous sculptures of the Prophetess across Denerim.

When Myra struck ground, her mind was seething and she felt like ants were crawling all over her skin. Shaking her shoulders, she swiped the backs of her hands against her trousers, trying to clear it all away. If there were any bugs, they would have been squashed but she couldn't stop the crawling of her skin.

In the worst kind of mood, she stomped around the corner and nearly barreled straight into the hot squire. Gavin's elbow came hurtling towards her chest, the boy unaware of anyone around him, when he seemed to catch something from the side of his eye and jerked back. In his surprise, the bucket tumbled out of his hands and all that hard fought water splattered against the ground and his trousers. Maker, she could already hear the sighs and complaints for it not striking higher on him up in the window.

"My-Myra," he gasped, scattering from her as if she carried the blight. His wet fingers moved to wipe at the back of his neck but they were so slick in his haste he swiped up his head instead. "I didn't see you there."

"Yeah," she sighed to herself, "a lot of people tend to miss me." Trying to shake it away, Myra put on her cocksure face. It served her well, especially when the extended family started throwing around the b-word. "So, seems Karelle didn't put you in the stocks. I'm guessing you got wherever you were going."

Gavin nodded, his lips lifting up into that goofy smile she remembered, "Yes, I...things worked out, mercifully. Thank you, for, for helping me get there. I'm afraid I'm not used to so much at once."

That damn disarming, uncertain charm knocked Myra for a loop. She actually felt sorry for him. He looked like a chiseled god, he had family ties out the wazoo, and even after an entire afternoon of hard work he smelled like tree bark warmed by the sun. If anything she should be keeping an eye on him. Not like that, not like the rest of the giggling idiots up in the window. Just, be wary.

"You'll get used to it," Myra threw out, "Or go mad trying."

Gavin snickered, "I fear the latter but will do my best." He nudged his foot under the bucket and, with a quick kick, rolled it up his legs until it nestled safe in his arms.

Dumbstruck, Myra's jaw nearly crashed to the muddy grass while Gavin turned on his heel and marched back to the well for more water. Focus, she yelled at herself. Of course he'd do that, he was always fetching water at the refuge. He probably played with buckets for fun.

Jogging up beside him, Myra tried to catch Gavin's attention but he spoke first, "I have work to do, but..." He hooked up the bucket and moved to lower it down into the well. Turning to glance over his shoulder he smiled, "I'd enjoy talking."

"That, uh," Myra's wicked tongue faded at the way his amber eyes danced over her a moment before he returned to the crank.

"Denerim. I imagine you're quite the expert," Gavin continued, easily laying out a compliment that was honestly believable. For being raised out in the woods like a wolf baby he had skills that would serve him well in court.

"Expert's a reach, but I know the streets," Myra half bragged as she perched herself upon the half wall that was usually littered with empty buckets.

"Streets," Gavin paused before lifting the bucket up into the crook of his shoulder, one hand clinging to the top, "I hadn't thought of those. Learning to navigate them. Back in the closest village there were three, and one was always jammed up with sheep."

Myra giggled at his honesty, letting the back of her shoes kick into the wall. Her eyes drifted upward where she caught a flash of shadows in the window. They were probably pissed at her both taking forever and getting rather friendly with their new toy.

"You must know the sights as well," Gavin said, turning to march to his stump. "Things to see and do."

Things to see, as in girls. As in could that old friend of his who he probably didn't think much of beyond knowledge of this city and a way in, could she get him some. Did she know any of the easier girls just wafting through the halls. That damn smile fooled her, she nearly forgot that he was in training to be a squire.

Unaware of Myra's inner turmoil, Gavin returned to the stump. She leapt off the wall and chased after him, but in such a way it looked as if she was planning on going that way. "Can I ask you something?" He nodded before turning the bucket of water on the stump. "You do know that splashing a dead tree won't do shit, right?"

Those straining shoulders locked tight, Gavin's entire back seeming to flex as he gripped tighter to the bucket. Myra scratched at her chin, "Just, thought, maybe I should point it out in case you didn't. I mean, I get it, flowers are pretty but that ain't the way to go about making them."

"Do you think me simple minded?" he whispered.

"I didn't until you devoted hours to washing dead wood," Myra couldn't hide the snicker in her voice. Surely he'd realize how foolish this was, side with her, and they could go do something else more fun.

"I know what can and cannot grow flowers," Gavin's voice rumbled in his throat. When he spun back those amber eyes narrowed to two yellow points all honing on Myra. "I am doing this because I was ordered to."

"Pretty dumb order. I mean, if they want to keep you occupied why not make you peel potatoes or something? This is just a waste of water and time." She felt exasperated. It began as a little light poking but Myra was growing more indignant. Why couldn't he see how stupid this was?

Gavin placed the bucket in front of his stomach and marched heel to toe back to the well as he had been doing for an hour, as he would keep doing until the damn knight he answered to told him to stop. It was idiotic. It was maddening. How could you not question the point?

"I mean," Myra spoke up and followed him around the corner, "if it was me, I'd just bugger on off and say I did it."

"It is not you," he hissed, hooking the bucket up to the line and slowly letting it back down into the well. Even angry his movements were methodical, as if afraid he might tear out the well itself if he gave in.

"You're not this daft, you can't be," Myra continued, stepping closer as if she could bash some sense into him.

"Can't I be?" Gavin spun on his heel, his eyes boring into her, "Perhaps I do have the brains of a dead calf. It's what a shit farmer would be presumed to own after all."

_What in the void was he talking about?_ Myra's eyes darted over him trying to figure out what went wrong. This was easy. They'd laugh about his stupid assignment, he'd agree to ditch it, and then they could catch up properly without a gaggle of girls watching. How did it get so fucked up so fast?

"Just," Gavin waved a hand through the air as if splitting it apart. He turned back to the bucket and wrapped both hands tight around it. "Let me accomplish my task in peace." Like that he slammed himself away, his features falling to neutral as he gazed over the world like a man untouched by a thing. Turning on his heels, he marched back to that stump which he would do again, and again, and again. Until his arms burned, his tongue dried out in his mouth, and his skin blistered in the sun.

He didn't want her help. Fine! Myra slapped her hands against her thighs and climbed up onto the half wall. It was an easy shot to run clear up the hill and into one of the side towers from here. Before she left him to his own hell, she spat, "By the way, if you want to piss off the servant girls all watching you do this madness, keep your shirt on."

Gavin tipped his head up, scouring the windows for the source but if he found them Myra didn't notice. She'd already left it all behind.

* * *

Damn it! Damn it all in that damned place that you damn things! Damnville, probably. They weren't very creative in damning stuff unless you were in the ironic punishment department.

Myra kicked her shoe against a rock and swore at herself some more. While the chunk of stone bounced against the tower walls she flopped onto her ass, tucking her knees up tight to her chest. What was her problem? Why couldn't she stop picking at scabs until they bled all over the place? He wants to waste his life as some stupid squire that runs around waving swords and shouting 'For our freedom!' So what? Not like it was her life.

But it's so stupid. He could have been anything he wanted to be. Like a farmer, or a healer like his mom. Myra flared up her fist, certain she was alone so no one else would see the play of magic. Maybe not so much like his mother, but he could have brewed up potions and other stuff. Those are useful too even from non-mages. People seemed to prefer it to a scary robe knocking on your door saying "I'm here to help!"

So, farmer or potion master. That was two good options. There was, uh, probably other jobs way off on the other side of Ferelden. Fancy ones maybe, like clothiers... The image of Gavin attempting to sew a gown as elegant as the ones her sister wore flashed through Myra's brain and she couldn't bite down a chuckle. She could see him wrapped up in a ball of thread, needle poised in confusion as his entire body was somehow knotted into the fabric bolt.

Forget it. Forget him. Head back home. She'd skipped over whatever meeting she could have managed with her father. No doubt Karelle didn't even tell him Myra was around. The Chamberlain preferred a productive king to an attentive father. It didn't matter, certainly her mother had some big thing planned for her to do. Go here. Talk to this guy. Chase after a criminal that we'll no doubt be tracking in a month. Oh and don't use your magic, Myra. It's bad and scares people. They might find all those sparkly colors terrifying and piss themselves.

Lifting up her fingers, Myra tried to thread apart the veil. Gavin's mom wanted to teach her how to do it as elegantly as she could but it was like attempting to get a bronto to sit down to tea. You could try, but don't expect much out of it. Lots of energy bit back at her attempt, Myra punching her way inside. It worked, fire dancing up and down the tips of her fingers, but something told her it wasn't right. It was too much work for her to cast simple spells. The way Lady Rutherford talked, she should be able to set entire neighborhoods on fire.

Not that she would. Myra wasn't one of those bad mages, she just wished she could figure out how to live up to that potential people kept talking about. She didn't want to head home, to trudge on back to her mother's life of running around fixing all of Denerim's stupid problems. It was drudgery, even if to her friends it seemed exciting.

Yeah, sure, running over a bridge, sliding off a roof...yawn...catching a bad guy by leaping right on top of him. By the fifth time, it was a bit dull and barely worth her efforts. Plus her mom would yell at her for taking the high road even if it did catch the guy faster. She just hated being shown up by her daughter.

Damn it.

Myra rose to her feet, feeling like she gained another stone in both her legs. Her shoulders cramped up against her neck and she tried to tug them down out of their shame turtling. It didn't really work, but she headed back towards that blighted well.

One part of her expected to find Gavin long gone, back to his beloved Knight's side. Myra had flounced off for quite awhile. The other part, the one that often watched the squires toddering around from outside her father's windows, knew that wouldn't be the case.

The extra hour or so had taken its toll on the athletic man. Sweat drenched his back, sticking the tunic tight enough she could see spots of his skin below. There was a good sized mole prodding out of one, momentarily distracting Myra as she stepped lightly towards him.

Her head hung low but not low enough as Gavin turned, caught sight of her, and spun back around. "If you have come to gloat..."

"No!" she shouted over top of him, then at his glare faded back. Myra's eyes darted up to the second story windows. Surely Bryn and her troop had to get back to work by now. Though, Maker knows, Myra's continual humiliation would be a fun subject for them.

"I came to say I'm sorry," Myra mumbled, her eyes honing in on the ground. It was a lot wetter than she remembered.

Gavin paused in his methodical movements to glance over at her, "You're sorry?" His reprieve didn't last long as he plucked up the bucket and resumed watering the mud.

"Yes," she stomped her feet through the watery soup finding it oddly relaxing, "I'm sorry for what I said to you. It wasn't...it wasn't nice."

She didn't know if he'd forgive her or say that it was best if they never spoke again. It'd been a few years since she last saw him, not like it'd be a big loss for either if they treated each other like strangers. But as Gavin tipped the bucket over onto the stump, he left it upside down and placed both weary hands upon it.

"I'm not an idiot," he said in a struggling breath. "I know that this is pointless, I also know that it is done to break down a person's spirits. To force them to prove that they are loyal to their commanding officer."

Myra shifted on her toes. She had no intention to call him an idiot. Okay, she thought it, but more because of what he was doing not the... Damn it. "Your dad," she said, pointing a finger at the bucket. Gavin glanced over and his eyes narrowed. "Did he, ya know...he was always on about the rules of proper stuff and what not. Thought maybe he'd make you do that."

A laugh shot out of Gavin's nose. Just one, but it brightened Myra's hopes. "No, no my father never expected blind loyalty from me. I think he...he feared it, in some ways. Not that I could talk back whenever I wanted."

"Yeah," Myra whistled, "no kidding." His father was so intimidating even her wicked tongue was often held in check, at least until Cullen Rutherford was out of earshot.

"Books," amber eyes landed upon her as he confessed, "I read about it in books. Not just training regimes from decorated generals, but adventure stories as well. It seemed a popular breaking point for recruits. Keep going until you can't stand, then the knight swoops in to rescue you. The fear that you could be cut at any moment for not measuring up always hangs in the balance."

He folded a moment, a knee sinking into the mud. Sweet Maker, how long had he been at it? Myra shifted towards him, but Gavin waved it away. "It's what they use as a sword to keep squires loyal and in check."

"You..." her mouth hung down in shock, "you know all that, know the crap they pull and you're still willing to stick around? To do all this shit?"

A hand wiped mud across his brow, the matte earth hiding away his glistening skin. "I do, because," Gavin shrugged, "I want to be a knight. And if this is what it takes to learn, to better myself, then I'll do whatever is asked of me."

With that he rose to his feet and plucked up the bucket. It looked like it was one hell of a struggle, Gavin sliding around in the mud he created as he returned to the well. His damn certainty struck hard against Myra's heart and she dashed after him.

Exhausted beyond measure, Gavin struggled to reach for the rope dangling in the middle. Afraid he might fall in and hurt himself, Myra grabbed onto it and hooked up the bucket. Those sweet eyes she remembered peeking at her over books turned to offer up his thanks. Trying to ignore the burn on her cheeks, Myra dropped the bucket down the well to fill it up. Would he keep going until the well ran dry, or would he seek out another one and continue on?

Silence fell between them while Myra more slowly drew the bucket up. Some of it was lack of practice, some of it was her terrified she'd mess it all up and make a fool of herself. It was highly possible as Gavin stared at her in anticipation.

When the lip of the bucket bounced against the well's edge, Gavin reached for it. Words slipped from Myra's mouth, "How'd you know you want to be a knight?"

He pursed his lips, unhooking the bucket off of the catch and sliding back. "I want to help people. To live that life I read about in stories. Perhaps that is childish, to cling to a dream like that, but...it's all I've ever wanted." Gavin sounded exhausted, not just from the work but of having to explain it over and over.

Myra chased after him, not that it was hard in his state. "No, I mean...how did you _know_? How'd you know out of every possibility in the world that was what you wanted to do? You're sure as shit dedicated to it."

A bright blush followed Gavin's lips rising in a smile. She hadn't meant it as a compliment, just an observation, but she was glad he took it well. Lifting a shoulder, Gavin tried to shrug but his arms were too weary. "I don't know. I always have. Any other option put before me I didn't wish for. Just this. Only this."

His cheap shoes slipped in the mud, unable to get any traction. Myra quickly slotted an arm under his, her fingers grabbing onto his hard bicep to keep him upright. Hard, firm, muscle filled bicep. Before she let the idea drip down to her heart or other parts, she slid a hand under his arm and tried to provide a bit of leverage with the heavy bucket.

Gavin turned to her, no doubt to tell her he didn't need help, but Myra cut him off, "I wish I had your kind of assurance."

He snorted, "Really? I thought you said watering a stump until flowers grew was stupid?"

Together they dumped the bucket onto the dead wood, watching the runoff bubble up through the already oversaturated ground. As Gavin leaned back, Myra picked up the empty bucket and they both turned to the well. "I guess it's not so stupid if you've got a good reason to do it."

* * *

In the end Myra remained by his side for a good half hour more. While Gavin felt exhausted beyond measure, as if someone flayed half the muscles off of his bones, having her help lightened the load. She told him a bit about Denerim, her mother, how her life had gone since she returned from the refuge. And he filled her in on how he wound up out here and that the plan his family made for his future was thrown fully into chaos.

When the dinner bell rang, Myra glanced around guilty and said she had to get back home or her mother would send an entire squad out to find her. It seemed a rather funny joke until Myra began to list exactly which member of her mother's agency would kick in which doors.

As she was about to skip away, leaving Gavin hungry, sunburnt, and alone to handle his task, he called out, "I forgive you." Perhaps it was the delirium of his exhaustion, but he could have sworn her cheeks lit up red when he did.

In the end, his Knight came for him once the supper hour had ended. She cast an eye over the muddy ground and the flowerless stump before handing him a bit of blackened bread and telling him to get to bed after he cleaned all the mud off himself. The next day, as Gavin was walking around the palace with Ser Daryan's spare kit, he happened past the old stump.

Most of the water around it had dried up, but sitting inside a knot as if they grew there by themselves was a bouquet of vibrant wildflowers. Unable to help himself, Gavin stopped to smell them before heading off to finish his chores.

## Chapter Seven

### Cattle Call

Piles of unguents spread across the vanity as Rosamund honed in on a stray red spot square in the center of her forehead. She'd already gotten her lips done up, and the eyes. Evie had to handle the swipe of kohl, Rosie's hands so steady when holding an arrow somehow shook like a rattle when it was a makeup brush, causing the line of black to twist like a river. Sticking her bottom lip out wider, as if that might plump them up to fit the style, Rosie kept flicking at the pimple. It didn't help the blasted thing to go down, only enflamed it further, but constantly messing with it made her feel better.

"My lady," one of her handmaidens tried to get their future queen to knock it off. Appearance, which on the surface people claimed to not be important, was in fact everything.

"I hope everyone in here is decent," a male voice echoed from the door outside. Rosie cast a quick eye out of her mirror to spy that they were already in their gowns for the evening.

Not waiting for an answer, Cailan cracked open the latch and peered inside. His ice blue eyes darted around the room, the twenty year old tipping his head to their various cousins and Rosie's older friends. Some of her handmaidens had been chosen by the princess, Tess being one of the longest standing friends -- daughter to a Bann near South Reach. The rest were forced upon her by her mother who thought it was in her daughter's best interest to share her good fortune by giving all her cousins jobs. At least until they too married off to high positioned men angling for knighthoods and the like. It seemed superfluous, but Rosie'd be happy when they were all gone.

Evie cast a snarl at the prince sliding into the room, while Tess turned and smiled, "Why, my dear lord Cailan, is that doublet new?"

Running a hand down the silver trim upon wool as blue as his eyes, he smiled with a tip of his thin lips, "You have an excellent eye, lovely Tess." Before he could surge forward, scoop her giddy hand into his, and kiss it, Rosie cast an eye back at him through her mirror.

He knew where she drew the limits and Cailan only shrugged. Sliding in beside the vanity Rosamund remained rooted at, Cailan plucked at a few bottles absently before sighing, "Is this going to take any longer? All of your damn escorts have been chucking rocks at the walls."

The girls tittered at the idea of their escorts, chosen purely happenstance for this ball her mother put on. They all tried to take a guess at who they'd have stuck to their arm during the night, as if neither gender could be trusted alone, but Rosamund waved her hand through the air cutting it off. "Where's father?"

Cailan shrugged again, "How should I know? At least your escort will bugger on out once he's ransacked the cheese tray. Mother's certain to be hanging off my arm for the entire thing."

Chuckling at her brother's discomfort of having to do what he was told, Rosie picked up a puff and dotted her forehead to try and disguise the bump. "As if that will in anyway hinder you from charming the garters off most of the women in attendance."

He was focused on a little music box Rosie had since she was little, Cailan turning the crank in a series of threes, but she caught the twinkle in his eye. Her brother wasn't hideous, a fact that was sometimes difficult for her to admit, but he wasn't particularly handsome either. His eyes were a bit too far apart, his lips thin, his chin not as strong as it could be. But while lantern jawed knights in shining armor could strike out, Cailan would slide his way into the most beautiful woman's bed with a simple smile and lift of his shoulders. He had a confounding magic all of his own.

After placing the music box down and watching the tiny bear twirl in a circle before mauling a ranger, Cailan sighed, "Mother's been after me to 'clean up my act.' I'm the height of cleanliness. I even wash my hands before every meal, and take a bath more than once a week."

Rosie chuckled at his strain under the collar growing tighter. He acted the unaffected cad, but Cailan would always do whatever their mother asked of him. "Isn't your bride nearing the marrying age?"

"What?" he seemed to panic a moment before shaking it away. "No, she's only 16 now. I've got a good four years before they start slapping those shackles on."

"I don't know why you agreed to let mother select your wife for you," Rosamund clucked her tongue at the idea. While Queen Beatrice adored her children and would often break a few formalities for their comfort, she seemed to adore courtly matters even more. Especially those involving ones that would get her grandchildren. "Have you even met her?"

"Nope," Cailan's sight honed in on one of their not related handmaidens who was skirting in the background. "Don't care either."

"You don't care? She'd be your wife."

"A wife mother picked for me. If I like her, great. If I hate her, it's mother's fault not mine."

Rosamund shook her head, feeling the tug of the crystals woven into the braid circling the crown of her head. "That's terrible."

"That's practical, there is a difference, Sis. But so unlike you to take it. I don't know why you don't let father do his duty, marry you off to some fancy lord in another country that can't even speak our language. It's so much easier than your mess."

"Ha," Rosie rolled her eyes, "easier. You have no concept of what would be easier in such matters." While Cailan had someone try to drill policy into his head, all of it dripped out the other side. He had a vague concept of what ruling required, but didn't really care to ever practice it.

"Perhaps," Cailan twisted back from the vanity and crossed to the middle of the room, "but all I know is tonight I am free to take my pleasures wherever I wish."

"Provided our mother isn't looking," Rosie added, tipping her head at his annoyance. Abandoning her toilette, she rose off the seat and tried to smooth down her golden dress. Ivory roses circled up and down the bodice that clung in a tight and revealing V. There was a lot of dragon bone inside the corset to support her bosoms, the things practically shoved up to her chin. She had a few favorite dresses in her closet she'd have preferred for the evening, but mother insisted on this one. It was the most stunning for her figure even if she could barely breathe.

"Are you finally ready?" Cailan groaned, clearly wanting to get this over with. He bent over to fiddle with the ties around his calves, then mussed with the white tights.

"I am," Rosie nodded, "but we're missing someone."

He finally took stock of every female face in Rosie's room to notice one tall one missing. "Damn it. She's always late."

On cue, the sound of feet clopping through the hall and a loud call of 'sorry, sorry,' echoed past. Both siblings turned as the door opened to reveal their half-sister standing there. Her face was beet red from a no doubt sprint through Denerim itself to make it in time.

"Sorry I'm late," Myra gasped before tugging off her cloak and moving to toss it onto a sofa. Some of the cousins glared at her intruding, but Cailan and Rosie chuckled.

"Let me guess," Cailan spoke first, "there was a dastardly murder in some back alley."

"More a turned over fruit stand and escaped chickens eating all the profits," Myra grumbled before trying to smooth down her dress. "Do I have any feathers on my ass?"

Cailan didn't answer, but Rosamund stepped closer and checked, "No. Your dress is quite lovely." It was a simple yellow a-line with lace ruffles at the quarter sleeves and the hems.

"Uh, thanks," she batted at her hair, trying to shove the downed strands behind her ears before gulping in more air. "Yours is...really shiny."

Rosie laughed at the fact, "I hate it." Her half-sister took after her mother with a body type perfect for shapeless frocks that wouldn't pinch or pull and keep the wearer from being able to sit or take in a breath. She was often jealous of how easily Myra could yank out an old tunic, knot ribbon around the midsection and call it good.

"This one's nothing special," Myra confessed to Rosie. "Mom got it off a rack at..." Someone scoffed behind them, and Myra's eyes deadened a moment. She glanced towards the offender but didn't point them out.

"If we're done admiring each other's dresses," Cailan interrupted the awkward moment, "I'd like to get a move on before all the good wine's taken."

"Is it the good wine you're worried about missing out on or the good jugs?" Myra asked, then nudged an elbow towards Evie to see if she got the joke. The woman scoffed, twisting away before falling into line behind Rosie, as if the princess would protect her.

Rolling her eyes at the entire proceedings, Rosamund turned to the others. "Go and find your escorts." The girls squealed again, all of them dashing through the door to be assigned their would-be courters for the evening. If Rosie was lucky, it'd be for life.

"I assume father is waiting at the stairs," she asked Cailan.

Her brother shrugged, "When isn't he?"

"I'll, uh, head down on my own," Myra said, jabbing a thumb back in the direction of the ballroom. Father always invited her to every one of the dances and banquets at the palace. She didn't attend them all, and earlier came along with her mother, but there were very explicit orders to not treat Myra like a pariah. Unfortunately, there also wasn't precedent to get her an escort or a place in the royal family line either. At least she seemed to be able to roll with it. Rosie wished she could say the same for herself.

After smoothing her skirt one last time, Rosie broke away from Cailan who headed in the direction of their mother's apartments. No doubt she'd have to give him the once over before letting him out into the world proper. The princess took the first stairs which led to the full case. Her gloved hand skirted across the railing, trailing it to make certain her heeled shoes didn't wobble. Even in them, Rosie had to look up most people's noses. She had to be blessed with not only her mother's looks but body size as well.

Turning a corner, Rosie caught a servant standing beside the wall. The elf held a tray in his hands and kept rocking back and forth on his feet while fingers were constantly swiping at the piles of pattéd crackers without thought. There was only one person in the entire castle who could get away with usurping a whole serving tray before the official party began.

"Father," Rosamund said, her fingers digging into the skirts to lift them high as she emerged onto the landing of the big staircase to make their entrance.

"Rosie!" the King gasped through a mouth crammed full of crackers. Crumbs shot from his lips like dust shaken off carpets and he smiled wide. Someone made their haphazard King dress properly for this in a doublet that was a bit stuffier than Cailan's but dapper none the less.

"I see Charles put in a lot of hard work," Rosamund tipped her head to the clean and polished shine of her father's outfit.

He ran a hand against his stomach and then smiled. There were few things that didn't make the beloved king smile. "You think? Maker knows I don't make it easy on him. Oh, do you want any of the... What were these called?" he turned to the servant who looked about to panic. They must have shipped in extras for the party, the in-house ones knew their kings quirks well.

"I can't remember, Sire," the man gasped to his king, the tray rattling at his failure.

But Alistair smiled, "Long name for such a tiny thing, but they're tasty. Give my compliments to whoever squeezed it out of the goose and scraped it across the cracker."

The elven man blushed an even deeper red and tried to bow. No doubt her father spotted the man making for the ballroom and absconded him away. Who could say no to the King after all? Turning, the servant tried to offer up one to Rosie, but she held her hand up. "No, thank you."

"Are you certain? I know they look like grey baby poop, but it's really good."

Rosie slipped a hand over her father's to get into position and allow the servant to return to his duties. "I'm afraid if I eat a single cracker while wearing this the seams of my dress will pop."

Below them, the band stopped and then a line of horns lifted to chapped lips. Her father, as always, took one step lower on the stairs before it was time. Rosie sighed and tugged him back up beside her. Shrugging as if it was all an accident and not him misbehaving when he could get away with it, the King -- with their crowned princess in hand -- officially stepped into the ballroom. All eyes turned from their drinks and dinner to watch the pair descend.

Rosamund had done this probably dozens of times since the crowning ceremony. That was when her mother the Queen officially shifted to the other staircase with her son while the King and future queen stepped down to present a united front. With each step, the anxiety circling her ankles rose higher. What if she fell? Would her father catch her or would she take him down too? There were so many eyes dissecting her looking for a weakness to exploit. What if she crumbled into a weeping mess over nothing? It never happened before but there was a first time for anything.

Fingers patted over top of hers and her narrowing vision twisted over to her father. He scrunched up a single eye, his assuring wink dredging up all the smile lines he'd accrued over his lifetime at this. "You're doing just fine," he whispered, "but if I were to trip and fall...."

"I'd catch you," Rosie said certainly.

"I was going to say you'd have the best seat in the house," her father winked at her to land his joke.

Sucking in a breath that barely lifted the dragon bones pinching into her sides, Rosamund let her foot land upon the marble of the ballroom. Her father removed his guiding hand but didn't wander too far away. In truth, he seemed about as excited to be here as he would in a meeting.

All the eyes that'd been sizing up her dress, her hair, and her poise now pivoted to the goofy king. Somehow that judgmental haze snapped away; no one expected much from Alistair, which suited him just fine. "Friends, Banns, Countrymen, that man back there trying to sneak away an entire shrimp cocktail in his trousers," he jabbed a finger towards the anterior ballroom to find this shellfish thief. All the guests turned to follow, the man trying to shrink in on himself even as cocktail sauce stains appeared like magic from the inside of his pants.

Clapping his hands, Alistair drew them all back. There was going to be some big speech, a fancy way to draw together whatever reason they were celebrating into a neat package. Eventually the speeches would pass to Rosamund, but not for many years. Sitting in on meetings was one thing, but publicly summarizing an entire gathering in a few poignant sentences was beyond her.

"Thanks for coming tonight and please do have fun," Alistair said before taking a small bow. Polite applause broke through the crowd, fingers gently thudding into gloves as her father turned away to, sure enough, eye up the cheese tray.

"That was it?" Rosie gasped, trailing after her father in surprise. "Surely you had to announce something else, something about..."

Turning on his heel, her father chuckled, "Spud, no one listens to what I have to say. It's just that I say something. Otherwise they're all stuck standing around trapped forever in a small talk loop while the wine gets warm and the food goes cold."

"Oh," she felt her cheeks lighting up under the false rouge. It was so simple but...it had always seemed magical before. When she was little, she'd sometimes rush ahead or sit by her old nanny's legs while waiting for her father to appear. He'd say the special words and then a party happened, royalty casting its noble spell. Rosie was certain there had to be more to it than 'have fun, don't break anything.'

Sighing, her father stretched his neck and glanced around, "Not seeing a lot of people I need to talk to." Need to him was code for 'Karelle would fricassee him if he dared to snub them.' Rosie turned to follow, surprised to find very few Arls or even Banns around. She wasn't 100% certain what the ball was in honor of, but there was always a great cluster of nobility hanging around. All the faces she saw were young, scrubbed squeaky clean, and dressed in their houses best. Curious.

"Wait, I do see someone," Alistair made a beeline through piles of young couples all speaking to each other. When the king dipped into their circle, they'd all stop, attempt to bow and be polite to their majesty, while he kept on plowing past. Rosie tried to offer a few apologies but the people returned to each other without a thought. A ring of her father's Knights stood at attention around the exits. It was more a show of force than for any real security, but it did make Rosamund feel better to know they were around.

She assumed her father wished to speak to one of them, but instead of a face perched above a neck of metal, he turned to one of the squires at the sides. This one was wearing a frock of forest green with three silver serpents fighting against a mabari on the front of his chest. Judging by how it strained against his frame looking about to shred to tatters if he sneezed, it hadn't been intended for him originally.

The...it was hard to call him a boy, but that was what squires were. He stared at the distant horizon, seemingly unimpressed by the offerings of the rich and powerful mucking about. Seemingly so lost in his own world it wasn't until the King nearly trod upon his toes that he snapped awake.

"Gavin!" her father shouted, actually throwing his arms around the lad and tugging him in for a hug.

"Y...your Highness," this Gavin stuttered. His eyes darted over to his Knight who was suddenly very curious about why the King was hugging her errand boy.

"How are you? Got you all settled in, I see," Alistair twisted his chin up to the woman glaring at them, "Daryan. She's not giving you the run around, right?"

"No, Sir," Gavin shook his head, then suddenly grimaced and tacked on, "Sire, I mean."

"You look...Maker's breath, you're tall. You're taller than me. Here..." Then her father pulled the poor, beleaguered boy away from the wall and stood back to back with him. Running his hands over the top of his hair, Alistair measured the distance between that and the boy's shaved head. "Damn, when did that happen?"

"I, sometime a year or so ago," Gavin stuttered. He was so lost and frightened he began to crouch lower as if it was illegal for a citizen to be taller than his king. Unaware he may have caused any offense, Alistair slugged him in the shoulder and half hugged him back to his full strapping height.

"Bet it's your mother's doing there."

Gavin's eyes bulged a moment, those striking amber colors darting all around as if the King just divulged a well hidden secret. "S...sire?"

"You know, cause her family's either well, like her, or like your..." Alistair leaned closer to Gavin's ear, but Rosamund could still hear him whisper, "Qunari invasion stopping, mage rebellion starting aunt."

"Ah," Gavin nodded as if grateful. "Yes. I forgot that you...you and my mother were, are friends."

For a pang her father smiled wistfully as if something stung him. "We certainly try to be. But I'm probably taking you from your very important duties of standing in place and guarding that wall. We can get caught up later."

The poor squire took a deep breath as the monarch he was devoted to serve slid away. Suddenly, Alistair's eyes darted back to his daughter and he slapped his forehead so loudly the sound broke over the small talk and music. "I forgot, Gavin this is my daughter Rosie. Rosie, this is..."

"Gavin, I presume," she smiled and with a tender touch dipped her fingers into his palm. The man looked gobsmacked, his hand barely circling over hers in a handshake. All he could manage was to gawp while staring at her in terror.

"Yes'm. I mean, that'd be me, my lady. Majesty. Um, princess?"

His near on panic oddly soothed Rosie's and she couldn't stop the smile of gratefulness at having it washed away from her. "Do you have a family name, lord Gavin?"

"It's, uh," he gulped again, seeming to not want to spit it out. Strange. It wasn't beyond the realm for her father to make friends in the oddest of places. He somehow owed nearly fifty sovereigns to the head cook. But it wasn't as if the King would befriend a person with a dark past, much less invite him to the palace.

Alistair slid in next to his daughter and said, "He's Lanny's boy. You know..." her father tipped his head towards Fort Drakon and Rosamund gasped.

_How did she miss it?_ "Maker's breath, of course! Your mother is...and your father, both are beloved and good people."

"You know her?" Gavin seemed surprised at that.

"In fact, little Rosie here was at their wedding." Her father wrapped an arm around her and smiled, "As I remember she stole a bunch of flowers, grabbed half the cake with her frosting-coated hands, and then fell asleep during the first dance right on the floor."

"Da-ad," Rosamund groaned, trying to peel away his grip and treacly sentiment. It was so hard for him to see her as anything other than a six year old girl.

Alistair chuckled at her embarrassment, but released his hug. "I believe that's my cue to get the void out of here and let all you young people have fun. If anything big happens -- orlesian invasions, dragon attacks, a Bann gets drunk enough to jump off a three story ledge, I'll be in my rooms. Oh, and Gavin, do stop by when you have a moment in the next few days. I'm...around." Sliding away without a care in the world, the king of Ferelden snuck a few cheesepuffs off a tray before he slunk back up the stairs he descended only five minutes before.

"Were you, did you really attend my parent's wedding?" Gavin spoke to her before he shut his eyes tight as if that was the wrong thing to say to a princess.

Rosamund smiled, "Yes, though everything else my father claimed was...an elaboration on his part."

"He does those often," the Knight beside Gavin huffed.

He may be foolish at times, but he was still her father and their King. Rosamund felt indignant, as if she should rescue her father's reputation, when she caught Cailan gliding through the throngs on the arm of their mother. There was something she needed to ask him before he did vanish deep into the casks.

"If you will excuse me Ser Daryan and squire Gavin," Rosamund plucked up her gown and moved to slide away.

Behind her, Gavin gasped out, "You look lovely this evening, your Majesty." He looked as if he'd been trying for days to spit that out, his entire chest collapsing in on itself while he held his breath.

"Thank you," she tipped her head, uncertain what to do with the sentiment. Shaking away the strange encounter with the boy, Rosamund pirouetted around the piles of young people. All of them were her age or slightly older. It wasn't the Banns and Arls who'd normally attend, but their children all herded together into the ballroom for some reason.

As she reached close to Cailan's side, her brother clinging to their mother's arm, she whispered, "I need to speak to you."

"Rosie, the belle of the ball herself," Cailan chuckled, enjoying this far too much. "Why are you wasting your breath upon me?"

She was about to ask what was going on, when her mother turned to her. Queen Beatrice was not a cold woman, she wasn't strict or harsh, but she was neat. A lot of Rosamund's early memories were of her mother pinning things in place, washing out spots, and taking the time to hide away any imperfections. Her father was the exact opposite, he all but relished in the unfinished wood or brushstrokes of life.

For this dance, the Queen spared no expense. Her grey hair, once as dark as her children's, was pinned up so tight it was doubtful even air could get in. The dress was stuffy but elegant, cornflower blues and ochre golds circling her trim waist as they expanded off her hips in a gigantic circle. No doubt the scaffolding under her dress could make a dwarf weep in joy.

"I assume your father has already abandoned the ceremonies," Beatrice pursed her lips together in annoyance. "This should not come as a surprise and yet I'd hoped..."

"Mother," Rosamund slid closer to her to be able to hear her soft voice. She was a few inches taller than the petite Queen, but in the scheme of things it wasn't much. "What is going on? Why are we celebrating? What are we celebrating with a ball?"

Beatrice patted her daughter's gloved hands as if she should have figured it all out by now.

It was her damn brother who sputtered out a laugh, "Can't you see? It's your betrothal market show."

"What?!" Rosamund shot up, trying to scan the mass of bodies. This time she noticed how many male eyes turned to her as if she was the only strip of meat on a lonely buffet.

"You parade around from arm to arm, get a bit flirty -- assuming you can flirt -- while all the men here attempt to win you over. How in the Maker's name did you not know?"

She ignored her snake of a brother to hone in on her mother who no doubt schemed exactly this. "Do not pull that face, young lady," Beatrice scolded her. "You are twenty four, nearing your twenty fifth year. You need to find a husband to put on the throne beside you."

"Twenty four is not that..." Rosamund began, but her mother clucked her tongue.

"Your father is not getting any younger. And the entire bannorn would feel much more secure if you were to be officially wed and be on your way to producing an heir before you reach twenty five."

Blighted hell! "Twenty five? Not just married but with child already? Is it not enough for me to be a good Queen? To rule properly and learn how to manage the kingdom with a just hand?" She felt the corset constricting, cutting tighter into her chest with each breath. This couldn't be happening. She had time, lots of time. Her father didn't have her until he was in his thirties.

"Rosamund," her mother chastised her, "you must do all of those things and also bear the next fruit in this tree. That is how this works."

"Ha," Cailan chuckled, "and all you were hoping for was the shiny hat and chair."

"You as well, young man. They will want a larger royal family to expand upon."

Rosamund rolled her eyes wide, "Pretty sure Cailan's way ahead of me on working at that goal."

Their kind, normally shrewd but sometimes too trusting mother blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?" she tipped her head as if she was under the delusion her little boy was yet a virgin.

"Never mind," Rosie waved her hands in the air to dismiss the thought. "You can't be serious. To, I haven't prepared anything. I don't know these men. What are their credentials? Have they ever shown an ability to govern?"

"My dear child," Beatrice wrapped a hand around her daughter and sighed, "there is little preparing in this matter. Speak to them, charm them, dazzle them with your wit. A good match will in turn bob to the surface."

Rosamund pursed her lips, her toe tapping into the floor. They wanted her to be the pretty princess wrapped in jewels and good fortune for the man that claimed her. The beautiful woman who glided from arm to arm and all without any prep work. She didn't just walk up to someone without being briefed, it never worked that way in her entire life. And now she was being sent out into the shark infested waters armed only with a smile.

"I..." Beatrice's assuring smile chipped away, as her usually genial mother all but hissed at a man sliding along the edges. Unlike all the men she had shipped in for the night, this one was older. Perhaps in his late 50s, with a bald plate at the top of his head. When he caught the Queen's eye he tipped his head and then shifted through the crowds towards them. For a moment, Beatrice gripped so tightly onto Rosamund's hand the princess yelped in pain.

"Good evening, my Queen," the man said, bowing deeply in Beatrice's direction. When he snapped back up, his ice blue eyes burned in their mother's. It felt strangely intimate, as if the rest of the ballroom faded away while these two strangers stared at each other. Shaking it away, the man turned to both Rosamund and then Cailan. At the boy he blinked a bit, his lips falling slack.

"And who are these two?"

"The crowned princess Rosamund," Beatrice waved her hand at Rosie, who at her mother's look grabbed onto her skirts and did a small curtsy so this stranger wouldn't touch her. "And the prince Cailan."

While Cailan was far too enraptured watching one of the girls skipping around the edge to notice the hungry way this strange man stared at him, when he turned back he grabbed onto his hand and shook it. "Who might you be?"

"I am, I was Brother Cordell," he said with such gravity it felt as if it should mean something to them. Cailan and Rosie shared a look, both feeling it, then Cailan shrugged. The man narrowed his eyes and added, "I am also..."

"Here to see me," Beatrice spoke up, wrapping a protective hand around the once-brother's arm. When she gripped down, Rosie watched the shirt and brother's arm muscle bulge. "Come along, sir. Let us leave the children in peace." With her death grip, their mother tugged this stranger along into a side room. Not even a lady in waiting trailed her, all of them too enraptured in the goings on of the dance.

"That was strange," Rosie mused to herself. Her mother was rarely alone with other men, save 'Uncle' Geoffrey, and in all her life she'd never seen her mother look as if she wanted to devour someone in one bite. "Cailan," she slapped her brother's arm, "what do you make of that?"

"Huh?" He was once again pulled from his favorite sport and frowned. "Mother's making some back deal, she does it all the time. Oh sis," Cailan grabbed onto her shoulders and situated her to stand in front of him. "You can't get away from it."

He was right. Rosamund wasn't anywhere near as powerful as her father. She was the responsible one, he was the fool. It wasn't true, not all the time, but the reputation, the illusion itself served him well. While her father was free to run from duty, it ensnared her every breath. There was no way she could vanish from this.

Cailan slapped her once more on the arm and then gave her a soft shove forward. "Your future husband awaits."

## Chapter Eight

### Girl of Nots

Myra stood out like a sore thumb that was turning purple at these things. She knew she was as welcomed as another blight by all those women that flocked around her sister, but that made Myra more likely to tug one of her three dress options out of the closet and head on up to the palace. Swaying back and forth in a circle, Myra had one hand cinched up under her lacy chest, while the other kept waving with the music. On the dance floor, all those handmaidens kept giggling while they forced the squires and other servants rounded up to be their dates to give a spin. It was kinda funny watching the ladies pretend it was all romantic while the lords looked as if they wished to climb the walls to escape.

She gave it two to one odds one of the women would go in for a kiss, the guy would turn in terror to flee, and knock over the punchbowl. At least the food was good. Lately, her mother'd been leaving cooking duties to whoever was on the board. It wasn't bad when it was Lunet, who could stew things up like nobody's business, but the dwarves were the worst. Their idea of cooking was taking a hunk of bread and dipping it into things. Not even normal things. Once they left out a spread of mustard and maple syrup as if that had anything to do with the other.

Myra knew the game they were playing. Oh poor me, I'm so incompetent, I can't be trusted to handle a simple task. You must assign it to someone more worthy who can deal with something as trivial as cooking. Too bad that trick never worked on her mother. She'd tried it ten times to get out of laundry.

"Excuse me, my Lady," a man spoke to her as his elbow swooped near her dangling arm. Myra shifted out of the way to avoid the hit, while her eyes darted up to him with a question. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure."

"Pleasure of what?"

"Of...um," his pale cheeks, scrubbed and shaved as smooth as a new babe's, turned salmon pink at her question. "I'm afraid I'm not certain. It's..."

"Myra!" She knew that voice. Turning, Myra spotted her sister surrounded by a halo of slavering men. They all held up drinks and tiny tastes of food as if that might tempt Rosie to turn to a single one of them. Like she was some alley dog who'd just follow them home. Waving her hands and arching an eyebrow for help, the princess smiled sweetly, "Come join us."

After shrugging at the pleasure guy, Myra inched into the group and smiled wide, "What's up, Rossie?" A few eyes darted skyward, as if there was an honest answer to her greeting. Maker, how could they all be this dense? Was there a lack of air out in the Bann estates or something? Poisoned well water?

"I was hoping you could delight us all with one of your daring adventures," Rosie was in true form. Her eyes sparkled, her smile never dimmed, and her fingers looked as if she wanted to strangle the skirt jammed inside of them. The latter was to keep a guy from shoving food or drink in her palm, or snatch her onto the dance floor.

Myra's eyes darted around the options. She sort of recognized a few of the guys but they all ran together in a blur. Nearly the same haircut, the color changed a bit but not to like pink or purple. That'd be memorable. Same watery features. All about the same age. There was a noble look to the fancy Fereldens. It wasn't in the outfits or the hairstyle, but the blood. High foreheads, smaller noses, thin lips, a stout chin, and slightly wide-set eyes. Myra was the only one in the group who stood out as different and off.

"Well, let me think," she made a show of putting a finger on her chin. "There was the time we had to stop a trio of smugglers that thought they were moving a live dragon egg through Denerim's streets."

"Really?" a boy turned to her. Oh yeah, that was the other thing, everyone here was young. Not as young as Myra, but in that mid 20's range. No one reached above thirty for certain. Bit weird for a castle party to skew that young.

Putting on a big smile, Myra turned to the guy who asked and said, "That part wasn't exciting, it was when they tried to return the egg that things got really neat. See..."

"Princess," a new voice spoke overtop of Myra as if she wasn't even there.

"It turned out that--"

"If I may be so bold..."

Myra didn't give an inch, raising her voice to be heard, "-it wasn't a dragon egg at all..."

"To ask you a question..."

"It was really--"

The interloper smiled wide, inching closer to Rosie, "You and I should slip onto the dance floor together."

"A rock the whole time!" Myra shouted at the top of her lungs, which was the exact moment the band stopped thumping the floor and every eye in the place swiveled to the loud half-blood. Shrinking lower into her dress' modest neckline, Myra's eyes hunted around the circle of young men like a wounded animal. Maybe if she dashed under the buffet table no one would spot her hiding.

"Well?" the boy clinging to Rosamund's elbow wouldn't give up. He looked older than the rest here, out of his mid-20s for sure but even more ragged. And hungry. The others were politely pretending to play the game, but he was going to stampede over them all to get what he wanted.

Too bad he had to compete against Rosie.

Daintily dipping her elbow low, Rosamund shook his fingers off without a thought. She kept her smile plastered on, her eyes beaming as she glanced at the men surrounding her. "My lord Eldon," Rosie bowed her head a moment as if in deference to the pig slime. "The dance floor is quite full up with talented young men and women. I see no reason to cause it to buckle under any new weight. Nor, would I think it proper for me to abandon my sister in the middle of her exciting story."

Lord Fartface blanched at how quickly Rosie dismantled all his arguments before he could make them. He snarled a moment, jabbing a finger as if he could browbeat the princess into giving him what he wanted. But that sure as shit wasn't going to work. Abandoning his plans, Eldon sighed and slapped a hand into his thigh, "As you say, your Highness."

"Now," Rosie spun back to Myra, "this dragon rock..." A new sound broke through the din and Rosamund turned to find Cailan in what looked like the middle of an about to be brawl. "Blighted hell, now what? If you will excuse me," Rosie apologized before clipping over to their brother to no doubt grab him by the ear. She was good at that when dad wasn't around. Shit, she was better at it than dad. Sometimes Myra was surprised the king wouldn't join in with Cailan's antics just for the fun of it.

While a few of the young men who were sniffing for a taste of the crown wandered off, the pleasure one remained by Myra's side. He coughed a moment, running a hand through his hair and gripping tighter to the glass of wine he'd been carrying all night. "This rock you found..." he began to get her attention.

Myra glanced over, an eyebrow lifting in confusion. She hadn't found the rock, that was the whole point of the story. About to explain that fact to the boy who wasn't listening to her, he interrupted to say, "You have the greenest eyes I've ever seen. Like a fresh green apple I want to take a bite out of."

"Uh..." Myra gulped, those apple eyes darting around in a panic that he might suddenly make good on that threat.

He tipped his head to the side and inched closer, "Your sister also has lovely green eyes. It's a gorgeous trait to share between two beauties."

Myra sneered, her dangling fingers bunching up a moment, "Rosie gets her green eyes from her mother." The boy nodded along as if that made perfect sense, when she tried to calmly explain, "And I get mine from my mother." No doubt her sister would have laughed the fumble off, or treated it like a charming anecdote. Myra didn't have the skill to keep from thinking "Idiot, idiot, idiot" in her brain.

"They're so large..." pleasure boy continued, proving he wasn't listening to a word she said. Myra could have claimed her mother was a dragon and he'd have nodded dumbly and kept trying to stare down her dress. Well, joke's on you buddy, there's not much to find down there.

"Oi," Eldon who had to be some fancy Bann's son stomped over and got into the guy's face. "Knock it off, Woolsey. You don't waste your time with the bastard half-blood."

Myra's fists bunched up tight, her eyes darting around this pompous windbag's body. She'd go for the throat first. No, the eyes. Jam her thumbs in fast to blind him and then... A breath caught in her throat as she realized her body was frozen in place. She wanted to shoot lightning off her hands but they wouldn't lift. She wanted to grab a sword off the wall and teach that Lord Fuckstick that he should be careful who he dismissed. But she couldn't move.

"Uh," Woolsey glanced over at Myra before falling into the proper lord's good graces. "Right." And just like that, the only one willing to give Myra the time of day was chastised back into thinking she was some dirty, half-elven whore.

Damn it!

Swiping at her eyes like a bit of makeup got in there, as if her mother would let her wear any, Myra was able to stuff the tears away. Not now. Don't let them know they could sting her. It wasn't worth it. They weren't worth it.

All the gild and glamour faded as it always did. They weren't highborn lords and ladies trading high wit about arts, politics, and horses, but a bunch of young adults all but beating their fists against chests and flashing their asses to get laid. It was all a stupid farce and she shouldn't have come. Myra let her fists loose, prepared to grab all the food she could steal and run off to freedom when a hand bumped into her.

She turned, expecting to come face to face with another asshole human, but it was an elf instead. Bryn winked at her and smiled. Confused but grateful to have some kind of backup, Myra grabbed her friend's hand only to realize the other was clutching a silver platter. "What are you doing here?"

"Stealing the dishes," Bryn rolled her eyes, "what's it look like I'm doing? They called us in special, seems this little party was a bit off the books."

"Explains the guest list. Have you seen anyone proper all night?" Myra asked.

"It's nothing but humans. Ain't no one proper," Bryn whispered with a hand covering her mouth and the girls giggled. Technically, Myra was a human. She looked like one more or less, but her blood was more elven than not.

"Did ya see?" Bryn spoke to cover over their shared secret.

"What?" Myra felt as if she saw both nothing and too much already.

Bryn waved her serving tray towards the back wall, "Your old boyfriend's here too."

"What are you on about...?" Myra asked as she followed her friend's point. A few knights stood guard, so stiff and wooden they may as well have just put the armor on a stand. Her eyes darted down them until she had to slide back up to spot a familiar brown face above a deep green. The blush was instantaneous. "He's not my boyfriend."

"Not with that attitude," Bryn laughed. "Go on, go say hi. I'm sure he's bored out of his skull standing there."

Myra tried to remember if she was allowed to talk to the squires. She never wanted to before, or if she had she wouldn't have cared about the rules. But getting him into trouble seemed mean. And after how mean she was before to him... Then again, Gavin may be the noblest of them all at this thing. She picked up her skirt and tried to navigate around the crowd, when Cailan met her coming the other way.

"No new bruises," Myra called to her brother.

He spun on his heel and bowed widely, "The night is young. May I have one?" The latter half was turned upon Bryn who extended the platter to the prince.

Cailan popped something into his mouth and barely chewed before gasping, "Maker, may I say this food is nearly a tenth as delectable as you are?"

"I can't seem to stop you, my Lord," her friend was blushing, staring into his damn eyes as if there was no one else in the room.

"And if I may be even bolder, could you tell me your name?"

"Bryn." Even as Myra faded deeper into the swell of partygoers she could spot a flush rising on her friend's cheeks. Maker, Bryn. Come on, that's Cailan. He flirts with anything that moves.

Her brother tipped his head as if she told him a sacred secret. "Well, Lady Bryn..."

"It's just Bryn."

That wicked smile lifted and he spoke, "With a woman as beautiful as you, it's never just." Suddenly, Cailan glanced back at something coming for him. "Ah, if you will excuse me, I seem to be required far over there." Snatching up another amused bush and popping it into his mouth, her brother finally left the poor elven servant girl alone as he swam back into the mass of skirts.

Myra tried to ignore the sick feeling crawling up her skin at the idea of her brother flirting with her best friend. It shouldn't surprise her, Cailan never turned it off, but Bryn was smarter than that. Surely she'd see right through his brand of bullshit and... Risking a glance back, Myra caught her roomie waving her empty silver platter back and forth in front of her face like a fan.

Oh boy. Lunet was going to love hearing about this one.

Shaking it off, she walked closer to her only salvation from this mess of rich snots. Gavin seemed to have shifted all of his weight from one foot to the other, no doubt to stave off boredom. Well, Myra smiled to herself, she knew a few good ways to keep him entertained. She raised her hand, about to call his attention, when those amber eyes darted to the left and right into the emerald green ones of her sister.

She couldn't hear what Rosie said, but it was clear she was speaking to Gavin rather informally. He kept his hands behind his back, nodding at whatever the princess was telling him to do. Perhaps she wanted a window open, or for him to track down more wine...

Suddenly, Gavin's lips cracked apart and a hearty laugh escaped. Or she was telling him a joke. Such a good joke, it required her to grip onto his upper arm in solidarity. Whatever Gavin's response was to be was cut short by Rosie spinning back towards a mob of future dowagers. She waved her perfect little fingers at them, and then slipped into the throngs.

And the entire time amber eyes watched her body, her shapely form, glide across the ballroom as if she was born to it. She was. The golden princess, their one great hope to continue the line. Perfect face, perfect hair, perfect... Myra felt a spark leap off her fingers and she stared in horror at her hands.

It'd been years since she last lost control. Okay a year, a few months at least. Shaking her hands as if they fell asleep, Myra found her eyes wanting to turn back to Gavin but her head locked in place. Instead, her body took her towards the stairs. She didn't realize she grabbed onto the railings as she flew up them until Myra was nearly halfway up. Thanks to her long legs, she was able to take them two sometimes three at a time.

A few servants eyed up the not-princess appearing before them. They looked about to either explain the party was downstairs or that they weren't taking a break, when Myra stomped to the first door she found and stepped inside. Blissful darkness enveloped her. It was one of the side guest rooms. Piles of some random girls typical dresses lay strewn about the bed. They had to break out the fancy ones for tonight. Myra only caught a quick look, but she knew in her heart that even those castoffs were of a finer make than what she was wearing.

The damn thing wasn't even long enough for her. While all the other girls skirts brushed against the floor, requiring them to daintily pick it up lest they get dirty, Myra could run through a lawn and not risk any grass stains. It was out of style, it was terribly boring, it was the only damn thing she had to wear.

Rather than confront that nagging voice, Myra yanked open the windows. The latch was simple, giving in quickly to her as she flung open the shutters to find a smattering of stars across the night's sky. It looked like sugar crystals spilled over black velvet. At least she could enjoy the Maker's bounty without having to say the right thing, or look the right way.

Hopping onto the window railing, Myra glanced around the outer eaves of the palace. This was where it cut in to make a sort of U shape, the next wing over sat so close she could jump to it. Maybe. Probably not off this narrow ledge, but from the roof for sure.

She left her shoes on the windowsill and rose up onto her bare feet. They gave a better grip, in the off chance she missed something in the dark. One foot in front of the other, Myra picked up speed dashing across the railing until she reached the end and leapt out into the plummeting darkness. It was only a second before her foot caught the room next door, but it was enough to get her heart racing. She adored those moment where there was no certainty in life, only a strangely blissful chaos. Would she make it? Would she fall? It didn't seem to matter when she could float thanks to magic, but her body didn't seem to know that.

Padding like a cat past another two windows, Myra began to feel more secure in her movements. A long balcony was ahead of her, no doubt for Rossie's fancy room. Their beloved princess had quite a few of them to her apartments. All the better to house her handmaidens with. Picking up speed, Myra leapt one foot forward onto the balcony bannister and then rolled forward to cartwheel on her hands. It was at most an inch thick of a balance, but her body never let her down. Trusting in herself, knowing she could do it, Myra easily plopped back to her feet and reached the end of the line.

The next window was higher up, but that'd require climbing... Good thing they loved stupid ornamentation outside the palace. Myra's fingers gripped onto a jutted out brick bearing a mabari and she dug her toes into the wall. Climbing high, she partially leapt upwards and grabbed the next handhold.

She may not be able to deal with fancy balls and crown stuff, but let's see Rosamund or Cailan try to do this!

At the crest, Myra swung her hands over and gripped onto a balcony's iron bars. This high up it stopped looking whimsical and a lot more serious. The entire decor screamed 'We don't want you to fall off of this window, or break out.' It wouldn't surprise her if they used to keep prisoners locked up around here.

Inching her hands along the bars, Myra glanced between her dangling feet and noticed how far down the ground was. Fall from here may not kill her but it'd certainly break something other than her pride. Her mother'd shout herself blue if she found out, but Myra had climbed much higher.

So what if he likes Rosamund? Damn near everyone does. It's hard to not like Rosie. She's the people's princess. Beautiful, kind, probably can commune with deer or fly with an eagle if she wanted to. And it's not like Myra cared. Her mother, she was the one who made Myra talk to him again. Get into his life, his face, and...talk to him.

Myra pulled herself over the railing and flopped hard onto the balcony. It felt good to have her feet hit ground, but her mind was buzzing with a lot of really angry thoughts. Like wasps, they kept stinging her brain no matter how many times she took a swipe at them. Fine. She was a bastard. She'd known it since...well, since she put two and two together that the man at her breakfast table was the same one who sat on the throne.

It wasn't a big deal. It was a name, a word people threw around, like half-blood. That was true too. Everyone knew her mother was an elf. She liked elves. They were...were they her people? Who the hell was her people?

"Well!"

Light beamed down upon Myra and she had to shield away her eyes from the window above her. As the whiteness faded, she could see a silhouette leaning out the gap. He wore a smile on his face as her father chuckled, "I see a golden finch has flown up to my windowsill."

"Dad," Myra rolled her eyes at his acting goofy, her cheeks burning.

He slid back in a moment as if to check on something, then reached down with his hand, "Would the finch like to join me inside?" Myra dug her bare foot into the cold stone, not certain if it was such a good idea. "I have warm brandy."

Leaping up, Myra caught her father's hand. When they were both younger, he'd haul her straight up while Myra dangled off him. She used to giggle like crazy every time, her dad reaching the zenith over top of his head and then hurling her higher up into the air. She loved that. This time, Myra helped. With her spare hand, she tugged her body up, her feet digging into the knots on the bars as she slid up to the even higher window.

Her dad wrapped a single arm around her shoulder in a half hug while Myra tried to smooth down her dress and check to make sure she didn't rip it. Together they walked into her father's study, if one could call it that. He rarely did any studying here, though his children often had. The King would pace about the room while Myra, or Cailan, or even Rossie sometimes would sit at the desk pretending to conduct business. He liked it when they'd order him to do something, even sealing fake proclamations in real wax.

Of course he kept every single one, even the ones that were pure gibberish before the kids learned how to write. There was a huge pile of them in a honeycomb alcove, more of the fake than real ones saved.

Her dad slid into his favorite chair that looked right into the fire. It was blue as the ocean, with a soft cushion that he'd had replaced four times. Whenever Alistair wasn't off kinging, he'd be in his study calmly reading, writing, or watching the fire pop in his favorite chair. There were often children and/or dogs crawling around on the rug below him, but tonight he sat alone. It almost seemed sad.

Funny, Myra ran out into the night because she was feeling sorry for herself and now... No, she wasn't feeling sorry, she was exhausted and couldn't breathe in there. That room was full of hot air.

While her father fiddled with a bottle on the old rocking table, Myra glanced to the wall beside his desk. That was where he put the painting. It had all three of his kids in it. There were dozens, maybe hundreds of Princess Rosamund in the castle. A good chunk of Cailan too. But that was the only one Myra ever sat for.

Sat being the operative word. She shot up a few months before the artist had them pose, scrawny Myra at eleven already a few inches taller than her fourteen year old brother. Rosie was positioned in a chair in front, her hands placed in her lap like a prim marble statue. Cailan stood to her right while Myra was painted on the left. Even in oil form she looked uncertain if she should be there; the skinny, tall blonde next to the two dark haired, well proportioned siblings.

Rosie got everything, a beautiful face, an enviable figure with the right kind of padding girls were supposed to have, power beyond imagining, and the ability to get everyone to love her. Myra got height. That was...something. Not a useful something unless they needed to reach stuff on a high shelf. The rest was all... Damn it, she hated when she felt sorry for herself.

"Here," her dad reached over with a warm mug.

Myra eyed it up a moment, "Is that hard liquor?"

"It's not that strong," he said, then winked, "besides, I won't tell your mother if you don't."

Smiling, she accepted the drink and slipped into the chair to the right of her father's. Myra curled her feet under her, the way she used to sit when she was little and he'd read her stories before she'd be taken to her little room in the palace. It'd been awhile since she last stayed up here. Every year it felt less and less like she had a reason.

"Dad," Myra said, interrupting him from taking a drink. At her look, he placed the mug onto the table and turned to her, "Are you gonna tell mom I was climbing on the windows?"

Alistair chuckled, "Are you kidding? After she was finished with you, she'd ream me out. No, I think it's best if we keep it our little secret." He bunched his lips up together like a button and Myra smiled.

Tipping the mug up, the scarlet liquid burned on her tongue and she scrunched her nose up at it. Myra swallowed a few times, trying to get the nasty taste out, when a sweetness blossomed at the end. Her dad stared at the fire, his tired eyes watching the flames rip apart the wood. He'd taken off the fancy doublet and replaced it with one of the simpler tunics Myra suspected the King hid everywhere in the castle. The second he was free of his duties, he'd strip off the uniform and head right back to comfort.

Neither said anything, Myra slowly taking a second and then third swig of this awful draught. She didn't want to say anything, just be with her dad. For a little bit.

"I'm guessing the fancy shindig isn't going so well?" her dad finally broke the solitude, his eyes turning over to hers.

Myra couldn't meet him and she shifted in her chair to face the fire, "It's fine."

"Uh huh," he cupped his hands behind his head and tipped back in his chair. Myra braced herself for him to try and drag it out, but her dad seemed content to let the hiss and pops of the fire speak for him.

It was all fine. It wasn't a big deal. She was the bastard child, the oops running around. Not meant for royalty, or the family business, a free agent doing whatever she pleased. Neither elf nor human. Neither royal nor common. Myra was...

"Dad?" her voice struck the air like a flint sundering darkness. "Why'd you have me?"

He stumbled up at that, his eyes opening wide. "Wheaty...?" he whispered his nickname for her since birth. They all had one, and all oddly food related.

"I mean, Rosie and Cailan, ya know, future royals. Got to have those. But..." Myra couldn't shake the tears building in her eyes. She stared down at the remaining brandy, her face bobbing in its crimson depths, "why me? What's the point of having a bastard--?"

"You're not a bastard," Alistair interrupted her, angry at that word. He was always mad about it. He'd all but yell at anyone who called her it when he was around. Not that it stopped people from letting Myra know exactly what it was. Exactly who she was.

Rolling her eyes at him, Myra slammed the mug down onto the table. "Dad, I'm not stupid."

"I know you're not. Your name's Myra."

"For the love of the Maker," she snorted at his terrible joke.

"And, your mother and I are married."

This again. Her mother considered it a cute little moment she could tell her daughter about when they were both missing him. When her father, swept up in feelings of romance and spectacle, did some special mage thing that counted as a sort of wedding. But to her dad, it was real. It, somehow he seemed to act like it meant more to him than his actual marriage to the Queen.

"If you love Mom so much," Myra began, her father nodding his head vigorously. As if anyone could deny their long running relationship. "Then why don't you actually marry her?"

Her dad sighed, his palms rubbing into his weary cheeks. "Myra, it's not that...it's never that simple."

"You don't love the Queen, I know that," Myra cut back with. It wasn't exactly a secret, nor was it really expected for royalty to love their spouse. The fact the King and Queen didn't even fake it somehow made everyone breathe a sigh of relief around their not posturing.

"But I love my kids," her dad said, "and divorcing Bea would..."

"Would turn Cailan and Rosie into bastards, like me," she sighed.

"Wheaty," her father seemed to fold in on himself as if the years dumped an avalanche onto his body. For a long time, her father was a giant. She remembered legs wandering back and forth, baby Myra clinging to the front while he'd shuffle her around standing on his feet. Or this big face with silly smiles and funny crinkles that swooped into her bed to kiss her goodnight. Somewhere around the time Myra got as tall as her father, he suddenly grew old. She didn't see it before, the white hair was nothing more than the sunlight bleaching him, until it all went grey. Those friendly smile lines stayed in place, and he took to sitting more than ever.

This ancient, world weary man reached a hand over to Myra as if to comfort her but she kept hers tight fisted around the mug. "We didn't plan to have you, that's true. But..." her father stopped and a smile twisted half his face up in a sweet remembrance, "the second we both knew you were coming, your mom and I were ecstatic. We wanted you so bad, My. Both of us. Your mother in particular was not happy about how long it took you to get out of her."

Myra rolled her eyes, having been told that fact on a few occasions after she'd been caught doing something naughty like say painting the walls. "It's not my fault," she grumbled, taking a longer drink of the brandy. Either she was growing used to the taste, or it was stronger than her father let on.

"I know, but...neither's your parents not being married," her dad's goofy smile fell. It was so strange to see a true frown or grimace on the King's face. The mere presence of it would send people flocking from the rafters to rescue him.

"The bastard thing, I get it. I get why you wear it proudly too, even if you don't want to. Even if secretly you just...wish you could be normal." He wasn't talking to her anymore, his hand curled into a fist as he glared through space.

Carefully, Myra reached over and ran her fingers over his. The tip of her missing pinkie she stupidly cut off when playing with a knife stood out above the King's spotted but intact hand. "Dad?" she whispered.

Whatever past demons haunted him, he shook them all off. "Don't worry kiddo," he said with a forced grin. Drowning the last of his brandy, he added, "And don't let the rich snots get to you. It's all politics and bluster. One day they hate you..."

"The next they need you," Myra sighed.

Her dad cocked an eyebrow over the top of his glass to watch his seventeen year old daughter slump deeper down into her chair. "When did you get so smart?"

"Dad," Myra groaned at the attention, feeling a blush start. To distract from it, she lifted her cup to her lips and added, "I've always been smart."

He snorted at that, "Smart ass for certain."

"Which she gets from you."

Myra spun her body in the chair to glance at the open door. Her mother stood in the entranceway, the Solver hat gone but she kept the coat which was partially unknotted revealing one of Reiss' fancier shirts. Walking into the room, Reiss left the door open as she joined the rest of her little family.

Rising to his feet, her dad joined her mom and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, "I'm not denying where our darling daughter gets her mouth from."

Her mom smiled a moment at the affections of the man she loved, before she turned her cold eye upon the scene. "Myra..." Oh Maker, she knew she was in for it with _that_ voice. "Were you climbing outside on the ledges again?"

"No," she said. Technically it was balconies and sills. No ledges.

"Then what are you doing up here?"

The valiant King came to the not-princess' rescue, "She wanted to stop by and visit with her old man before heading back to the kid's party. Rather nice of her to lose all that fun time with her friends to humor me." Right, fun times. Friends. That was _so_ what Myra left behind.

Reiss folded her arms, not about to be moved by Alistair's pleas. "Then why is the window open?"

"Warm night, thought it might be nice to get a bit of a breeze blowing through here," her dad shrugged, the instant fool slotting into place. Myra watched it often from her little balcony alcove above the court. Her mom didn't want her to be at court, but her dad wanted her around so they compromised on letting her sit in the rafters like a phantom observing from heaven. He would often pull the same act on people coming to make requests from the crown, driving them mad with his impenetrable idiocy. It never worked on her mother.

"Ah, Myra," her dad waved his hand to get her up to her feet, "why don't you head back down. Make certain your brother hasn't done something stupid."

"O...okay," Myra nodded, her feet quickly padding to the door. She was nearly out of it when her mother turned on her heel and glanced down.

"My, if you weren't climbing around outside, where are you shoes?"

Crap. She didn't stare down in guilt, but swallowed and shrugged, "It's a big trend now, to dance without shoes on. Cuts down on broken toes. Bye, mom. Bye, dad!" She spat all that out lightning fast and closed the door behind her. Myra took in a deep breath, her back crashing into the door, but she didn't hightail it back to the dance.

Through the thin wood she could hear her parents talking. Of course her mom began first. "Shoeless dancing?"

"Kids," Alistair snorted, "they get up to the craziest things."

"I'll give her points for creativity, but she shouldn't be doing that. She's liable to fall and break her neck."

"Reiss," her dad's voice paused a moment, "she's good at it. She knows what she's doing."

"One wrong move, one missed jump and..." A soft moan broke up her mother's words, "Fine, you win this battle."

"But never the war, I know."

For a time only soft sounds broke through the door. Myra'd guess that they were either hugging, or her father was massaging her mother's shoulders. She was supposed to be better at eavesdropping than she actually was. Body language could be a pain in the ass to read through a door.

"Why was she really up here?"

Her father must have stopped whatever he was up to, the sounds falling away to a cloying silence. "Stuff," he went with.

"Stuff?"

"Father, daughter stuff. You wouldn't understand," he sounded his flippant self but those who knew him, who saw the wounds under the jester mask could hear the tremors in his voice.

Her mom sighed, "It's never gonna get easy is it?"

"She'll find her path, her place where people won't care anymore, as much. Then it'll sort itself out," her father, somehow the eternal optimist in the family. New sounds, like someone eating a sandwich broke and Myra stepped away. Her parents were making out again. Ugh. No doubt that was why her mother came here in the first place, to...

She wasn't the King's mistress, her mother was very certain about that the first time a confused, young Myra asked. But what the hell was she? Not a wife. Elves couldn't be queens. A lover? Was that a good thing to be? Lover to a king? Her mom never bothered much with the labels, especially when the street was often happy to provide its own, but Myra wondered. She needed a good answer to shout back at the assholes she'd throttle for disrespecting her mother.

Her feet wandered her back and forth over the carpets. There was no one up here, her father's side of the palace silent while most were busy with the dance. No one cared about that half-elf bastard running her fingers across the wall, Myra watching her naked toes dig into the carpet.

What path? There was never a path, not unless she made it her damn self. Somehow everyone else seemed to know exactly what they wanted in life. All Myra had were a few gut feelings and a lot of questions she didn't want answers to. Trying to shake it away, she turned down the staircase. She should head back to the dance, catch up with Bryn. Talk her friend into stealing a bottle of wine and then the two of them could head up to the battlements.

Her friend was the best at making all that shit not matter.

But first, Myra wiggled her toes, she should probably get her shoes back.

## Chapter Nine

### Heart to Heart

Gavin flinched, trying to think about anything but the terrible itch on his bum. It'd been squatting there the entire night, tempting and taunting him to break from his stance and scratch at it. But if he even so much as thought of reaching backwards, his Knight's careful eye would dip over to her fumbling squire. As the night wore on, the drunken nobles went from politely ignoring their guards to annoying them. More than a few attempted to balance bottles on his bunkmate's head, Snowy somehow staring straight ahead and not moving a muscle.

They even picked on Cal, positioned across the ballroom from them. He wasn't seen often, but when the dancers would break they'd spot a fuming blond man covered in dainty and soiled napkins. For whatever reason the partiers knew better than to mess with the Knights. One boy, who looked fully blitzed out of his gourd, stepped up to Ser Daryan and moved to touch her chest plate.

Her hand whipped out so fast to catch his wrist and yank it back it was a blur. "You don't want to be doing that, Milord," she spat out before resuming standing like a statue.

Other than that, it was an incredibly boring night and Gavin was aching to slide under the thin blanket and get to sleep. Surely they wouldn't make them stand here forever. Unless it was a test.

Maker, not another one.

Lights lifted as if someone spontaneously lit all the candles in the candelabras at once and some soft groaning broke through the group. "Well," Ser Daryan stepped away from her post, "that's it."

Gavin blinked in surprise a moment. It was? Just a wave of the fingers and the pomp and ceremony was finished?

"Wh...what happened?"

His Knight pointed to a golden skirt slipping up the stairs, "Her Majesty is heading to bed. We're no longer needed. Do what you wish, squire, but I'd suggest you take sleep when you can. Tomorrow might be rather full." The woman groaned, her legs stiff as she walked towards the door.

Gavin focused anew on the world around him. While he stood watch he didn't take it in. Sure, he looked out for danger, in as much as anyone could while armed with a long bowstaff, but he hadn't really accepted that he was standing in the middle of a party. Not just any party but a fancy one with royalty and tiny finger foods. The last party he was at they had a full roast boar in the middle of the room for anyone to yank handfuls off. He was also eleven and it was Satinalia. His parents weren't big on celebrating with others.

"Hey," hands waved in front of his face, and Gavin looked down to find Snowy leaping about before him. "Hello. Are you in there?"

"Yes," Gavin smiled at the antics of the dwarf that slept above him.

"Let's fly this gilded coop," Snowy said, jerking one of the empty bottles that'd been on his head around the proceedings.

A yawn reached Gavin's mouth and he managed to do that while also finally tackling that itch. No doubt his father would be so proud at his gentlemanly behavior. "Sleep," he had to pause for a second yawn, "sounds inviting."

"Sleep nothing," Snowy tugged aside his red tunic to reveal a bottle tucked under his arm.

"Is that...?" Gavin gasped. "Did you steal that?"

The dwarf rolled his eyes skyward, "It doesn't count as stealing if they were gonna waste it anyway. Come on, before Cal and his cronies try to muster in on this." Gavin followed Snowy's cautious gaze to watch as the other boys, released from their duties, were circling around the girls in dresses. Most of the nobs were quick to lift up their noses and scoff, they'd already picked their choices during the dance, but a few were humoring Calenhad. No doubt they'd already known the Bann's younger child from before he was shipped off to become a squire.

Given the two choices, Gavin much preferred Snowy's idea of topping off the night. "All right, where do we go?"

"Follow me!" the dwarf chuckled and took off at a nearly full run towards the back doors.

Out across the open courtyard, Snowy didn't slow down until they reached a back half of the palace almost to the point they were outside the gates themselves. A handful of older towers sat here, long since abandoned and in desperate need of repair or being torn down. There was some obvious structural damage to the...

"Are you going to get up here or not?" Snowy's voice echoed from an open hole in one of the red stone towers. Before Gavin could give a response, he followed after and stepped inside. If there'd been a staircase it'd long since rotted away, but someone took the time to leave ladders nailed up to the wall.

The two of them climbed up to a part of the leaning battlements and inched out onto the wall line together. Turning to look behind him, Gavin gasped at the city stretched further than he could see. Mage lights burned a haunting blue in lines highlighting the streets and houses. A few reds lit up the sky from people no doubt cooking or warming their houses. Gavin paused and ran a hand across his sweaty forehead. Probably not wasting wood to warm up. He gripped his hands to the stone edges and stared transfixed at the life beyond the walls.

There was so much of it out there, further than he could see. Even with a spyglass he couldn't spot the edge of the city. It was amazing, unbelievable. How could so many people exist in one place and not drive each other mad or starve?

"Hey," Snowy spoke up, distracting Gavin from his wandering thoughts. He turned back to find the dwarf with his stolen bottle pressed to his lips. "Are ya drinkin' or are ya staring?"

Nodding his head, Gavin slipped to sit down on the old wall and watched as his bunkmate took a longer swig. "Ah!" Snowy smacked his lips, "not bad. Bit weak, but..." He passed it over to Gavin who tried to twist the bottle around to read the label, but with only the stars and moon it was nothing more than a large S and then squiggles.

Abandoning hope, he pressed the wet glass edge to his mouth, braced himself, and tipped it back. "Merciful Maker!" Gavin gasped, somehow managing to get that liquid fire down his throat instead of spraying it at his friend.

Snowy laughed at that and took the bottle back, "Knew you weren't a drinker. Mam had us on shit this strong when we were teething, ne'er mind when you get an axe stuck in your arm and need to dull the pain."

"I..." Gavin tried to blot away the pain but his eyes were tearing up. "I'm not, it's true."

"Yeah," Snowy took another drink and sighed again. "Doubt you go in for any of the vices."

"That's not..." his stomach thudded deeper down, Gavin staring limply at his hands. "That's not fully true."

"Le's see," Snowy ticked his fingers, "I ain't heard you curse, not properly like. I ain't seen you sneak food. You didn't pop off Cal's head even when you had good reason. And you're not sniffin' after skirts right this second. Unless you're a boastful prick when no one's looking, yer cleaner than Andraste."

"No one's as pristine as the Bride of the Maker," Gavin sputtered, partially in shock at the blasphemy, but also feeling indignant at the assumptions.

"Yup," Snowy chuckled, "knew you'd be religious too." He laughed again, tipping the bottle back, when he froze and wild eyes honed in on Gavin, "Yer not gonna try to convert me, are you?"

"I...I doubt I'd even know where to begin," Gavin said truthfully, but it was enough to cause Snowy to laugh and hand the bottle back.

"Take slower sips, like a baby bird. Sip sip sip, then it won't burn so bad." He watched his protégé follow his advice, Gavin able to take down more of the alcohol than before. "So, how'd you wind up out here in the mucks of all places?"

"Huh?" Gavin was starting to get the hang of this. He tipped the bottle back further, letting more of the liquid gold slide down his throat with only a slight tickle behind it.

"King talked to you, Arl wandered by to see what you were up to, even that pretty princess was making eyes with you..."

"She was not," Gavin gasped out fast, this time spraying some of the liquor on his friend.

Snowy took it all in good stride, wiping the spittle off and taking the bottle back. "Sure she wasn't. She just liked 'talking' to a muddy ol' squire. Maker, that one ain't fair. Princesses are supposed to be plain, or so vain about it all their skin turns bright green. But she's...far too easy on the eyes to be so untouchable. Ya know what I mean?"

Gavin pinched his lips together while watching his fingers dance in and through each other. It was fascinating as if he could bisect his own flesh and...oh, his eye was closed.

"Or, do ya not know what I mean?"

"Hm?" he tried to focus on Snowy's words, aware that his mind was feeling fluffy. Maker, he missed the abbey's pillows. They were all as fluffy as marshmallows, here he was better off using a rock. "Oh," what his roommate was driving at struck Gavin like cold water to his face. "No, I...I agree, she's quite lovely."

"But out of your reach too?" The dwarf kept on trying to figure him out. He acted as if Gavin was some secret spy that was only in the squire program to sniff a threat out. The truth was far more boring.

"Yes," Gavin nodded, "despite her father not despising me, she's far out of my reach."

Reaching forward, Snowy shoved the last few drops of the bottle into Gavin's hands. "Good. There's prettier and easier out there, believe you me."

"That..." Gavin tipped back the bottle, trying to wash away a burning at the back of his mind. It had cooled over the years, but the aching throb of his failure, his foolish choice would never leave him. It was a brand of shame of his choosing that only he could see.

Trying to shake it away and turn the conversation off of girls, Gavin placed the bottle down and asked, "What about you?"

"Me?" Snowy pointed at his chest, "I love talking about me. Whatcha got?"

"How'd you wind up here?"

Snowy paused a moment, "Well, I woke up one day and realized 'hey, there ain't a lot of dwarven squires running around.' Then I thought to myself, there's an opening if I ever saw one."

"That's it?" Gavin chuckled.

"What can I say? I really love carting around some fat arse's sweaty leathers and getting their nicked swords repaired. Makes me feel all warm and squishy inside."

The lie warmed Gavin, or perhaps it was the liquor. Maybe a little of both. Maker, he swiped a hand along his forehead, leaving a trail of sweat behind on his fingers. "My dad, he's..."

"Ooh, now we get to the good stuff. You know everyone in the bunks has been wanting to ask about him, but they take one look at you and chicken out."

"One look at...? Why?" Gavin never thought of himself as intimidating. He was usually graded on par with a lazy house cat when it came to guarding their livestock.

Snowy blinked a few moments and then muttered, "Right, first thing we do is get you a mirror cause clearly you've never used one. Forget that, your daddy dearest. Big ol' general from a great war before all our time?"

"General. Ha!" Gavin snorted, his nose burning as if the liquor found a new avenue up through it. Could it do that?

"Don't tell me, he marches around in his old uniform and constantly relives the glory days."

"Nope," Gavin shook his head enjoying the feel of his ears slicing through the wind. "The exact opposite. He never likes talking about it. It's all...Gavin, I-I don't want to talk about it. And there's some other stuff I can't remember."

Obviously not what Snowy wanted to hear, the other boy fell into silence. His fingers knocked into the empty bottle, causing a lovely ring to echo through the ramparts. "Wha' about you?" Gavin was having trouble clinging to his vowels, and consonants, and some of the punctuation. "Your dad, is he like? What?"

"Dunno," Snowy sighed, spinning in place, "never met him. He pulled a runner when I was still in the cradle I guess, so... I don't much care."

"Well, that's..." Gavin began but the dwarf interrupted him.

"People come, people go. If they're worth it they stick around, if not, fuck 'em."

It sounded like the deepest wisdom handed down from a high mountain to Gavin's besotted ears. He nodded along with the thought, trying to imprint it into his mind. If they're not worth it, fuck 'em. Maybe he could get it on a tapestry. Ooh, or a crest. Did his family have a crest? Would he need it if he became a knight or did they just assign one? Why was it so hot out?

He picked at the tunic they'd had to spot repair to get onto him. Even then he couldn't reach too fast or the shoulders would tear in half. Part of him wanted to take it off, to try and escape the pressing heat, but he remembered Myra's warning and dropped it back onto his body.

"Hey," Snowy called, the dwarf hanging his head between two stone supports to peer at the ground below. "Isn't that the girl who was harassing you at the well?"

Gavin stumbled up to his feet, literally as the ground refused to cooperate. But he managed to limp over to stand above Snowy, one hand clinging tight to the wall for balance. "Yeah, it is. Hi Myra!" he shouted, about to wave, when Snowy shot up and grabbed onto his hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Saying hello," Gavin tried to explain, afraid the dwarf forgot the concept of simple niceties.

"You don't 'say hello' out here in the dark towers. People don't come out here when they want to 'say hello.'"

"No?" He felt his competent mind slipping further away, Gavin barely able to cling to anything. "What do you come out here for?"

"To do things you don't want others to know you're up to. Like say drinking from a stolen bottle of very expensive alcohol."

"Ah ha," Gavin nodded, unable to stop a great smile climbing up his face, "you tricked me. It was stolen."

"Technically, I never said I didn't steal it. Ergo, no lie. Learned that one when I was real little." Snowy paused, his thick hands gripping onto Gavin's forearms to steady the tipsy boy.  "Are you gonna say anything?"

"Nope," Gavin shook his head fast, "Can't. It's the dark space. Towers. Whatever." His roomie laughed at that and patted Gavin on the back.

"I think we're gonna get along just fine, you and me. You're not as pristine as I thought."

"You don't know the half of it," Gavin sputtered out, ready to spill everything clinging to his tongue to this man that could spin the entire universe before him. "When I was younger I..."

"Bwhahahaha!" Massive girlish giggles broke from below, followed by the sounds of glass shattering against a wall. The boys paused in their heart to heart talk to both watch as the blonde reached over to help the brunette. Even in the dark, Gavin could tell the brunette was an elf, her white ears stark by the moonlight. Poor Myra was struggling to hold her friend up, both of their boots slipping and sliding through the wet grass.

"Looks like we ain't the only ones celebrating tonight," Snowy smiled at the girls who were both singing at the top of their lungs as they moved towards the palace gates. He hoped she got home safe, but more than likely Myra knew every damn cutpurse in Denerim and could handle herself.

"Yeah," Gavin couldn't knock the worry out of his voice. Even inebriated, worry clung to him like a blanket. He never escaped its clutches.

Snowy's eyes pinched up tight, so tight Gavin could barely see them under the dwarf's heavy brows. "What's that girl to you, again?"

"She..." She was so sweet, sweeter than a plum at its ripest. And he was so stupid around her. Barely able to speak unless it was reciting point blank on the topics of things he'd read. It was a wonder Myra put up with him. But, she didn't have a lot of options while at the refuge. Once she got back home, once her letters stopped, he figured she must have found someone better. Maker, he couldn't blame her.

"She's someone who knows my parents."

"Ah," Snowy nodded, "Story of yer life, I bet."

"Something of that nature," Gavin sat transfixed in place. Even though he couldn't see Myra anymore, he could still picture her in that simple yellow dress. The tattered lace made him want to slip a hand over it to see if it was as soft as it looked. But that would be unseemly from him, from someone like him. His duty was to the cause, nothing else. Whipping his head back and forth like a wet dog, Gavin tried to dislodge the memory of her wearing it, but it wouldn't quite take.

"Okay," Snowy chuckled again. "I think that's enough. Time we be gettin' to bed before you fall face first onto the ground."

"Nonsense, I'm..." Gavin moved to shake the dwarf off, when his legs fell out from under him. He raced to catch himself, but his chin struck against the wall. The pain rattled up through his teeth and right into his swaddled brain. "Ouch," was all he could get out while struggling to stand properly again.

"Ouch? Is that it? Take a hit like that and it's a single ouch?" Snowy laughed even while propping Gavin's hand upon his shoulder. The much taller man had to bend over, but he was grateful for the help. "Are you made out of rock? Even dwarves curse when they get one on the chin."

"I'm real bad at cursing," Gavin muttered, which caused his roomie to break into a long laugh.

* * *

He wanted to die. No, not die. Death would bring judgment before the Maker and in his state he would gladly take on whatever form of eternal damnation He dreamed up as long as it took out the sound and light. No longer existing sounded much more tempting. To be nothing, to float through the void touching nothing and nothing touching him for eternity.

Ah, true bliss.

"Morning, sunshine!" a deliriously perky voice shouted through every bone in his body.

Gavin grumbled, a hand attempting to knock whoever it was far away from him. It missed and smacked air because he refused to remove the pillow off his face. "Stop," he begged, "please."

"Well," the loudest whomph in the history of people jumping off of beds erupted from beside him. He wanted to rage, but in his state could only whimper from the auditory attack. "Ol' bilious get to you last night, did he?"

"Ugh," Gavin wadded the pillow tighter around his head, dead serious about the dying part.

"Can't have you bein' like this. Your knight might act extra cruel. Here," a hand slid under the gap between pillow and mattress to show off a few roots and herbs.

"What are these?" Gavin muttered, before hissing at the pain from... Oh Maker, did he get into a fight? When a finger glanced over his chin it all came back to him. No, he was a clumsy idiot, but not a foolhardy moron.

"My special hangover cure. Just chew 'em."

Without any other recourse left to him, Gavin bit down on the herbs and groaned. It tasted of every bitter vegetable his mother ever grew. The smell was reminiscent not of his mother's distilling, but when she'd have to clean the equipment between potions. "Blighted hell," he cursed, his mouth overflowing with saliva to try and escape the horrors he inflicted upon his tastebuds.

"Give it a few and you should be right as rain. Well, that might be a reach. Wantin' to die ought to go at least," Snowy chuckled, each laugh an arrow to Gavin's temples.

Groaning, he risked yanking the pillow up and blinked against the cruel light of dawn. To think, when he was younger he'd often rise before it without a care in the world. Now it mocked him, each sunbeam burning his eyes to a crisp.

Snowy patted him on the arm and laughed, "Welcome to the city, farm boy."

## Chapter Ten

### A Trip

Rosamund was surprised to find her brother leaning beside a post haplessly checking under his nails. "Awake and before noon the day after a ball?" she gasped at the sight, "What have you done with the real Cailan?"

"Ha ha," he rolled his head around and stared right at her. Despite seeming to be awake and not bleary eyed she did notice he was still in the same fancier outfit from the night before. Why was it boys never got trounced for taking the supposed walk of shame? Probably because for her brother it was more a leisurely stroll, a strut even.

"I take it you received the summons as well," Cailan fell into step beside Rosamund. He tended to go his own way in many matters but when it came to official problems, he always defaulted to giving her the lead. No doubt in the off chance shit was about to splatter off the midden, that way she'd be the one caught in the middle shielding him.

Pursing her lips, Rosie swiped back her shorter hair. It was wonderful to get that dreaded false braid off her head, the damn thing weighed a ton. Her true hair only cut to her shoulders, if that, before the princess needed to chop it back. She hated having it grow, a constant problem with her mother who had her hair down to her backside.

While Cailan no doubt rolled off of whoever he rolled into bed with and hightailed it to beat Rosie to the high door, Rosamund had already breakfasted, bathed, dressed for the day, and took the time to look over the latest requests from the chantry.

"Not to act all dour, doom and gloom, but doesn't it strike you as a bit strange?" Cailan continued to talk beside her. Despite being short for a man, he had a lanky stride. His body appeared trim even without the stature, a curious illusion she sometimes wondered about.

"Mother will often send summons to us," Rosamund tried to wipe away any lingering fears in her mind.

"Sure, yeah, okay, _you_. Me she just drags about by the ear," Cailan grumbled as if he wasn't mother's baby boy. And Maker was she never going to let him forget it. "But dad? And it was even signed by him. He never signs anything unless Karelle grabs his hand and makes him."

"Then perhaps the Chamberlain is behind this," Rosie couldn't hide the shudder up her spine. Cailan was right, not only was this unusual, it was even more strange for their parents to request them together. Aside from high holidays, their parents were never in the same room together. It wasn't due to any major fights, Rosamund couldn't remember a time either parent raised their voice to the other, but because their lives had little to no impact. Once the kids were old enough to talk and be trusted to not lie, any instructions were passed through them.

They both came to father's office door. It was strange to see it shut. He wasn't a noon riser like his son, and never closed the door as if afraid that people might forget he existed and he'd wither away from hunger. Or so he joked when Rosie asked. That sharp trill of an alarm in her ear added a few horns and a drumbeat. Were they mad about something? Something Cailan did?

She glanced over at her deviant of a brother and sighed. If this was about Cailan acting out, it'd be a never ending parade of scoldings wherever their mother found him hiding away, not in their father's office. No, most likely it was about her. Shit. What'd she do wrong at the damn ball her mother forced upon her? She tried to be polite, to speak with every chinless, brainless specimen of Ferelden nobility they threw in front of her.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Rosamund grabbed onto the handle.

"Pst, Rosie," Cailan said, before she could open it, "if they have you executed can I have your stuff?"

Sticking her tongue out at her snot brother, who laughed at the reaction, she pushed the door open to find both her mother and father behind his desk. The Queen sat, her hands placed upon both sides of the wood as if terrified to touch anything else, while the King paced back and forth behind what was usually his chair.

"Ah," Alistair's white brows lifted and he waved a hand, "kids. Come in, come in."

"Close the door please," Beatrice instructed and her youngest nodded his head. Cailan was careful to close the door softly, but he wasn't quite careful enough, causing the hinges to squeak. Rosamund caught him scrunching his face up to try and hide the obvious hangover Cailan managed to fake his way through.

"Mother," Rosie nodded to her, then glanced over, "Father. You asked for us? For both of us?" The obvious question hung in the air. _What was going on?_ To say the air was thick with tension would be to claim the Waking Sea is a bit wet. It was so obvious, the windows should have been fogged over with anxiety.

"I'd," Alistair rocked back and forth on his heels, a hand swiping through his hair to tug it up. The nervous tic had slowed over the years, her father's vanity afraid he might rip himself bald. But either his roots were strong, or his grip weak as that hadn't come to fruition yet. "I'd ask you both to take a seat but we're out of chairs. I could go and ask Karelle to..."

"That won't be necessary," Beatrice waved a hand through the air. The Queen was a quiet sort of woman. She moved through the hall to be seen and not heard, preferring to only announce her opinions of others from behind a gilded hand. Rosie was a damn near spitting image of her, younger of course, and with a smaller nose. Too bad when it came to a queenly temperament, Rosamund had to slot hers on like a false cloak while Beatrice seemed to prefer it.

"There is a matter that we need to discuss with you," Beatrice began, her mother trying to rise from the chair when she suddenly froze and panic struck her face. Her own emerald eyes darted from her eldest daughter to the young, cocksure son almost as if seeing them for the first time. "Maker's breath," their always marble mother cracked, a hand flying to her mouth and fully spooking the children.

"Mom?" Rosie gasped, all but running towards her. Cailan was quicker, the boy never truly far from his mother's side as he gripped onto her elbow. The one fully out of the picture was the King who was continuously scrubbing his face with his hands.

"I am fine, do not concern yourself with it," Beatrice tried to wave away their help.

"Are you ill?" the thought struck Rosamund fast. It would be a reason to bring them together, for their father to get involved. He would be good moral support if...

"No," Beatrice shook her head sweetly, "I merely had a long, emotionally trying night." At that she stared up at their father who was also wincing.

Rosie and Cailan shot a look. Was she with their father? Were they arguing together or...? Somehow the idea of their parents ever being intimate seemed outlandish beyond reason. It was the world they grew up in, their father found comfort with Reiss, and their mother was with a few varying _uncles_ over the years. Them being together seemed as wise as making a jam and mustard sandwich.

"Kids," Alistair interrupted, leaning closer, "you know we love you. No matter what."

"Oh boy," Cailan leaned back on his heels, no doubt trying to remember all the evils he'd concocted recently. "Whatever Rosie did, I think you should throw the book at her," he spat out fast to shake the heat off him.

"You ass," she snarled, but her brother answered with a shrug and laugh. That was his answer to life.

Normally, their father would laugh at their antics or when they were younger send them to the naughty corner. But now he paled. In fact, he looked the way Cailan should. The bags under his eyes hung lower than usual, even the smiling lines always embossed into his skin were cracked and turned into a slick frown. Was he really up with their mother the whole night?

"We should have spoken of this earlier," Beatrice said, her eyes darting over to her husband, "but we were never certain when the proper time was to tell you." The Queen took a deep breath to begin, "At the dance there was an issue brought to my attention."

Rosie hissed, "I did not appreciate that ambush, mother."

It took a moment for Beatrice to shake away whatever she was thinking of, her matter seeming to be dropped as she turned on her daughter. "Ambush? You treat a nice dance as if I've sent assassins after you."

"May as well have," Rosamund sneered. "I spent the entire night fielding constant questions of my future intentions without knowing a thing about a single person there."

"For the Maker's sake, Rose," Beatrice sighed, a hand slapping into her forehead, "you're not supposed to trade genealogies on the dance floor."

"Then what am I meant to do?"

Both the men in the room fell silent as the daughter tried to get her mother to confess that whatever her plan was she failed. If it was to get Rosie to commit to a husband or even find someone worthy enough to be trusted with the crown, then it was a fool's errand.

"You talk, you fall under the spell of romance, you find love," Beatrice spat out before throwing her hands high and spinning in her chair. "It's all your doing," she jabbed at Alistair who touched his chest but remained quiet. "If we'd found a proper suitor for her when she was a child there would be no issue now."

"Issue?" Rosie felt her cheeks burning not with shame but exhaustion and anger at how often they tried to hammer her into place. Somedays she felt like a stripped bolt.

"Your father, in his daft but...kind way, keeps thinking it's best if you take your future in your hands instead of knowing you'd fumble the task," Beatrice said.

"I am!" While all her friends were spending their time playing games or riding horses, she was curled up in libraries studying policy and proper diplomatic etiquette.

"Really?" Beatrice cocked up her perfectly pruned eyebrow, "Does that mean there was a suitor chosen from the vast sampling last night?"

Sneering, Rosie slapped a hand on the table, "Of blighted course not! How does one pick that important of choice of who to marry out of a few stupid words traded above cocktails and whatever that liver on a cracker is called?!"

Something in her rage must have caught her dad as he snorted at the idea, which caused Beatrice to snarl at him. Everyone knew whose fault it was that the future princess of Ferelden wasn't already betrothed. It used to be kinda quaint when she was ten and chopping heads off of dolls. Now that she was approaching twenty-five, everyone kept clucking their tongues and all but racing her to the chantry in her best dress.

"Do you even try, Rosie?"

"Yes!" She wanted to pace in place. No, she wanted to have her sword in her hands and stab apart wooden dummies. But neither were wise while in the presence of royalty. "I'm polite, I let them talk, I ask about their upbringing."

Her brother snorted, "Sounds like you're trying to select a good mabari."

"How in the Maker's sake did all the charm pass to him," Beatrice waved a hand at her son, before pointing it at Rosie, "and none to you?"

"I believe I take my charm very seriously. It's a honed skill, thank you." Cailan was being in a real 'throw his sister off the boat' kind of mood. She wanted to amend punching him in the face to her list, but he never joined her in the arena.

Was everyone in this room against her? Rosie gripped her fingers against her dress and spat out, "This is not easy."

Her mother turned on her, "Only because you are..."

"Okay!" the King interceded, dropping a hand between the two, "Okay, we're all running on not enough sleep and could say things we may regret. Let's take a step back and..." his eyes darted down to Beatrice who was fuming, "get things back on track. You know, why we brought them here in the first place?"

Something passed between their parents that was buried in a look. Even Cailan caught it, an elbow jabbing into Rosie who was trained to notice such things. Secrets shared amongst nobility was always cause for concern with the royal family, but these were her parents. They wouldn't do anything to hurt them.

Slowly, their mother shook her head in the negative and their father's head snapped back to stare at the ceiling. Silence beat between them a moment before he cried, "Then what? You know he's wandering around right now..." Whatever their father was about to say faded again, something clearly hanging in the air.

"It is not an issue," Beatrice insisted, a hand slapping onto the desk as if she put a stamp on a proclamation.

Their father snorted, "Not right now if we keep the spikes warmed up, but I'm gonna be heading out on the ol' trip through the Bannorn soon. Three months of shaking hands, checking out their fancy middens, and pretending to solidify alliances. Ugh."

"So," their mother sat up, her eyes burning hard, "take the children along."

"What?" Cailan leaped forward, in no mood to play the adorable child prince to break up their father's boring meetings. They used to go when younger, both always outfitted in the most outlandish frills and were mostly there to stand around being cute while the King looked as if he wanted to leap off a building. "No, there is no way I am wasting my summer..."

"You will do as you are told," Beatrice turned on her son, venom in the normally sugar sweet voice.

"It, uh," the arrogant son tried to fight back, clearly uninterested in having to travel the countryside with his daddy, but he couldn't argue with his mother. "Damn it," Cailan cursed softly to himself instead.

"What if I go in your place?" Rosamund said, folding her arms across her waist.

Her brother rolled his eyes, "You know they make us both go together."

"Not yours," she grumbled at Cailan before turning to her father, "Yours." She caught his mouth opening, no doubt a million reasons about to tumble out but Rosie beat him to it. "As you always say, the tour is easy and tedious. Nothing more than smiling, eating at strange people's houses, complimenting the furniture, and trying to steal all the soaps you can find."

"Soaps?" her mother repeated, glaring at their father who was self consciously tugging on his hair and shrugging.

"Rosie," the King said, trying to ignore his little, rebellious sins, "I get that you want to do all the exciting crown stuff early, but..."

"The tour is to remind the Bannorn that the crown works for them and not the other way around. To reinforce alliances that are ancient and keep Ferelden from sundering in half. I know, it's...this is the stuff I've been working on. Learning about. Dad, it could," her eyes dropped down and she watched her fingers twisting around in circles. Odd she didn't wear gloves today.

Taking a deep breath, Rosie looked up, "Father, it would give me a chance to speak on behalf of the institution I will one day run. To bridge the gap between our..." She felt a sting in her brain that flashed across the other's faces. Rosie couldn't even think about the idea of her rule without her father's death hanging over it. "And," she said with certainty, "you wouldn't have to go at all."

"That," Alistair stopped tugging his hair out and circled a thumb over his chin, "that's not a half bad idea."

"You cannot be serious," Beatrice cut back with. "Sending our child out alone..."

"She'd be far from alone, there were already a bunch of advisors heading out with me. Add in a couple knights, her handmaidens. Yeah," her dad nodded his head, "yeah, I don't see why it wouldn't work." Whether it was the excitement at Rosie's growing up or the fact the burden was taken off his shoulders, her father grinned wide.

Her mother on the other hand looked as if she was going to throw a huge bucket of water on the entire idea.

"Mother," Rosie said, twisting her head to the side, "if I am of marrying age, then should I not also be old enough to take on more responsibilities?"

"That..."

"Are there not numerous girls all over this land who leave their homes at even younger ages for work? They rarely have knight escorts."

"They are not princesses," Beatrice sighed, already buckling under Rosie's logic.

"Then it will make it easier on me as there will be very little competition."

Her dad cracked a laugh at Rosamund's move which caused the Queen to scowl. "Very well."

Cailan stretched his arms wide, "Welp, glad that that's settled."

"But you are taking your brother with," Beatrice tacked on.

"What?" both siblings shouted, glaring at each other. "But he...Dad..."

"No, your mother's right," Alistair nodded, both of their parents apparently in this getting them out of Denerim mood. "You'll want some help out there when Banns start getting tetchy. In fact, that'll be your first challenge for this trip Rosie. Find a job suitable for your brother."

Unless accountant prostitute was an option for this, she doubted he'd take kindly to anything she suggested. Rosamund glared at her brother, who was giving the same back. Still, she was offering him a trip without their parents in the way. If he was smart he'd take it and not cause too big of a fuss.

"Fine," Cailan threw up his hands, "not as if I had anything important to do here anyway."

"Glad that that's settled," Alistair tipped his head. "I'll get in contact with Karelle and she'll help you get things rolling."

He leaned closer to Rosie as if to shake her hand, when their mother intervened. "Children, could you give us a minute to talk?"

"Yes," Rosamund nodded, her spirits brightening. She grabbed onto Cailan's collar, causing her brother to spin around. "Let's go."

When the pair of them reached the door, their father called out, "Good luck, kid." She smiled wide at that, nodded her head, and then stepped out of her dad's office.

Maker's breath! What an exhilarating turn of events. She'd be in the middle of the important decisions. Not just hearing about them second hand or while sitting beside the table, but at the head. Being the one hosted and greeted by so many Banns as they strengthened alliances. Finally, Rosie could show off her wit in the political sphere she ached to pierce. No more sitting in the shadows.

"What do you think they're talking about in there?" Cailan asked, his bright eyes darting up to hers.

"I don't know, nor do I really care. Probably mother's issuing her formal complaint against the idea, but who cares?"

"Uh huh," her brother adjusted his shirt and moved to leave, when he stopped and said, "You better not give me some piece of shit hard labor job or I will make your life hell on this trip."

Sighing at her brother attempting to puff himself up, Rosamund couldn't hide the yelp of excitement. She was the leader, the one at the forefront of all of this politics. The sovereigns would stop with her. It was going to be grand.

## Chapter Eleven

### Memory

"Pst."

He didn't look up, so she tried again.

"Pst. Pstitty pst pst." Still nothing. Maker, was he deaf?

Myra picked up a rock, stone, tiny bit of gravel really, and pulled her arm back to chuck it when he finally turned away from whatever he was enraptured with. Amber eyes lit upon her face as she tried to smoothly drop the rock behind her.

"Myra," Gavin called, a bright smile taking over his usually stern face. "What brings you here?" She was perched upon one of the retaining walls while he was down by the squire pit sitting with his back turned.

"Heard it was your day off," she sort of explained. It didn't take long to learn that Daryan was always 'incapacitated' on Wednesdays. Leaping off of the wall, Myra stepped closer to spot a book in his lap. She couldn't stop the smile at how adorable it was. He'd been so caught up in some adventure he didn't hear her sneak up behind him. "Which one's that?"

"Oh," Gavin's umber cheeks lit up red as he shamefully tugged up the cover. 'This Shit's Weird: The Lavellan Story' The infamous book about the Inquisition he was never allowed to read by order of his parents who were kinda involved in it.

Myra's face puckered up in shock and she shouted, "Ooo." Dashing down beside him, she plopped right into the grass and tried to spot the page he left off on. There was usually a bookmark or a tear put in place. She was so busy attempting to deduce a simple question she could just ask, it wasn't until she felt something brush against her knee that she looked to her right and straight on into vast amber fields.

"Uh, um," heat burned in her gut at how Myra practically sat on top of Gavin. Oh Maker, no, not on top. Just...not that. That had implications of, nope. Not that. "I thought you weren't supposed to read that one," she gasped out, her fingers grabbing onto her braid and rummaging helplessly over it.

"I'm not, but..." his eyes dipped down and then a cheeky grin rose, "it's not as if my parents are here to stop me."

"Why aren't you just full of surprises. Assuming you are the real Gavin," she tipped down, her eyes pretending to scan his face for any falsehoods. "Got any incriminating moles or birthmarks to prove your identity?"

"Uh," he blinked madly, his hand skirting over his shirt, "the one on my stomach, but..." Gavin moved a moment as if he was about to show it to her, but Myra panicked and grabbed onto his warm hand.

"It's okay. You don't have to show me. I was just foolin' around."

He smiled and stuck out his chin, "I know."

"Right, right, ol' Myra's easy to, uh, so...did you find any dirt on your parents in there?" She jabbed at the book in order to try and change the topic to anything. Andraste's girdle, why are you sitting so close to him? Because moving would seem rude now.

Gavin turned the book around and he sighed, "Not particularly. My father comes off as boorish and as fun as a rash, but I rather think he'd be proud of that description."

That caused Myra to laugh. "What about your mom?"

"She's not in it much. It mostly follows the Inquisitor so, I don't know, I suppose she didn't run in his circle often. I wondered if, perhaps, there was mention of their early relationship."

"The dwarf didn't seem fond of all that kissing stuff. Lots of stabbing though, and visceral blood and guts. He really likes eyeballs popping," Myra nodded, her fingers skirting over the cover. In doing so, they bumped against Gavin's as if it was all on accident. It was all on accident. Don't be stupid, brain. Stupider.

"I know he knew about them," Gavin said, and Myra blinked like mad at that deduction. "My aunt Hawke, she...I don't know, it's like they're brother and sister without being related. She'd tell me about him."

"Your aunt knows the author of all these books?" Myra gasped. "Wow! Like, not just knows but is good friends with...wait? Hawke? As in Champion of Kirkwall Hawke? Maker's sake, is there anyone in your family who isn't impressive enough to warrant an epic ballad?"

"Says the girl with a father that's king," Gavin added back.

"Yeah, but my aunt's never done anything awe inspiring like stopped a Qunari invasion. All she does is send me annotated chants of the light every birthday."

"Hawke sends more visceral gifts."

Myra's jaw dropped and she spun to him, "Like an arishock's skull or something?"

"More daggers, bows, swords. Once a mage staff because she...they all thought I might be," Gavin's voice dropped low and he waved his non-mage hands around, "you know. I didn't find any mention of my father and mother in the book save one reference." He changed tactics so fast, Myra's head spun a moment.

Gavin cracked open the page to reveal a portion where the Inquisitor was getting into it with the Hero over some political thing. Myra didn't read books for the politics, she preferred all the eye gouging. There at the bottom was a mention of the Commander siding with the Hero's position and, for a brief moment, their eyes met across the war table.

"That's it?" Myra asked, flipping the page to see if they started making out in full view of the war council or not.

"That'd be it. A single glance in the middle of a war, somehow that led to..." Gavin paused and slapped the book shut. "Sorry, I doubt you came to hear me talk about literature."

"No," Myra shook her head, "though it was fun to trade books with you before. I swear, I don't think there was a damn thing I'd read that you hadn't already."

He blushed anew, his head hanging down. "I imagine that's changed."

"Yeah," all her reading now was either about corpses or spells. Or those dirty books her mother would probably ground her for and no doubt Gavin would combust on the spot if he opened. Bryn was great at supplying them, then Myra would slip on a false cover and none's the wiser. "Oh, I'm being stupid. I thought with you having the day off I might make good on my promise to show you the city."

He cracked a smile and nodded, "I'd like that."

"Right," Myra reached into her pocket and yanked out a square sheet of folded paper. Carefully unfurling it, she eventually revealed a map of Denerim. "This here's the city..." at Gavin's eyes falling, she jabbed him in the side and chuckled, "I'm kidding. Come on, grab your good walking shoes. This will take awhile."

Denerim, capital city of Ferelden. Birthplace of Andraste herself. Home to lights, excitement in the streets, uh, her dad's palace and a few fancier estates. They began there, Myra jabbing a finger as they passed each one and trying to recite the various Arls and Banns by name. It was sad how much of that crap she remembered not due to Rosie or even her dad's grumblings, but her mother.

You never know who could be playing the game of shiv in the night.

Right mom, 'cause the guard's so gonna let an elf investigate a Bann caught in the middle of a murder mystery.

Gavin bobbed his head at her descriptions, often gazing upward at the various architecture things. He asked a few questions about their foundation which Myra only shrugged at. The buildings were old, so probably solid. The way Auntie Lunet spoke, they were all built on the bones of elves so she preferred not poking around in any nob's basements.

"And there's the stables," Myra gestured towards a paddock stuffed with horses and the various fertilizers they created, "though I bet you could smell them first."

At that Gavin laughed. "I grew up on the farm. It's almost homey to smell it again. The palace is oddly sterile."

"That's just cause you haven't been around when the summer sun hits the latrine hole. Ugh," Myra shuddered. Way to be smooth there, halfy-half. Keep talking about poop, that's the way to win a boy over.

"So..." she stretched her hand out, suddenly hoping a fascinating statue or water feature would pop out of the ground and rescue her. "Food?" her brain threw out the only thing it could to rescue her.

Again, that far too damn handsome head nodded. When he was all tight lipped and stern she wanted to run away, or slap him, or something. But then that smile would pop out, like the most awkward sun slipping out of the clouds and Myra's anxiety faded. She wished he'd smile all the time, the other version was too stressful.

"Here," Myra spotted a stand across the road. Without thinking, she grabbed onto Gavin's hand and tugged him into the street. A few carriages of the gilded variety were rattling past, no one caring much who they ran over. She slowed up for a bit to let one pass, causing Gavin to press close to her back.

It was so unexpected, he gripped onto her shoulder a moment to keep from plowing her over. Sweaty horses, the sun glistening off their tan hair, clopped by. An eye glared down  from the driver at the girl who froze just before she got run over, then the carriage went past. No doubt one of the Banns who lived in the frilly houses was inside. Imagine the shock he'd get if he was told he nearly ran over the King's daughter.

As the back of the wheel rolled on past, Myra took off. She kept a tight tether to Gavin, dragging him fast across the street before the second carriage behind picked up speed. The nobs were always racing down it, trying to see who could get to their castles in the sky the fastest. It was often causing roadblocks when inevitably they'd get jammed together at a turn and tip over. The worst involved two Banns, an Arl, and a bronto drawn wagon carrying heads of cabbage.

While the imposing carriage whipped on past behind them, Myra pulled Gavin to a safe spot in front of the "On a Stick" food cart. Myra turned to find him staring at a sign that only announced the name of the place and a man without a right arm operating it.

"What, what do they have here?" Gavin stuttered, those amber eyes narrowed in concentration.

"Whatever you want, but on a stick," Myra proclaimed. She moved to extend her hands to the wide possibilities but realized she still held his fingers knotted around hers. There ya go again, getting all informal. Pretending to have to scratch her head, Myra dropped his hand.

Gavin didn't seem to notice her subterfuge as his mind was consumed with the possibilities. "Anything? Anything I could dream of?"

"But on a stick."

"So if I say asked for stew...?" Gavin turned to the man operating the stand.

He smiled and then winked before hauling out a bowl of stew. Myra clapped her hands in anticipation of what was coming. Waving his hand over the bowl, ice rolled over the once lukewarm bowl until it froze solid. The vendor barely cut off the magic before he grabbed one of the kebob sticks and jammed it straight into the stew bowl. Lifting the concoction out, a half globe of pureed meats and beans emerged in ice form. He handed the offering over the Gavin who accepted it with a look of concern.

"Five coppers," the vendor said, slapping his one hand into his leg.

"Oh..." Gavin fumbled for his pockets while trying to balance his top heavy meal.

"I've got it," Myra interceded, pulling out ten coppers and laying them across the tiny wooden counter. "Give me your special."

"No problem, miss," the vendor smiled wide. He didn't have to work his literal magic as he yanked out a pre-made kebob filled with various fruits and vegetables. It was a guess as to what half of them were as they'd all been cubed before being impaled together.

Myra bit down on the first red cube to find it was a strawberry. Juice squirted down her chin and she raced to catch it while waving to the vendor her thanks. Strolling while nibbling off the first in her long line of lunch, she cast an eye to Gavin. "You better eat that fast before it melts."

"I..." he nodded and gently drew his white teeth against the iced stew. A sliver plopped into his mouth which he was quick to swallow. "This is..."

"Magical?" Myra laughed before moving onto the next cube -- squash. One of the green ones.

"I was going to say strange. Are there," Gavin's tone dropped down, "are there a lot of mages operating like him?"

"No, he's more or less cornered the market on freezing things and shoving sticks through them," Myra smiled, before pausing, "unless you include the army."

"I've never seen one so...brash."

Myra glanced down at her fingers. She coulda done the same as that guy. Okay, her ability to flash freeze things wasn't as good, but she could certainly set something on fire if a person asked. But she had to keep it quiet, for her mom's sake. And because people were already twitchy enough about her dad being King. Add in her having magical abilities and...

"He's not so bad. Comes up with wacky stuff all the time. Fought in the war."

Gavin blinked a moment, his teeth gnawing apart a frozen carrot. "Which war?"

"Inquisition one, I think, not the blight. I guess maybe the rebellions too. He never talks about that one. Not to inquisitive girls who should know their place, at least," Myra tried to laugh it off but it bugged her. No one wanted to talk about the damn mage rebellion to her, and she was a mage. She should know about this stuff. About the circles, and templars, and other things in the past. But no, it was all too much for someone so young or other such nonsense.

Her internal whining faded as she glanced over to find Gavin with his lips fully wrapped around a stew popsicle. He was trying to gum it to death, using his warm mouth to melt it into edible bites. About to laugh at the picture, Myra's chortle froze when his tongue lapped in a circle to help break off the ice. It was stupid, she knew they'd kissed before -- a lot, in fact -- but when she stared at this man Gavin turned into even Myra didn't buy it. Maybe she'd just suffered a serious head injury on the fame and imagined it all. Fell off a horse and dreamed she made out with the cute farmhand boy. That'd be her kind of luck, really.

First romantic interest in her life and it was all blood pooling in her brain. Yay.

Trying to hide behind the blush and thud in her gut, Myra gnawed upon her kebob barely making note of the various cubes. It used to be a fun game, but it felt childish and stupid. Everything she did was one or the other.

In the end, Gavin managed to eat about half of the stew before the summer heat and time caused it to plop to the ground. He sifted the mess about with his toe almost sadly, before abandoning it to the dogs roaming the street. Myra had to admit she was impressed, "Most people only last a few bites before giving up and throwing it all away."

"It wasn't that bad in the end. Weird, but..." his voice faded as he glanced to the right.

Myra stopped nudging the sloppy cold stew with her shoe to see where they were. Garden district, a bit of a hike from the palace if you didn't know what you were doing. One of the fancier markets on the left and...Oh yeah. She forgot.

"Is that it?" Gavin whispered, a finger pointing towards a small building, a shrine really. It boasted a domed ceiling with pillars standing on the outside for decoration. That wasn't what really mattered, but what was inside.

"Yeah," Myra nodded. She hadn't thought much of it, one of hundreds of buildings in Denerim, until her parents sent her out to the abbey. "That's the memorial."

Like a moth drawn to musty attics, Gavin stepped in awe towards the memorial. The doors were thrown open, no doubt to let a breeze through, but no one was bustling inside. So many years out and there weren't all that many people who cared.

"Have you been inside?" he asked, his voice dropping into a whispered hush.

"Uh," Myra felt off, as if she shouldn't be here. "Yeah, a couple, a lot of times. Dad, he..." They wouldn't come every day, but they did when the King would visit. On her birthday. He'd bring his children as well, each of them getting to lay a flower on the would-be grave of the Hero of Ferelden. Vanquisher of the Blight, Savior of the World. The hero who fell in battle once again fighting to save the world from an evil that would rip it to shreds. And also the woman who taught Myra how to throw magic without accidentally setting her eyebrows on fire. Gavin's mother.

"Your parents, they never..." Myra said, trailing after as he slowly eased up the steps. She used to run up and down these things chasing after Cailan, but now it felt as if she was walking over a grave.

Gavin shook his head slowly, "Mum, she didn't think it wise to be seen anywhere near it and father. I don't think he liked the reminder." Deciding to throw caution to the wind, Gavin had to duck to enter into the memorial of their fallen Hero.

Her eyes went black as Myra switched from the white of the sun bleached streets into the cool memorial. Blinking a few times to get it back, Myra honed in on the actual black onyx in the room. At seven feet tall, the statue of the woman towered above the children who would usually dwarf her. It was strange to look into a younger face than the one Myra met. This version was stern as she extended out her staff to take on the entire blight all by her lonesome. Someone carved various darkspawn at the pillar, all being crushed by the mighty weight of her...robes. But Gavin was focused fully upon her face.

"I haven't had to look up at her in..." he paused and shook his head, "I can't even remember."

"There was talk for awhile that they wanted to build a statue of Dad, but he flat out refused. Said their only hope was if they they made it out of cheese and let everyone take a bite. Most assumed that meant he was being silly, but I bet he was weighing the possibilities of it working." Myra's blather faded as she watched Gavin lost in the chiseled face of the woman who birthed and raised him.

His thick eyelashes fluttered as he reached outward. Even at his great stature, he couldn't quite reach his mother's face. He had to settle for running a finger across her sleeves and shoulder. "I feel as if she's about to scold me for misplacing her vials. It..."

Myra cupped her fingers over his shoulder, trying to be as friendly as possible. "Gavin?"

That heartwarming smile lifted upon one side of his face and he shrugged, "I think I understand why father never wanted to come here. It's mother, but...not my mother." He broke from the face to inspect the dates. The birth was right, but the death...well, that one had quite a bit of wiggle room now. The way their father explained it, as far as anyone knew Solona Amell died in the fade. She sacrificed herself to save the Inquisitor, but something happened. Dad was surprisingly vague on the details.

Glowing red bottle, stuffy templar, travel travel travel, save the day. Auntie Lanny was back alive. Hooray. Except for two years she wasn't. She was dead as dead could be and it hurt. Myra may not be an expert at reading people, but she knew when her father was playing to hide his pain, and he never played here. This was the only place he let it all out as if she...she was special, kinda like how Myra's mother was to him.

"It's strange to see her death date and it's years before I was even born," Gavin whispered to himself, a finger rolling over the etched in plaque. "She's so..." he seemed to be struggling to form whatever was flitting through his mind, his hands trailing over the words that summed up the life of the Hero of Ferelden in a few lines.

"At home, my mother was...is --"

"Your mom," Myra shrugged, she glanced up into the stone face while sliding into a lean against the bottom of the statue. "But that's not what people know, or see, or remember I guess, seeing as how she's, uh..."

"Dead," Gavin's voice thudded to the ground. He sounded as if he hated keeping the lie. Was it that he couldn't share it to show just how important he was or the mere idea of lying that bothered him? Myra hoped it was the latter, but she could understand if it was the former. Shit, if her mother stopped a blight she'd hand out pins reminding everyone of it. And that they owed her a copper for it, just 'cause.

"She was 19, just nineteen when she saved the world. Set out with nothing but her wits and..." Gavin's fingers slid over the onyx boot, trailing the swirls of a robe's hem chiseled out of the rock. "I have a lot of catching up to do."

Myra snorted at that. It wasn't funny, the poor guy looked as if he was ripping away his heart to reveal a deep secret, but it was absurd. Everyone was so certain he was trying to be the second to his father, the repeat. But nope, it was that secret mother instead. She drove him to want to be a knight to help people. Though, maybe it was both. Shame her parents weren't big helps on the whole 'here's your life's ambition' options.

"I must be boring you," Gavin whispered, tugging his hands behind his back. He turned from his mother to gaze around at all of the dead woman's stuff. There was a lot of it.

"No," Myra shook her head, "no, no, just...nope. I was, um..." Blighted hell, come up with something. "Got any big plans for later?" He scrunched his eyes up in confusion. "You know, knight stuff. Squire stuff at the behest of your knight. I swear I know how it works. Kinda."

He smirked at her babble, "My life is no longer my own." Sounded like something they'd been beating into the squire's heads even if it was true. Technically, he was owned by the knight who was also owned by her father, so... The thought gave Myra a headache.

"Why do you ask?" Gavin turned to her. He too slumped against his mother's feet, the pair trying to look at but not stare upon each other. It wasn't working so well.

"Just that there's a ton of city left to explore. I was wondering when you'd be free next time. There's a lot of secret places in the alienage I know about. You'll be safe if you go in with me, even if you are a shem." Andraste, she sounded like an idiot trying to appear nonchalant while picking at the dirt under her fingernails. But deep in her chest her heart picked up its beat and ran with it. If Myra grew anymore nervous her feet would start twitching of their own accord.

Gavin, the dorky one, smiled at the thought. "Sounds fun." Sitting up at that, Myra began to smile too. She was about to call it a date when he suddenly tacked on. "Oh, but I will be setting out with the rest of the squires on the Princess' caravan."

"The what?" Myra spun back to him, her mind churning. She hadn't heard a thing about Rosie getting her own caravan.

"I," Gavin's eyelashes fluttered as he seemed to be backtracking fast, "I didn't hear much. But it sounds as if her Majesty will be traveling through the Bannorn and her father, your father, requested a number of knights to accompany her."

Her father, or did Rosamund herself put in the request? Why not? She had literally every available man in Ferelden... Shit, if the princess asked, quite a few men would dump their wives for her hand. But no, the one she had to get all friendly with, bat her pretty eyes at, or swing her hips at, was the only one Myra ever...damn it.

"Myra?" he waved his fingers in front of her face and she blanched at falling into a sneering contest with the wall.

"Right, you, me, we should head back. It'll get dark soon, squires have to be something at night."

He bobbed his head, "In our bunks before lights out."

"Uh huh, that," Myra swiped at the tendrils of hair dangling in front of her face and began to pace towards the door. "So, uh..."

Gavin took one last glance up at his mother and the venom boiling in Myra's gut softened for a moment. "You must miss her," slipped out so fast, when he turned to follow the sound, Myra slapped her hand over her mouth.

"She's already sent me two letters, which arrived on different days but had to have been written one on top of the other," Gavin said. "But yes, I do miss them. I didn't expect to as much."

"First time I was out at the abbey, I was so mad at my mom and dad. I swore the whole carriage ride out I'd never speak to them again but then, when your mom pulled out that talking crystal thing...." Maker's breath Myra, stop blubbering all over him. Boys don't care about girls crying.

Gavin paused a moment, the air growing pregnant with unsaid words. He had those striking amber eyes shut tight. Bryn didn't know the half of what it was like staring into them. It was the anticipation that got to Myra. Watching them dance all over the place like fireflies when he was nervous and, just before he'd kiss her, shut them tight as hard as he could. Sometimes, when Myra was about to kiss him, she'd touch his cheek to startle him so she could stare right into those amber fields only a breath away.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick. Running a hand up and down his arm as if he was trying to hug himself, he smiled half heartedly. _Should she do that? Hug him?_ Before Myra could move, Gavin's voice lifted to its normal timbre, "For the tour. It was nice to see the city, some of the city. At least before I get to see much of Ferelden itself."

"No problem," Myra nodded, following Gavin out of his mother's shrine. She was going on that trip no matter what fits her dad or mom threw. Myra was gonna keep an eye on everyone. "No problem at all."

## Chapter Twelve

### Obstinate

"What makes you think you have any say in this?"

Myra ignored her mother's prodding as she was too busy yanking out her old traveling case. The damn thing was covered in books because she hadn't used it since she was fourteen. When she went to lift it up to place on her bed, it slipped right out of her hands and crashed against the ground. "What the shit is in here?"

"Myra, we talked about cursing," her mom sighed.

"Yeah, don't do it when shems or the nobs are listening. I got it," Myra waved a hand at her obstinate mother while cracking open her case. "What is all this?" Stuck inside her luggage were folders, piles and piles of folders. Also a handful of daggers. "Mom?"

Her mother stood in the doorway, constantly voicing her opinion about things that didn't concern her like a very annoying bird. At the sight of Myra's overfilled case, Reiss tipped her chin up and grimaced. "It's old case files."

"Why are they in my things?"

"They needed to go somewhere," her mom said as if it was the only logical answer in all of thedas.

"So," Myra struggled to hurl a handful out but the damn thing was packed. Grunting, she snarled, "keep them in your apartment. My shit's mine!"

"Which I bought for you."

Myra rolled her eyes and very deliberately got behind her case. Placing both hands against it, she said, "Pretty sure dad bought this one, right before you shipped me off to magic school." With all her might, Myra shoved the wooden trunk right at her mother. Reiss didn't move until Myra was almost on top of her, but either aware that her daughter wasn't going to stop or afraid she couldn't, she got out of the way. Upon reaching her mother's desk area that was always covered in everything: files, evidence, dioramas, ideas, food, Myra walked around her trunk and eyed up Reiss.

"Stay out of my shit," she snarled. Putting her back into it, she grabbed onto the bottom of her trunk. Grunting and straining, Myra tipped the chest upward causing folders to spill free like water out of a tank.

"Myra Sayer!" Reiss shouted, but it was too late. They were all coming out.

Digging in tighter, Myra got a better grip below and tipped her trunk higher until it was perpendicular with the floor. A tidal wave of old paperwork spread across every available walking space, swarming up to both Myra's and her mom's ankles. Rather proud of her accomplishment, Myra dropped her trunk down and picked it up by the handle. "Much better," she smiled at how light it was. Not caring what old case she stepped on, Myra walked over her mother's work to return to her room.

"Myra Sayer Theirin!"

You could hear a pin drop as every voice in the agency stopped. People were used to Reiss and Myra getting into it, her mom always trying the dreaded middle name approach. But when she pulled out her dad's name, well... Things were about to go full blight. Too bad Myra wasn't some scrawny twelve year old terrified of her mother's Voice-of-the-Maker routine. She was still scrawny, but was way taller than her mom.

"What? What, mom? Is it only acceptable for you to leave your crap all over my stuff if it's yours?"

"You're being unreasonable," her mother hissed, red rising upon her cheeks and forehead as she gripped tight to her arms.

"How? By wanting my own space? By wanting to do what I want? Tell me when I get to the unreasonable part, mom. Cause I ain't exactly asking to go get a tattoo and join with a marauding gang of pirates!"

"She makes a fair point..." a voice swung in with a parry, but her mother spun on her heels and snarled.

"Stay out of this, Lunet! She's my daughter..."

"Aye," Lunet dug a finger in her ear and sighed, "and we're your employees who are forced to suffer these constant little displays of rebellion. Ne'er mind the customers you two send scurrying for the door. Heard one time it got so bad a guy ran all the way back to his mum and pleaded for her forgiveness."

Reiss turned her death stare upon her oldest friend instead of her daughter who could give it back. "My child is misbehaving." Myra snorted at that and clomped back into her room. With a great heave, she cracked open her chest and began to drop her clothes inside. Three months didn't seem that long, but it sounded like she'd have to be prepared for anything on the road.

"She's growing up," Lunet sighed, a hand extended towards Myra who blinked at the unexpected help. Auntie Lunet was good for a laugh, but in such matters she always took her mom's side cause she paid her salary.

"She's only seventeen," Reiss snapped back with.

"She's right here and can hear you both."

"Oh, so now your ears are working, because you seemed incapable of hearing me every time I told you no."

Myra lifted up her free hand and clasped her fingers to her thumb repeatedly while rolling her eyes. She heard a snarl from her mother for that, and Lunet groaned, "A'right, she's still a right shit, but she's a bigger shit. You got to let her go at some point."

"Lune, I swear to the Maker, if you start telling me about baby birds and nests I will..." Reiss waved a hand under her nose. That was her mother, always right to the threats. Couldn't let a single person be right and her wrong. That'd go against the natural order or something.

"What'd your dad say?" Lunet shouted to Myra.

"Guess."

"No go unless your mom agrees? Sounds like the policy he'd take. I think he did the same thing with Kirkwall," Lunet sighed, tipping her head up.

"And I didn't say you could, young lady," Reiss called back in.

Myra didn't care. She was old enough, she could just leave. Hop onto a wagon without anyone the wiser. She knew how to avoid Karelle's checks, how to blend in. Bryn was gonna be there too, she'd help her hide. She was going, and with every word against it from her mother Myra grew more determined. Nothing, not even darkspawn, would keep her away.

"Well too bad, Mum, because I can do whatever I want."

"Ah!" her mother cried, her fists balled up as she waved them at the sky. No doubt she often begged the Maker for assistance with her wayward daughter. As if Myra was so bad. She didn't lap up any of the medicines for fun, barely had alcohol aside from the occasional need to blow off steam, and certainly never wound up knocked up. That would be....

Silently fuming, Myra dropped more of her clothes into the trunk, trying to leave a furrow so she could jam a few rolls of socks in the middle. She was going. Even if her mother tried to lock her in her room she could get out. Jorel taught her how to pick locks when she was only ten. Or there was the window. There were lots of ways for Myra to...

"Why do you want to go?" her mother's frustrated voice vanished to be replaced by a soft one of confusion.

Myra put in the last of her underwear and tried to close the lid. There was a good inch plus gap that wouldn't reach the lock. "Rosie's going," she said as if that was enough of an explanation. _And if Rosie were to jump off a cliff you'd follow?_ She girded herself for that logical sword but it didn't come.

Her mom slid into the room and dropped an elbow on top of the trunk. "You know she has to. It's part of her duty..."

"Cause she's his real daughter and I'm--"

"Myra," Reiss spat out, grabbing onto her hands, "you're his real daughter too."

"There's real and then there's really real. You know it, I know it, Lunet sure as shit knows it," Myra jabbed a finger out at the woman that was trying to slink away. They all danced around it, her dad often stopping by the agency as goofy Alistair. Everyone treated them as father and daughter, nothing weird about it, but life wasn't just lived here. She couldn't pretend that Myra was as legitimate as Rosie and Cailan. It was stupid. It wasn't real. It was all a fantasy world she could play in sometimes.

"You don't know what it'll be like," Reiss sighed.

She wanted to spit back that she knew better than her mom. While Myra was up at castle functions shaking off the rumors from behind hands and curt words, her mom was always hiding. Either down here in her work or behind closed doors with her father. She didn't care, didn't want to fight against it all because her mom was too weak. Well, this was the only life Myra had.

"Then," Myra snorted, "I guess I'll learn."

"Da'saan," her mother whispered, snapping Myra right to attention. She rarely used elvish unless some shit was about to go down. Sheepishly, Myra's eyes darted over to her mother's missing ear and old pain rattled up her throat. Suddenly she didn't want to go. What if something happened to her again? There wouldn't be anyone here to protect her!

Reiss wrapped a hand around Myra, tugging her daughter into a hug. "Watch yourself. You will be on trial at all times," her mom tried to tuck back Myra's long tendrils of hair behind her human ears. "But you'll have your brother and sister to watch your back."

"You..." Myra blinked, her hands shaking, "you're saying I can go?"

"I seem to be unable to stop you," Reiss shrugged. With both hands, her mom heaved onto the overloaded trunk. It was just enough to join the clasp and Myra could finally lock it down. As the pair staggered back, her mom sighed, "You know I only do what I do to keep you safe."

"I know," she nodded, having been given this speech many times by both her mom and dad. "But mom, the world's not nice."

For a brief second, her mother's finger curled over the knob of scar tissue that took half of her hearing from her. "No, it's not." The elf stared at her all but shem daughter a bit longer before sighing to shake away the sentiment. All business, Reiss stood up and marched to her desk. "You'll be sending me letters once a week. One to your father as well. Keep to the schedule and do not wander away from the caravan group alone, especially in any of the smaller towns."

"Yes, ma'am," Myra nodded her head, her heart filling with excitement. She was really going to go. A proper trip without anyone getting in the way. Eee!

"Bring back something for your father," her mom continued to dole out orders, when a voice coughed from behind the screen, "and Lunet."

"I prefer things that come in bottles, preferably of a red variety from near South Reach."

"She's not a blighted merchant, Lune," Reiss bit back, both of them tearing into each other good naturedly.

Myra gripped tight to her braid, her finger following the plaits as she kept trying to slow the beat of her heart. This was really happening. No more being the king's brat, or the Solver's copy. She could be her own person, Myra -- potential mage to the crown. Or however it worked. Dad was rather cagey about the old arcane advisors courts would have for some reason.

"And Myra," her mother punctured through her hazy imagination, "clean up this damn mess you made."

## Chapter Thirteen

### White Rabbit

Gavin was glad to be out of the city. One part of him felt it shouldn't be so. His whole life was spent out on the fringes, only interacting with a handful of new people during market day or on his rare trips into the village. Getting to Denerim seemed an impossible dream, even the people living in the palace were more than Gavin could possibly hope to remember. But once they set out in their long line of wagons, carriages, riders, and the walkers filling out the ranks, his heart felt at peace.

While the higher born would gawp at the road, as if they hadn't set foot outside their own city in years, Gavin fell into an easy pattern. He knew exactly how much energy he should expend in order to keep walking for miles. Above him, his knight sat perched upon her horse, taking the animal at a slow gait while her eyes peered around at the caravan. She seemed surprised he didn't throw a fuss about being told to walk. A few of the squires were on horseback, but most were told to walk same as Gavin. If anyone should be kicking up a fuss it was Snowy, who seemed to have vanished towards the back of the line.

But little could get that dwarf down really, and he'd been happy to pick up a great pack and chase after a horse at twice the speed of the long legged humans. Cal was here too, and a few of their group, but he'd left Gavin alone. The name seemed to throw the boy off, as if he kept expecting Gavin to suddenly yank out a sword of the Inquisition and declare Cal to be beheaded. There was also the time the King wandered past the squire ring just to talk to that shit farmer.

While Gavin couldn't stop sweating, terrified he'd do something wrong that would either offend the King or displease his knight, he also couldn't stop smirking. The King made polite nods of his head to Calenhad, third son of a Bann out of Amaranthine, but he couldn't muster the ability to give one iota of a shit about the boy. In the end, they hadn't talked about much, the King mostly inquiring about Gavin's mother despite being up on current events out in the abbey.

Certain he was in the clear, Gavin dared let a small smile slip free when the King was about to leave. At that exact moment, he spun back and said, "Myra's a quick kid, but if you do anything to hurt her, well..."

That was it. He left it on an ellipsis, forcing Gavin to imagine all the horrifying things the King could do to him. While fairly certain his mother would intervene for his life, she may leave him on the line for a bit if the offense was too great. She cared for Myra, her once pupil, as well. Not that Gavin had any intentions upon anyone. He needed to remain focused upon the task at hand, which at the moment was hunting for dinner.

For the first stop, a lot of the servants all gathered as much as they could to build up a campsite. Gavin helped a few get tents set up. In the middle of assisting with the first fire, he spotted Myra jabbing poles through canvas with that elven friend of hers. She was as animated as ever, trying to slick back the braid while giving a long explanation on tent raising. When they stepped back from their work, the entire structure collapsed. He tried to point out it was the support pole, but the girls were having too much fun racing to get the thing back up again. Either they'd succeed or he could show them how later.

It was Ser Daryan who approached Gavin, her eyes staring over the pile of squires. Not as many knights came, leaving their errand boys under the watch of one. She inherited five hands, but Daryan put the squeeze on her proper squire. Afraid that there wouldn't be enough food to go around, because royalty was terrible at understanding need versus want, she ordered him into the bush.

While the rest of the caravan settled in with each other, telling tales and singing songs, Gavin slunk into the bush. He hated to say it, but he preferred it that way. So many people all at once, what was he to say? Did he only talk to a handful? What if he accidentally spoke to a proper blue blood out of turn? Or brought up a topic already covered, showing himself to be...a shit farmer and nothing more.

Tucked into the ferns that littered the forest floor barely able to grow due to the waning light, Gavin caught the careful hop of a rabbit. He was straddling the ground, his haunches straining as he lifted up the short bow to try and get a feel for the rabbit's movement. The bunny couldn't see him. If it did, it'd have already flitted away through the underbrush. But it knew something was off. Its normally surefooted hops slowed, the body attempting to freeze as it blended into the background.

Some of the old rangers who traveled the paths tried to teach him how to do that. They said his natural skin tone was a blessing in such matters, allowing Gavin to blend in with the shadows. But at only thirteen or fourteen, and prone to fits of youthful exuberance, it didn't work so well. With a calmer head and slightly steadier hand, he felt more at ease.

Slowly, he lifted up the bow. The rabbit didn't move. He sucked in a breath, holding it tight while slotting in an arrow. Winds rustled through the trees, the rabbit's ears twitching. Did it hear the pull of the string or how his leathers creaked? Lining his eye down the shaft, he tried to get the right aim, when the rabbit's entire body went rigid.

It was about to bolt!

Trusting in his gut, Gavin lifted the sight a bit higher and released. Cutting through the ferns at fast speed, the rabbit turned just as the arrow bit right into its flank. A single squeal broke from the animal before it died, its body flopping to the side. A quick kill.

As he rose out of his stretch, Gavin had to pause. Pain seized up and down his thighs. His leg muscles must have cramped from sitting in such a strange position for so long. "Andraste's tits," he cursed, the blood flow stinging as it finally resumed pumping to his toes.

"Hm," a smooth voice echoed from behind him. He spun fast to find the Princess standing in the brush. "I had no idea you swore."

"It, uh," Gavin dropped his head down so low it almost looked as if he planned to bull rush her. No doubt it couldn't hide the blush on his cheeks but it was all he had. "Forgive me, your majesty."

She smiled and stepped deeper into the forest. The princess wisely chose to wear riding gear for this trip. Her thick trousers moved easy through the brush while a skirt would spell trouble. "Don't worry about it. I dare say even I on occasion let one or two loose," her fingers landed upon his arm and she added, "But please don't tell anyone."

"I, I won't," Gavin nodded his head, feeling like his brain was floating away while his body dug itself into the mud.

"May I?" she gestured to the bow in his fingers.

"Of course," he handed it over to her. It was technically his knight's but surely she'd understand if the princess asked to handle it a moment. While Rosamund fiddled with the grip, Gavin hopped over to pick up his kill.

Digging into the rabbit with his knife, he cut the arrowhead free and yanked the carcass up by its leg. Blood dripped down, some of it slapping back against his thigh as he inched back towards the princess. Her eyes turned from the bow to land upon the meat in his hand. "Oh, you got one," she cried in excitement.

"Yes," he felt stuck dumb, uncertain what to say to her majesty beyond the blisteringly obvious. _There is in fact a rabbit in my hand so I must have killed it, or else it's going to be a very angry rabbit._

"Do you do this often?" Rosamund asked, her head tipping to the side.

"Only when asked," he flinched, uncertain if she was about to ask him to hunt out the entire forest or stop because she adored cute bunnies.

Her red lips lifted in a quick smile, "Naturally. I was curious if out at the refuge you would have to hunt for your supper."

"No," Gavin shook his head, his cheeks lighting up in the dumbest of ways. It kept slipping his mind that she'd know of his life or care. "No, we had a farm. Not much of one. And the locals would often gift us food in exchange for medicinal help."

"Your mother." The princess' eyes blended in with the darkness of the forest, leaving her face hauntingly pale. It was disconcertingly beautiful, as if she belonged in here. Like a spirit of the trees.

"They'd like to send gifts to my father as well. The Commander of the Inquisition," Gavin snickered as he extended his hand to encompass that grand title. "It, it carries a lot of weight."

"I imagine so," Rosamund tipped her head to the side as if she was listening through the trees, "one that a person can easily buckle under." The way she stared at him melted Gavin's legs another foot. He feared if this lasted any longer he'd be as short as Snowy.

"Are you going to ask why I'm out here?" the princess suddenly switched topics. She picked up the bow and drew the string against her cheek as if in practice.

"Because you wished to be?" Gavin shrugged. He meant it seriously, but the woman laughed as if it was a joke.

"Go where you wish, do as you wish. Is that not what it means to be royal?"

He didn't have a lot of experience, and even less answers. The first time Gavin met the King, that he could remember, the man was confounding. All the kings in books were imposing figures who'd cut swathes through the land to achieve what they wished. Aside from the scornful father act, King Alistair appeared to be amenable to damn near anything put in front of him. And yet, he fought in the blight by his mother's side. He took the crown as his own and held it for decades. Something told Gavin that there was a lot more to being royal than doing what you wanted when you wanted.

"I don't know..." he began, when out of the corner of his eye he caught a flit of something moving through the underbrush. Sucking in a breath, he jabbed a finger towards the movement. The princess nodded and she let him grab onto her shoulders, and slowly they both lowered to their haunches.

It was hard to see, the movement far away. But as both strained, whatever it was shifted closer. Perhaps it smelled the blood of its fallen kin, or it could sense the fire and wanted near the heat. Either way, the rabbit was shifting closer.

"Oh," the princess exclaimed in barely a breath, "it's all white!"

Sure enough, the bunny that finally stepped into a clearing free of ferns, or saplings about to be choked out of the light, was as white as snow. Odd to see here and rare. Perhaps it was an omen. People said that about weird animals a lot. Either way, another rabbit meant more food for hungry people.

Gavin glanced over at the woman clinging to the bow. He could pluck it off her and take aim but that would certainly rustle the bush. Weighing the thought a moment, instead he handed her the arrow. Her eyes narrowed in confusion before a far more heart warming smile than any he'd seen from the Princess before rose on her cheeks.

The urge to explain to her how to line up the sight and anticipate the rabbit's jump rose in Gavin's throat, but he smothered it down. Any noise on his part was certain to send the rabbit skittering away. She was on her own.

Twisting to the side a bit, the princess shifted her body into regulation arrow firing. Gavin was trained more or less by himself and a few other people who'd often fire out of trees or other crammed in spots. One man used his toes. It was odd to him to watch someone doing it by the book. She took in a breath, her chest rising as she lay the arrow next her cheek. The rabbit had to sense eyes on it, no doubt about to move.

Gavin moved to reach over to tell her to fire now, when the rabbit leapt to its legs and bounded towards the ferns. Too late now. He expected the princess to place the bow down, but when he turned, his arrow flew past. It whipped apart the green leaves before sticking deep into something hidden inside the bracken. He threw on a pity smile, when a small cry erupted from the downed animal. She hit the thing?

Standing up first, Gavin made a long stride out of their little blind before turning to offer a hand to the princess. She smiled and took it, both of them walking together to find their white rabbit dead in a pile of leaves. Rosamund watched as Gavin picked up her kill, her eyes bright from her reaching her target.

"Well, look at that," was all she said to compliment herself as if it was no big deal. "If you don't mind my asking, Squire?" Gavin turned away from the soft white fur speckled in crimson to look at her. "Why were you sent to collect rabbits out of the forest?"

"My knight, she said that..." he paused to amend his answer to something more approving of nobles, "that there was a fear the stores might run low."

"I see," the princess nodded her head softly and templed her fingers together. "Thank you for that information."

"Do you...?" he waved her kill towards her as if a high born lady would have any use for it.

She snickered at the thought, "No, please. You keep it. I'm certain all the squires and the like could use the meat. Good evening, squire Gavin."

As she turned on her heel and walked back to the fire, he called out, "To you as well, your Highness!"

To the pile of grey and brown conies he caught earlier, Gavin added the single white one. It had to be more than enough for his Knight, and certain to leave him skinning rabbits for the rest of the evening. Still... He let his fingers drift over the white fur and an idea of what to do with it struck him.

## Chapter Fourteen

### Fur

It wasn't a bad place. There were walls, which was good, and a roof, also a plus. It looked a ton better than the buildings in the alienage, that was for sure. Oddly, the Bann didn't look too happy when Myra said that. It was a compliment. Not as if she said, "Well, it's a quarter of the size of the palace and your unicorn statue in the middle of the room is clearly a bronto someone stuck a horn onto." She was being on her best behavior, which was proving incredibly hard as Bann Micah insisted on dragging them through every damn room in his estate. When they got to the larder, Myra couldn't take it anymore and groaned.

While Cailan chuckled at her waning enthusiasm to see that this man had a big house, and wouldn't even be kind enough to comment upon his clearly big house, the crowned highness snapped. That got an eye roll from both Myra and Cailan. Somewhere Rosie got it in her head she could clicker train her brother and half-sister, as if either were too stupid to know what she was up to. The first time Rosamund did it, they played along for an entire day both accumulating a great pile of toffees for their trouble. Now, it was just annoying.

"Here, my lady, is..."

Mercifully, Rosamund interrupted as the Bann tried to show off his middens for the fourth time. "Perhaps it is best if we attend to the meetings, Bann Micah."

"Uh," that threw him off. He'd been mighty confused when the famed beauty Rosamund knocked on his fancy door instead of their father. Even explaining it to him in teeny tiny words took a few restarts. By the time it got through his skull that no, Alistair wouldn't be showing up, he seemed to take it all in stride. Which apparently necessitated a walk through his home as if Rosie would have any intentions to buy it. How many hermits do you have living on your front lawn? Hm, only one? That's too bad, I hear the Tilden Estates have three.

"Surely, my lady must be exhausted from the road," the Bann extended a hand towards either a water closet, toilette, or gift wrapping room. Myra couldn't remember what was what and grew more certain she was going to die on this tour.

"I believe I know the limits of my stamina," Rosie drew out the frosty princess act from her scabbard. Maybe even she was getting tired of the peacock runaround. But it didn't last long. Smiling, she tipped her head, "Please, if you may lead us on to the room. I have a few important matters to weigh first. Then, you may finish your tour."

Oh blighted Maker, Myra managed to groan inside her head, while the Bann lit up at the idea. Micah nodded his head like it was caught on a cheap ass spring that sprunged a year back. "That would be delightful, your Highness," he extended his arm as if it was broken and Rosie took it. The first time he did it Myra wondered if he wasn't about to point at something or he wanted to be flipped. She would have offered to do the latter.

While the Bann and Princess took the lead, Cailan wandered back by Myra. It was just the three of them for this tour of rooms, the advisors wisely deciding to stay out of it. Now she knew they were like birds. Watch to see when they took wing to know if danger was near. Her brother had his hands behind his back, his head tipped down while he kept his eyes closed. He did that often, walking as if he could hear music only in his mind. But he never walked into a horse's behind or anything, so no one stopped him.

From beside her, she caught Cailan's ice blue eyes pop open. Both shot a glance at Micah then they orbited around the sprawling estate. At Myra's confused look, he lifted up his hand and then made a very tiny measurement between thumb and forefinger. Shaking her head, Myra mouthed, "Well, duh."

"Ah," Micah suddenly exclaimed loudly, causing both of the younger siblings to snap up straight. But he wasn't about to call them out. The Bann waved over a kid who was nothing but knees, and elbows, and a pointed head. Whoever talked him into growing all the hair around his oddly shaped head into the same length should be put in the stocks. It looked like a mushroom was scrabbling over to talk to them.

"This is my son, Glenn," the Bann smiled wide to Rosie who blinked a moment before extending her hand to the boy. He scooped it up as if her fingers were a pair of dice and gave them a hearty roll.

"A pleasure." Rosie didn't even blink at the awkwardness, which was why she was the real princess.

"You know," the Bann smiled wider, "he's not promised to anyone."

"Big surprise there," Myra rolled her eyes, when she heard a sharp intake a breath. The Bann was glaring at her along with the mushroom. Rosie's back snapped rigid but Cailan was trying to smother down a laugh. _Shit_. She didn't mean to say it aloud. Well, not aloud enough people heard it. Myra scrunched up tighter into her collar, her face turning hot, but she had a straight line over the back of Rosie's head right into the fuming Bann's face.

Did he honestly think her sister would pick his scrawny at best thirteen year old son to be the king? Wow, they were more delusional than she thought.

"It is an honor to meet you, Glenn," Rosamund spoke politely to cover over the air thickening with anger. "If you will excuse your father and I, we have business to discuss."

"Uh sure," Glenn tugged his fingers back and then obviously wiped them down his pants leg. And he was still in that hated girls stage of life. Yup, future king right there. You guessed well Bann.

Getting the hint, Micah finally guided Rosie towards the meeting room -- which they already got a grand tour of including the history of all the tapestries. Myra and Cailan both moved to follow, when Rosamund turned. Her cold eyes landed upon her half-sister and she said, "Why don't you head on out, Myra? I'm certain you will find this dull."

"Uh..." her stomach churned. So, maybe she wasn't the most charming at this pointless dance. It didn't seem polite to lie right to someone's face either.

Cailan sat up higher, "Then I should go with too."

"No," the princess lashed an arm out to grab onto her brother's hand, "I will require you to run some numbers."

"Great to know you only see me as a walking abacus," Cailan sighed shuffling under Rosie's power. The three of them entered into the mahogany meeting room which required over three hundred nails to build. Myra was left standing bereft, her fingers twisting through the air. Sure, she didn't want to sit in the meeting, but she didn't want to be disinvited either.

Eh, screw it. More than likely the Bann would spend the entire time talking up his estate or son as if he could trick Rosie into agreeing to marrying the kid on the spot. Rosie'd grow angrier and angrier about getting nothing done, while Cailan would slip away and have a roll with the first woman he found. Probably a maid, possibly the Bann's daughter. If it was his wife, Myra might be in the clear for mouthing off. Here's hoping.

Shaking away the last bit of shame at daring to act like their father in front of a nob, Myra stepped out of the back door to come upon their caravan's campgrounds. Rosie and her handmaidens had their own lush rooms in the Bann's estate, as did Cailan. They offered one to Myra as well, she being of sort of royal blood, but she declined. One, she feared stumbling to the privy in the middle of the night and finding herself trapped on one of the never ending tours until her bones turned to dust. Two, she'd much rather room with her friend. They managed to score one of the smaller tents and have it all to themselves.

There weren't a lot of servants on the trip, but enough to keep her majesty and his highness from having to fend for themselves. Heaven forbid Rosie ever need to dig her own latrine hole. Or Cailan, really Cailan doing anything. If someone put him in charge of getting food he'd probably wander to a tavern, drink the biggest brute there under the table, sleep with the proprietor's daughter, and fully forget why he was even sent.

As Myra jogged down the steps onto the cleared out gardens fully swarming with people, she spotted a line of young men and women all in their livery tunics. Some were patching leathers, a handful were having an arm wrestling match, and the rest were doing pushups for no obvious reason beyond boredom. Surveying it all was the knight left in charge of them. There was another one for this trip, but he was barely a knight-errant at best.

"Hey there, Lady Knight," Myra called, waving a hand at Ser Daryan.

The woman turned, her eyes pinching together as if she had to stare into the sun to see Myra. Too bad it was overhead of them. "My Lady," she tipped her head, those tight lips giving nothing away. That was Daryan. Myra didn't know much about the knights, having never had a reason to care, but in asking around people didn't have a lot to say about her. She was quiet. She didn't brook failure. She was, as they colloquially put it, 'a real hard ass.'

"So," Myra stopped beside the woman who was a bit shorter than her. Did it bug the knight? It sure as hell bothered the Bann. His eyes kept glancing over at the towering Myra as if in shock that some young girl would dare be taller than him. If Daryan cared, she didn't let on. "How's things?"

"Things are well, my Lady," she said, all but spitting the latter part out as fast as possible. Myra was used to it from people who had no idea how to address a bastard but didn't want to piss off her father. With him a good four days travel back at Denerim, that was probably Daryan's default setting.

"Good, good. Bring a lot of sharp bits?" Myra asked. When the knight glanced at her, she continued, "And flat bits to stop the other sharp bits?"

"It is unnerving how much you share with your father," the woman sighed. Myra took it as a compliment. People may not like having her around, or know what to do when she was, but they couldn't act as if she wasn't clearly the king's kid.

Groaning, Daryan stuck her hands behind her back, "If you are looking for him, he's in his tent with the dwarf."

Myra blinked madly at that. "Wh...who? Who would I be looking for?" She stumbled around, feeling as if someone kicked out the back of her knees. "Wh-why would I be looking for anyone?"

The knight's thin lips lifted in a smirk and she shrugged, "My mistake."

_Damn it._ She could show the woman she didn't care, that Daryan was jumping to foolish conclusions about Myra, and head back to her own tent. Or try to find something else to do in this backwater berg. Too bad Bryn was busy actually working.

No. No, that'd let Daryan win. Squaring her shoulders, Myra marched towards the furthest tent in the cluster around the squires. The entire area stank of moldy sweat-stained boy, which was impressive as nearly half the squires were girls. Somehow the boy parts overwhelmed the girl ones...which sounded really dirty. Myra tried to shake the thought off while also mentally jotting it down to tell Bryn later.

When she reached what she assumed was the tent, she paused. How did one enter a tent? Did you knock? Maybe call out a greeting? Make a loud bell noise? _Um, excuse me people inside of there. I would like to come in and say hello._ Maker's breath, that was stupid. Just, go in. It's a tent. What's the worst thing they could be doing?

Myra yanked up the flap when the idea struck her that anyone inside could be naked. Her eyes instantly dropped to the ground, her head jabbing in as she spoke, "Um, uh, hello?"

"Good afternoon," Gavin's cheerful voice spoke. Okay, he's not shrieking for the girl to get out so probably not naked. Why would he be naked in the middle of the day anyway? Who knows. Boys are weird.

Getting her bearings, Myra let her eyes lift to find a pile of fur stretched across Gavin's lap. He sat upon the ground and had, of all things, a needle in his fingers. A spool of thread stretched out from off the needle to a spindle that the dwarf kept pinched between his palms.

"Well, well, if it ain't the lady that ain't the fancy one," that dwarf said. Ah shit, what was his name? Something cold. Icebeard? Icebeard was a good dwarven name.

"What," Myra had to come to a knee, her full height easily clobbering the tiny tent. They weren't really built for people to go running around inside of, unless you were of old Frostaxe's height. "What are you doing?"

"Holding shit," the dwarf said.

Gavin rolled his eyes, "Pretty sure she was talking to me, Snowy."

"Oh, I see. Any girl wanders into our tent, has to be for you," the dwarf huffed.

"Well, the next one to come in and ask what's happening I'll leave for you to answer." He seemed relaxed. Really relaxed. Like a lake on a still day kind of relaxed. Nearly half the caravan was twitchy as a cat's tail right before it sunk the teeth in but not Gavin. Blessed Andraste, she was never going to understand boys.

He lifted up the pile of what she recognized as rabbit fur. "I'm sewing these onto a backing to try and make a warm coat."

"You can sew?" she gasped, reaching her fingers out to try and ruffle the fur. Myra paused before making contact, afraid one touch of her finger could cause the entire thing to collapse apart.

Gavin blinked a moment, "Not that well. I fear that at best this may be a wrap. Sleeves are...tricky. And I'll need a lot more rabbit furs."

"Unless you give it to me," Snowy spoke, then cracked up. No doubt a rabbit fur coat was meant for Gavin, especially given how much effort he was putting into it.

"How did you," she started, still confused by what was before her, "why did you learn how to do this?"

"The caravan needed the meat, but letting the fur go to waste seemed impractical. Not a lot of call for rabbit and I thought," the easy manner slid away, a blush rising upon those sienna cheeks. "Wanted to..."

"It's amazing," Myra interrupted, honestly gobsmacked. She never thought to do something like that. Her mother tried to teach her how to hem up clothing, but it ended in Myra pooling her coppers to secretly hire someone else to do it. Then she shot up six inches seemingly overnight and it didn't much matter.

"No," Gavin shook his head, already trying to roll the fur up in an attempt to hide it away, "it's nothing. Simple way to use up extra, um...Oh!" He snapped his fingers and then reached behind himself.

What was going to come out next? An entire rocking chair he carved from a tree that was downed in their path? She knew their knights were supposed to be well rounded but she wouldn't trust the rabble outside with anything more complicated than carving a set of dice.

A beautiful, fluffy, and white as snow rabbit fur appeared in Gavin's fingers. He must have sewn it to a felt backing, this one too pretty to be wasted upon a simple coat. Myra reached down, her fingers stumbling themselves through the thick tuft of fur that looked as if it'd been washed of any blood and then combed. Great, he combs rabbits too. Dead ones, but she wouldn't be surprised if he regularly feeds birds from him palms or something.

Gavin smiled a moment at her reaction, before passing it over. At Myra's confused look, he explained, "Could you give that to your sister?"

"My what?" Broken glass dug through her skin, the once soft fur scratching gashes into her hands. She felt red burning at the sides of her eyes while staring down at this gift. Fit for a princess, of course.

"I'm certain you see her far more often than I do," Gavin explained as if it was all a simple matter. Make Myra hand deliver all those gifts, and presents, and love tokens. Great way to make your intentions known to both the crowned princess and the wasted bastard on the side.

Snarling, she dug her fingernails into the precious fur, Myra tempted to rip it apart at the seams. But that wouldn't be nice. And damn it, she was doing her best to be that. "Should I," she blinked like mad, attempting to shake a burn in her eyes away, "should you include a note? Maker certain she knows it comes from you?"

Gavin smiled, "I assume she'll know."

That was the wrong response. Enraged, Myra staggered up to her feet, fully forgetting she was far too tall for the damn tents. Before her forehead collided with the bar and brought the entire thing down, she hunched over. The dwarf caught on quickly that something went wrong fast, while that stupid boy just sat blinking wide eyed. Maybe he didn't even know...

There was nothing to know. Not a damn thing at all.

"Fine," Myra shook the fur trapped in her fist. No doubt her always filthy fingers already stained it in dirt. Well, if it mattered so much to Rosie she could clean it herself. Turning on her heel, she tried to march out of the tent even while bent over. It was pathetic. She was pathetic, having to rely upon rage to stampede over... Damn it! Nothing.

"You know," she spat over her shoulder, "I don't think a princess will have much use for a single, puny rabbit fur." Myra put all her teeth into that, trying to use those political skills others wielded the way she did a sword. And they all fell fully on deaf ears.

Shrugging a shoulder, unaware of any wrong doing, Gavin picked back up his sewing. In a soft voice he muttered, "It doesn't matter what she does with it. She deserves it."

What? What did that stupid boy want? Weren't gifts of love supposed to be cherished like a damn stuffed animal that's kept upon a girl's bed? Or locks of hair wrapped in ribbon which always struck Myra as blood magic. He didn't even care if Rosie did more than glance upon it once?

Out of everything stupid he said, that seemed to give Gavin pause. He glanced up from his work to blink in confusion, "It's her kill, it's her choice."

Gah!

Myra didn't respond, her brain wanting to shout too many incoherent things at once. Instead she dashed out the door, leaving Gavin to futz about with whatever other secret gift he was making for the future Queen. Get on her good side. She could be his future boss. Made sense.

Or...

Not like their dad didn't already approve of him and his family. He may not be a Bann's or Arl's son but certainly not too many would make a fuss about the kid of the great General sitting on a throne. Myra clawed at her arms, her skin prickling at the thought. It made sense. Her mother would call it a potential conclusion leading to forgone once one gathered more facts.

"It was her kill." Damn it! He was either blisteringly stupid to the point of an infuriating naiveté, or Gavin Rutherford was playing some kind of inter-dimensional version of the Game no one even discovered yet.

Myra ran her fingers over the fur, unable to stop how soft it ruffled against her skin. It'd be a good gift to receive from anyone. He put a lot of time and effort into getting it pristine. Too bad she wasn't the sort of person to be worthy of giving such things.

Staggering to her feet, Myra decided to march right into the middle of Rosie's little meeting and drop off the gift. She'd either blush a storm at it, or be so mad at Myra interrupting that she'd take it out on the fur. Either way, it'd be interesting to see her sister's reaction.

Before she left, she heard Gavin ask, "What is it, Snowy?"

"I'm suddenly very grateful that I don't look like you," the dwarf snickered.

"Wh...why?"

The dwarf took his time before sighing sagely, "Cuts down on a lot of problems."

## Chapter Fifteen

### Promise

By the time it was light's out, Gavin was content to stretch out upon his pallet. Well, he would if he weren't so damn tall. Best he could manage was scrunching up with his knees tucked near his chest or else his feet were left exposed to the mud below them. His tentmate on the other hand was free to stretch as wide as he wanted. But Snowy wasn't in the mood to sleep. Even while their Knights paced back and forth through the small campsite shouting for everyone to get to sleep, Snowy refused to stop talking.

"So, fur making..."

"It's not really fur making," Gavin sighed. He was getting exhausted from everyone's surprised looks. It wasn't that difficult to figure out. There was a book on it. There were books on a lot of things. "I don't exactly grow the fur."

His roomie snickered at that. "Right, you'd look a right pillock if you sprouted fur all over your face." Pausing a moment, Snowy sighed, "No, knowing you, somehow a thick coat of black fur would send even more girls chasing after you."

"What?" He was flabbergasted, and more than a bit confused. He couldn't even get anything other than a sliver of hair to sprout upon his upper lip. Fur everywhere seemed...confusingly impossible.

Snowy turned onto his side, his hard eyes traveling up and down Gavin's form. "Aye, add a fluffy tail and you'd be in business."

"I...I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Ain't you lucky," he flopped back over a hand across his eyes. "Got me a sis that's not afraid of sharing stuff we all really don't want to hear about. And big into drawing." Snowy shuddered deeper into his thin mat as if trying to burrow through the earth.

Gavin twisted up, about to ask a question when he caught Daryan's lantern light swinging past. As the arc of the yellow circle drifted further onward, he whispered, "You have a sister?"

"Yup, and another two after that, and three brothers."

"Maker's breath," Gavin gasped. "That's a lot of...people to be related to."

Snowy snorted out the side of his nose. He'd shattered it once, which caused the side to heal wrong. Whenever he laughed a blast of air would shoot from the single nostril like a bolt out of a crossbow. "Way you talking I'm guessing you've got...what, one sister?"

"Uh," Gavin glanced at the ground, his fingers stirring up the dirt he'd tried to stay out of. "N...no, it's just me."

"Only babe. Ain't seen one of them in awhile. Ah shit, don't tell me, miracle baby. Nah nah, it totally fits. Older famous dad sends his only son out into the world. Shit, yer even a farm boy too."

"I am not a farm boy, regardless of what Cal claims," Gavin sneered. He was growing exhausted with the incessant assumptions about his past. Everyone just decided what he was without daring to ask him. "If anything I'm an abbey boy."

"So the chaste, deny all the best bits about living type?" Snowy rolled the words around in his mouth like he was sampling them. "If yer smart, you'll stick with farm boy. Gives you a good salt of the earth thing going on. The girls'll eat that stuff up."

His roommate was never far from that subject. Somehow Snowy could turn the most innocuous subject back to romance. It was growing tiresome. "Your name, Snowy, does it have any special significance?" he scrambled to change to anything other than girls and the art of getting one to give you the time of day.

"Why?" the dwarf fully rolled over now, his eyed piercing through the darkness to strike at Gavin. Slivers of the bonfirelight reached through the thin canvas, granting them twisted shadows. "It's a name. Got to have a name. All people do. What about you? Gavin. Keep expecting you to wear a plaid skirt and shout how there can only be one!"

"It..." Gavin sighed, "it's what my parents chose. I don't know why."

"Yup, that'd be pretty much everyone's story. We don't get a lot of say in it, but live with what we got," he declared the conversation over, Snowy flipping onto his stomach. That was how he slept back in Denerim, both arms dangling off. The bunkbeds were built so low, Gavin would watch the boy's hands slipping in and out through the air as he seemed to be swimming in his sleep.

Accepting that the conversation was closed, Gavin turned his back to the bonfire and tried to stare at nothing. Sleep skirted through the air like a dragonfly with effervescent wings. He would reach out to grab it, only to have the creature skitter away and nearly vanish into the dark shadows. If he was busy that day and had exhausted himself mind and body, he could pass out fast. But after calmer days, or...sometimes more emotionally confusing ones, Gavin would toss and turn for hours. He feared this would be no different.

Why had Myra been so cross with him? He didn't catch it at first, glad to have her stop by, but Snowy explained the turn and Gavin had to agree with the dwarf that something was off. It had seemed a simple matter. She was likely to see her sister again, she could deliver the fur back sooner. Gavin didn't want to have to cart it around any longer than necessary. The extra coat was bad enough. It wasn't as if she...

Light burst against Gavin's wandering eyes and he hissed, sitting upright. But instead of an invader, or his knight, the cold eyes of Cal stared directly back at him. "Hey, farm boy, get up." Well, at least he wasn't calling him shit farmer anymore. Step up.

"Why? It's lights out," Gavin tried to explain. Beside him he caught Snowy's eye open and wander back, but the dwarf remained appearing comatose.

"No shit," Cal sighed as if Gavin was an idiot of epic proportions, "That's when we head out. Come on." Without any explanation the boy vanished out of the tent, taking the light with. Gavin scrabbled forward on his knees and plucked up the flap to find a few other squires rushing around gathering up the rest.

"What's going on?" he mused to himself, when a hand landed upon his shoulder. He turned to find Snowy with his boots on. The dwarf was trying to slick back his hair into style.

"While the darkspawn's away," the dwarf smiled wide, stretching out his hands. "Get some nice clothes on."

"I don't have..." Gavin sighed before shaking his head, "what's going on?"

"All the knights are hunkered down in their fancy beds way away from us, meaning...come on, you can't be that sheltered."

"We're sneaking out!" Gavin gasped as if the concept was the most novel thing he'd ever heard.

"Lovely town right across the field ripe for the picking. Set up shop in a tavern...ooh!" Snowy rummaged through his pack and tugged out a deck of cards.

"I think they'd have their own at a pub," Gavin remarked while pulling out the first clean shirt he found. This was sky blue, with a deeper neckline to account for his growing form. He should probably look into acquiring more clothing that was deep green to match his knight's livery. But for now...

Snowy unfurled his cards, easily snapping the entire deck from one hand to the other like a fountain, "Not like these they won't. Now, come on." After patting his roomie on the shoulder one last time, Snowy dashed out to join the rest of the squires all unearthed from their beds.

By the time Gavin stepped out, they had a good half dozen in total, practically all the boys who came with on this mission. Calenhad was inspecting his troops, nodding with a big smile at the pile he kept around him. When he turned to spot Gavin, he stopped and crossed his arms. "Look at this, farm boy's gonna break the rules and join us."

"I'm...yes," Gavin stumbled with a response. He felt a thrill riding up and down his arms. Sure, he'd often travel for days at a time without his parents, but they always knew where he was. Aside from the handful of times he'd perhaps take a minor detour. Never for anything very nefarious, just to see if there was anything interesting out in the world.

"Right," Cal, the clear leader slapped his hands together, "I got the dirt on this spit of a town. Not much, but seems a lot of soldiers pass through from Denerim to Highever, so I know the perfect place to head out to."

The other boys cheered, already amped to get up to a touch of mischief. Even Snowy clapped along, excited to get free. At that Cal paused in his devilish plans and eyed up the dwarf. He looked about to say something against it, but Gavin only folded his arms and the boy smiled anew.

"Let's get the fuck out of here before Ol' 12 bottles catches us," he cried. With Cal in the front, the entire squad ducked down and broke into a soft run towards the town lights. It felt good to stretch his legs after having spent most of the day wandering through the campsite. But Gavin slowed up to remain by Snowy so together they took up the rear.

As they reached the Bann's estate gates, Cal waved them towards a bit of a break in the fence. It was just large enough for one person to squeeze through, and looked well used. Servants sneaking out the same way they were? No doubt that was how Cal learned of it. "Pst," he whispered, "last one through, put the bush thing back."

That wound up being Gavin, Snowy ahead of him having to suck in his broad chest to make it past the narrow gap. Oh Maker, what if he got stuck? Would the others ditch him? He paused in his panic to amend after the others ditched him, how long would it take anyone else to find him? His concerns wound up being all for not as he easily slipped on past the break in the iron. Chuckling at the foolish fears, Gavin only glanced back at the big house once.

It sat silent, the size looming over them like a hammer about to fall. But no swift retribution came, only the slumbering of the lords and ladies inside. Tugging back on the creeping vines seven excited boys shoved away, Gavin hid away the hole.

The town was quaint, one of those one chantry, one pub types. They'd all met the mayor while passing through, the woman ecstatic to greet the actual Princess. Her excitement dimmed but didn't diminish as she waved to the rest of the riffraff passing through her village to get to the Bann's estates. Mostly packed dirt roads, a single cobblestone square filled out the main street. It had a statue of Andraste in the middle which Cal, upon jogging past, paused and turned back in order to stretch up and grab at her chest. The others around him giggled at the idea of fondling their prophet while Gavin fumed.

Snowy jabbed him in the side and whispered, "Farm boy not abbey priest, remember." He didn't realize he'd even made a sound and tried to blink it away. If Cal and the gang heard, they didn't let on. They were too far gone in their own freedom to care. Turning on a copper, they were led to the left of the town.

Most of the house's lights were out; not even a flickering haze from a sleeping fireplace answered them. All they had to go on were the stars and the moon. Funny, a village this small it seemed unlikely to find anything open this late at night. Maybe an older man would throw open the barn doors and invite a few people in for a drink. But the town proper was too busy preparing for tomorrow to bother with such things. No, if there was a tavern to be had, it wouldn't be on the outskirts which seemed to be where Cal was leading them.

Gavin tensed up, fearing he was being pulled into an ambush. Stupid. He didn't think to bring a sword. There was a dagger on his thigh, but that was it. Well, perhaps he could count on Snowy to back him up. Two on six, that would in no way be impossible odds. Maker's sake, why would you think he'd be your friend? It's not as if...

"Here we are!" Cal shouted, waving a hand to encompass a solitary house sitting alone on an empty street. Candles burned in every window, an eerie red flame lapping off them. Was this a sacrifice site? Did blood mages live here?

Gavin was about to speak up, terrified of the answer, when the door opened and Maker awful lute music fled through the gap. A man was garbling the fast paced song, but what caught all their eyes was a woman clearly dressed in her underthings waving goodbye to an older gentleman. Before he turned from her, he reached back and gave her a hard pinch on the bottom. Instead of slapping him, she giggled so high pitched it drowned out the terrible lute music.

"I don't think we're heading to the tavern," Snowy whispered softly to himself.

"Wh...what is this?" Gavin asked.

"Oh abbey," the dwarf sighed, shaking his head.

Cal slapped his hands together as if he couldn't wait to dive into a great feast, "Well, what are you all standing around for? Let's get in there!" All the other boys were mimicking him, giggles passing from one to another as they began to shout random words that seemed to have no bearing upon anything. The air stank of nervousness and sweat, the others leaping on their toes as if to reach up taller than the rest of the boys around them. Some would dash forward, only to scamper back and let the rest overtake them. Cal continued onward, dead set on his path.

Only Gavin was left fully confused. If they weren't going to a tavern what was this? A musical interlude? He'd heard of bards, of the Orlesian intrigue types, but this couldn't be it. His mother said bards were good at singing and whatever gifts the Maker blessed that woman with, it was not the musical arts. Hanging towards the back, the others all rushed headfirst into the house clustered so tight some of them actually squeezed through the door frame together. Gavin risked a glance to the side to catch Snowy's eyes opening wider. The dwarf had a hand jammed deep in his pocket as if he was counting every coin at his disposal.

Uncertain and beyond his depths, Gavin stepped into the house. Perfume struck him like a blow to the head. Some ointments were ethereal, a flower in the meadow, or cherries being squished to make a pie. This assortments of oils was the equivalent of someone dumping an entire censer's worth of incense into your nose in one go. He could barely breathe in the thin air. And the smoke lingering around the heavy drapes and peeling furniture enhanced Gavin's fear he was about to pass out.

"Well, what do we have here?" a voice giggled from behind one of the curtains that cut off the various rooms. Stepping out was a woman dressed in one of those restricting bodices that often had bones inside. She'd painted her face, then went over it all again to emphasize various features that screamed for attention. Gavin was oddly fascinated by her nose which she seemed to have drawn a small circle on the end of. Perhaps it was meant to make it appear more buttony but he couldn't stop thinking of a walking target.

Cal walked forward, prepared to explain whatever was going on, when another three women stepped out of the curtains. Two on the left, one on the right. They were dressed similar to the first one, a couple in sheer skirts that cut off at the knees and the last...

Gavin's entire face lit up red as he realized she was without the bodice portion of the whole being dressed part. There was a skirt, his eyes that all but whipped down to the floor made certain of that. And she seemed to be wearing slippers. Admirable, the floors were a bit dirty, and if one needed to head outside one wouldn't want to mess with any potential ringworm.

Catching on to the topless woman in their midst, the other boys began to snigger and jab each other in the sides. Some of them loudly whispered incoherent sexual things, while the last decided to try hooting instead. The girls all seemed to be charmed by the slavering pack that wandered into their home. They cooed in response, curling their bodies into passive positions while Gavin's brain drained out of his ears.

"We're a pack of brave squires, my good lady," Cal laughed, his hand snaking around one waist. He plucked a wide eyed girl towards him, her hair plunging into his face before he figured out what he was doing, "And are in desperate need of some entertainment."

"Ooh, squires," the one in Cal's hands giggled again.

"You're rather cocksure for one so young," the first woman, who seemed to grow to an imposing stature, folded an arm over her chest. "There are rules for..."

"Yes," Cal waved her concerns away by placing a full sovereign into her hand. That melted her icy exterior instantly. "I know the deal," the boy's wolfish grin danced by the red candlelight, his sharp teeth seeming to elongate before he plunged his mouth onto the girl's lips. It wasn't a kiss but a hungry bite, as if Cal couldn't contain himself any longer. The reaction through the others wasn't one of aww for a display of romance, but an extension of the hooting.

There weren't enough girls to go around, but the squires didn't seem to mind. The girls picked up a boy on each arm, their rose red lips whispering things that could make them blush like mad. More coins glinted in the light, promises being offered while the ones chosen were led back through the curtains.

It wasn't until Cal glanced up with a mix of lust and fear that Gavin's brain snapped back into place. This was a brothel. He brought them to a brothel for the express purpose of... Oh Maker. Gavin clasped his hands together less for prayer than to receive strength, but it drew the attentions of Cal and the pursing lips of the Madame. She took in Gavin with a calculating look. It reminded him of tailors sizing up potential customers before the measuring tape even came out.

"What's your matter, farm boy? None to your liking?" Cal ran his sticky fingers up and down the woman's naked arm while he taunted Gavin. He pressed a few more touches of his lips to her neck before snickering, "Or do we need to find you a sheep?"

An anger that few expected to find flared up inside Gavin. He didn't ask for this. He wanted the quietness of a pub, a few card games, even losing his shirt to a large man named Tiny would be better. _This!_ Maker, his father would kill him. Who knew what his mother would do. And it was all Cal's fault.

The Madame slid away from the traitor who was suckered to a poor woman forced to humor it. Gavin could see her straining against it, her hands trying to get Cal to not grip so tight or pinch her. But she had to be pleasing too. The customer is always right and what not.

"Trinity," the Madame purred, "why don't you take your gentleman upstairs. I'll handle this one."

Trinity turned from Cal's grip to smile at Gavin. Without the pressing need to appear desirable at all times, her eyes sparkled with a shocking amount of mirth at him. "Aren't you the lucky one."

Unaware she was talking to someone else, Cal muttered, "Wait until you see what I can do."

As Trinity ushered the boy out with her, the Madame rolled her eyes at the poor seduction attempt. She turned to the last two hold outs, Snowy being surprisingly quiet beside Gavin. "Well, what of you two gentlemen? There are more girls I can send for. Though..." she tapped a finger to her lips, her eyes staring right into Gavin's. It felt as if she was peeling every layer of skin from his bones. "I suspect you'd prefer a more full blooded woman."

"No!" it squeaked pathetically out of his throat, Gavin scampering back on his heels. How did she...? No. No, it couldn't... He wouldn't. He promised.

The Madame sighed as if he gave the wrong response on a test. Her eyes turned away from the tallest to the shortest. "Dwarves are extra," she said like informing a customer about the price of an apple.

Gavin glanced down at his roomie, hoping that'd be enough to send the pair of them fleeing into the night. Maybe they could wait outside, find that supposed pub that had to be here, or head back to the grounds and forget anything even happened.

Reaching into his pocket, Snowy exposed a glint of coins and sighed, "I know."

Behind the Madame two new girls who must have been off the clock wandered past. They didn't spot the final two guests standing limply in the doorway as they talked shop.

"Heard it was a knight company coming through."

"No, squires."

"Oh, I adore squires," the second cooed as if they were lap dogs.

"Yeah, full price for maybe five minutes work."

"Assuming they don't pop off before their trousers drop."

The Madame coughed into her fist, "A hem." It sent both girls spinning to eye up their boss. As their eyes trailed back and upwards to spot Gavin attempting to merge with the walls, their lips parted in shock.

"One of these fine gentlemen would like a bit of your time," the Madame said.

Both pairs of kohl coated eyes honed right in on Gavin. They tried lifting their chests, exposing a chasm of cleavage, and frilled out the thin skirts to emphasize the hips. "Someone that cute, I'd offer a discount," the first smiled wide.

"Look at his frame, and those hands..." the second tacked on, causing Gavin to shuffle both arms behind his back. He felt like they were two wolves about to tear into a stag with a broken leg.

"Nice try," the Madame snickered, "but it's this one," she jerked her head towards Snowy who seemed to be taking his mistreatment as no big deal.

The second woman visibly let her face falter, a sneer rising upon the pursed lips, while the other shrugged. She bent over at the waist, her breasts practically falling free from her top, in order to look Snowy directly in the eye.

"I always had a thing for short men," she lied, but it didn't seem to matter. The entire place was lies, fantasy, and commerce.

Snowy's hand slid along her waist before coming to rest right upon her ass. He frowned a moment, but shrugged it off. Before trailing away with her, he paused and glanced back at his roomie trying to merge with the wall. "Hey," Snowy released his grip on his choice for the evening in order to whisper to Gavin. The dwarf attempted to yank Gavin down but the boy was too stricken in terror to bend. He feared he'd snap in half if he tried.

"Abbey boy, what's the matter? You're scaring 'em off."

"I..." He couldn't tell him. Couldn't tell anyone. Maker, they'd all...would they laugh? Commiserate? Or worse?

Snowy tipped his head a bit, then sighed, "You know, virginity ain't really all that special."

That caused a single laugh to echo up Gavin's throat. Virginity. Sure. Right. That was the problem. Why not? He was their simpleton farm boy after all. Fully incapable of moving, Gavin stared impotently at the last girl who was trying to get him to her side. Maybe she was nice. He had no way of knowing. She could kick puppies and eat orphans or something and he'd never know. That was the point of these places, to not care.

"Right," Snowy patted him on the forearm and shrugged, "you do you, abbey." Having given his final say, the dwarf vanished with the girl on his arm along with everyone else who came with Gavin. He was left alone in the entranceway to a brothel.

"Look," the Madame dropped all pretense, her once soft baby voice dropping into a tenor. Gravel crunched through her words as if she'd inhaled dust her whole life. "Here's the deal, kid. We ain't a charity here. And we don't let people sit around having a lookie loo, so... If you're not into it, and," her eyes traveled down Gavin, "it sure looks like you are." At that he snapped up, his hands swooping over to try and cover himself but Maker, that probably made it look even worse.

"There's the door," the Madame jerked her hand towards the scrap of wood behind him. "Come back when you've gotten over your hangups. Cause I can assure you, my girls will give you a better religious experience than anything the chantry can offer."

Gulping, Gavin slid away with his cheeks burning, his eyes focusing on the ground, and both hands covering his groin. The door barely offered any resistance to him bumping into it, the hinges used to people coming and going as they pleased. By the time he made it down the front steps and out into the night, he finally risked glancing up. No one bothered to close the door he barged through, giving him a glimpse of the Madame stuffing a fallen hair into her complicated bun as she wrote something down in her book.

Up above him, he watched as shadows played out across the various windows. Bodies doing what bodies did. Cal, a year younger than him, thinking it a normal thing, an easy thing. As if one could just dip in and out without thought for any consequences.

Abbey boy. Chantry do-gooder. Virgin.

Gavin wished he was. That it was so simple to be right, to know you're right, and never question it. To have that purity of soul that the Sisters spoke of. He hadn't done a thing, but he felt dirtier than he had in years marching back alone towards the campsite. Silence echoed down the streets. He didn't realize how quiet the town was without six other boys jabbering on beside him.

Maker's sake. His first foray out with friends and it was right into a bordello!

Was that what they were? Friends? How did one know when they made a friend? When he was all of maybe six or seven, he curled up in a stuffed chair and asked his father that. Plain as day, "Dad, when do you make a friend?"

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 over 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 reverberating 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.

Myra shrugged, then began to step faster towards them. Her bare feet danced back and forth across the titles of the 'throne' room, the girl seeming uncertain where she should stand. Rosie extended a hand to her sister, trying to get her near. Nodding for a moment, Myra glared at the Bann who only welcomed Cailan with a "My Lord," then her eyes drifted across the mysterious woman to land upon the squire. It was only a moment, a near blink and you'd miss it, but her eyes opened wide along with her mouth at the boy's disheveled state.

"What?" Myra turned away from Gavin, clearly afraid to give the obvious away, "What do you need? What's going on?"

"Our dear squire Rutherford here," Rosie extended a hand to the boy who was focused on his boots at the attention. Myra pursed her lips at the honorific but didn't shout anything. Maybe she was too tired to be confrontational. "Got into a fistfight, I believe, with this woman out on the lawn."

"Why? Was she stealing a loaf of bread?" Myra chuckled to herself before hissing courtesy of Rosie pinching her in the side. "What was that for?"

"Tell me about her," Rosamund sighed, exhausted by whatever chip her sister decided to decorate her shoulder with this time.

Groaning, Myra scrubbed a hand across her eyes, "Fine."

The mystery woman found it all hilarious, her eyebrow cocked up. All the better to emphasize the scar running down it. She didn't have any more upon her face, but the crimson tattoos were eye catching. Circling her left eye and upon her chin, they looked like rivers of satin caressing the woman's face.

"She's been traveling for a while now," Myra began, wiggling a finger in her ear.

"What a quaint notion," the woman chuckled, unaware of what was going to happen. "Traveling to get to a place. I bet it'll be all the rage at the next salon."

Myra ignored the baiting, "At least a week on foot, probably more going by the mud dug up high against her calves. She tried to darn up that tear in that black leather vest, but ran out of thread midway. Someone with that little foresight left in a hurry, or has been on the road so long they don't have time to bother resupplying."

The woman blinked a moment, her eyes rising in surprise. "That...am I meant to be impressed?"

"She's from Rivain, obviously."

"Did the accent give it away?" the woman leaned closer to Myra who didn't bat an eye. No doubt she'd stared into far scarier characters at her mother's orders.

"No, your shoes."

"My...my shoes?" the woman glanced down at her feet as did everyone else watching the show.

Myra began to pace back and forth, "Actually, the laces. Rivani shoes use a particular underhanded style that no one else does. And, seeing as how the shoes there aren't really ones people clamber for unlike Orlesian or Antivan offerings, the only reason you'd own them is because you've either been living in Rivain for a long time, or are from there."

At that explanation Myra parted her hands and smirked. "Also the accent, because no fucking shit. Go with the most obvious."

"Well, that was..." the woman shifted in her shackles, seeming to have been knocked off her high horse, "interesting. Shall you tell me what I am doing here? Or perhaps my name? Can you deduce that from staring at my fingernails or clothing?"

Myra snorted, "I'm not the blighted Maker. Though for you to come this far south, clearly avoiding any large cities no doubt for fear of being found, I'd guess you're either on the run or are chasing someone."

"She's an assassin," Gavin's voice broke through the hushed crowd. As one, every eye turned to stare up at the tall boy whose cheek was already beginning to bruise up from their scuffle. He flinched at the attention and lifted out a dagger.

"These were on her," he said, depositing the first and then second into Rosamund's fingers.

She twisted the daggers around, enthralled by a wicked curve at the end that she'd never seen before. For a breath the mysterious woman shifted closer as if afraid the princess might prick her finger upon it and find herself poisoned. But Rosie was steady in her movements and kept her fingers safely upon the grip. "Were these what she cut you with?"

"What?" Myra interrupted, "You were cut?"

"It's not," Gavin began to her before scrunching up his face and focusing on the princess, "The ribbon around the grip. It's scarlet. Because that's what she is, a member of the Scarlet Ribbons."

The boy paused as if he expected a great gasp, but all the people from Ferelden blinked slowly and shook their heads. Scratching at his face in a nervous tic, he sighed, "They're like the Crows or House of Repose, but in Rivain. They leave scarlet ribbons around their victim's neck as a sort of calling card, I guess."

Rosamund glared right at the assassin's face, the woman's position crumbling below her as she gulped. "That, I hadn't meant with the card before. It was a joke. We don't always leave ribbons around the necks. Be downright foolish if you're trying to make an escape. Sometimes you can stuff it in a pocket or... I'm not helping my case, am I?"

"What do you think?" she folded her arms across her chest, wishing she was as tall as Myra or even Cailan. At such a waning stature, everyone acted as if they could walk all over her.

"That you deserve the truth," the woman said, "and some other thoughts that are best left unsaid." Her voice dipped down into a delectable snicker for the latter half, and Rosie's cheeks burned as bright as her namesake. Maker, she hated having such ice white skin. It gave everything away.

"Well, I suppose I should begin with my name. It's Anjali, by the by, if any of you were thinking of getting me a lovely cake or needed to jot it down on a tombstone."

"We do not afford assassins the luxury of such a memory," the Bann hissed.

Her eyes rolled and she snickered, "Same as everywhere else, I see. Judged for your job right out of the gate."

"You kill people for coin," Cailan snickered, "or is this some other kind of assassin I'm not aware of? Perhaps you only lightly maul others for coin."

Anjali shrugged, "If I didn't do it, someone else would. And poorly, I'd add. At least I make certain they die with a bit of dignity."

"And is that why you are here?" Rosie spoke up, her voice as thick as ice, "To kill me with dignity?"

Her lips lifted in a half smile as if she was impressed that the princess was smart enough to figure out assassin + royalty probably equals assassination. "Would you believe me if I said no?"

"Then you intend to kill me or my son?" the Bann gasped.

Anjali glanced behind Rosie, her eyes narrowing as if she hadn't spotted the man before at all, "Who are you?"

"Such insolence!" Micah stormed, stomping back and forth on his little throne. "Take her to the dungeon, we shall..."

"Milord," Rosamund interrupted his tiny tirade, "please. I want to hear her out."

"She is a murderer. A dangerous woman that..."

"So far has done nothing more than appear," Rosie answered before glancing over at the sorry state of the squire, "and attack one of our own."

"Yeah," Anjali winced, "sorry about that. I didn't know who he was and feared he might be working for the Ribbons."

Gavin snorted at that, "You think me an assassin?"

"You have the skin for it, and the skill. Though, not a good one mind. I did win."

"Says the woman in shackles and at knife point."

She didn't whimper, didn't glance around in surprise at the turn of events. This assassin seemed to view it all as inevitable as the tide. Guards catch assassins, assassins kill guards. One or the other had to occur, and this time she failed.

"Before we get to the headman's axe," Rosie stated to get everyone's attention. She waited until the assassin's eyes landed fully upon her. Forget the Bann, this wasn't his call. "I want to know why you are here and what your endgame was?"

"Oh, is this the point where I play the part of exposition for the audience?" Anjali gasped as if they were in a cheap production at the side of the road, "I was born upon a tall island volcano overlooking the sea when..."

Clearing her throat loudly, Rosamund crossed her arms tighter. She glared murder at the woman toying with her. It should have scared the one whose life Rosie held in her grasp but as she honed in, Anjali winked then smiled.

"I'm not here on a job, not an assassin one. If you must know, since you haven't lobbed my head off, I'm looking for a friend."

"A friend?" Cailan sputtered, rolling his eyes. "Seems a tad dramatic to go sneaking around in the dark, assaulting people you don't know, when a simple message to pop on down to the pub would work."

"Well," Anjali rolled back and forth on her feet, "things have gotten a bit complicated and..." Shaking her head in seeming defeat, she caused the crimson scarf knotted around her hair to slip backwards. Dark curls clung tight to her forehead, slicked by the sweat and dirt from her fight.

"My friend's trying to kill you, I think. Not as part of a contract with the guild, but because some rather bad people told her to."

Cailan cracked up, "An assassin come to stop an assassin. This is madness. I vote hanging."

"How do we know anything you say isn't a lie?" Gavin sneered. He seemed rather animated about the issue, something in the woman's attack striking him as personal.

Turning back to him, Anjali smiled, "You don't. It's not as if I can prove a negative. I could just as easily claim I'm here to sell you lovely rugs and got terribly lost on the way to the market. Which seems more likely?"

Her words were light and airy, like bubbles in water, but they felt rehearsed. How many times had she used the same excuse to get herself closer to her targets? Was the plan to catch a guard unawares, lose to him, and then sneak in tighter to the quarry under the promise of protection? Rosie glanced over at her sister who'd remained surprisingly quiet.

Myra had the tip of her finger against her lips, which she kept tracing absently in thought. Feeling the eyes upon her, the detective in the family shrugged. She had no idea either.

"Why me?" Rosamund said, startling them all out of their stupor. Anjali blinked, her brown-green eyes honing in on the princess with the question. "Why kill me?"

"Actually, the order was more to off the leader of Ferelden, which seemed to hint at an older gent. No mention of a beautiful young woman or I'd have gotten here much sooner," she tried to switch on the charm but after growing up with Cailan it didn't wash at all.

"Okay," Anjali winced, accepting she needed to try a new tact, "my plan, if it could even be called that, was to sneak in here and get a lay of the land. See, assassins don't come alone."

"Well, you just damned yourself," Cailan sighed as if the obvious answer lay before them.

"Not me, I'm not here... _Bishtu!_ You Fereldens and your... Ugh. My friend, she'll have spies hidden in your camp."

"That's highly unlikely, we only travel with..." Rosie shook her head, prepared to list every name of the people she selected for the caravan. Though a lot were at Karelle's and her father's request, people they trusted. Neither of them would have a reason to put her life in danger.

"Or in the estates servants, or just wandering around playing village idiot. They're here. And now they know I'm here. Because you don't march a person through the halls in the middle of the night at sword point without announcing to the entire town that something's up. Fuck," Anjali cursed, seeming to feel more pain from ruining her plan than facing execution.

"Let's say I do believe you," Rosamund began, then held her hand up to stop the dozen voices asking if she hit her head. "It's a simple what if problem," she said to the others, before honing in on Anjali, "What would be my gain in releasing you?"

"I could get to live?" she threw out as if it was the greatest concern weighing over Rosie's head. "Look, everything. This wasn't supposed to happen, none of it. My friend being here, throwing all of southern thedas into war. It's all..."

"War?" Cailan tipped his head, suddenly very interested in the proceedings. Somehow his sister's life on the line wasn't enough to get him to pay much attention. "Oh yes, of course. With Orlais bickering over the throne, again, to have Ferelden facing the death of a king, who else would we blame but Orlais?"

"The assassin is coming from Rivain," Gavin insisted, jabbing a thumb at the woman he captured.

Cailan sneered, waving a dismissive hand. "Simpletons. It's a false flag. Plant evidence, honestly, you need not do a thing. Even if they left that blighted ribbon, everyone would think Orlais. Boom, war. Who stands to gain from war? The foundries in Kirkwall are..."

"Cailan!" Rosie shouted at him before he rattled off a dozen numbers, "This isn't the time to talk about trading prices of iron." He grumped, but fell silent, no doubt planning to retaliate later. This was potentially Rosamund's life on the line. What should they do?

"Dad," Myra whispered. They could contact their father. He'd have a plan, no doubt. It wasn't the first time he'd have to face down assassins. "Is Dad safe?"

Oh. She hadn't considered...

"We keep going on as before," Rosamund said, a plan falling into her mind.

"While assassins flit about through our ranks? Great plan, sis."

"I will make private arrangements to warn father, but it's far more likely an assassin would come for the caravan than attempt to assault the palace. No doubt that was why she chose to attack here."

"My lady," the Bann shuffled forward, suddenly remembering he was supposed to be the adult here. "This seems an unwise risk, to leave yourself open to such an attack."

"We will have help," she let her eyes drift over to Anjali who blinked a moment and then pointed at herself. "That is what you were going to offer, isn't it? Why you didn't fear death? What better way to catch a fly than using another one?"

"I'd go toffee, sugar water to drown them, and -- when in doubt -- a hatchet," Cailan mused to himself before realizing all the women were glaring at him, "But that's just me."

"Your highness," Gavin broke in, "she's dangerous. I doubt she can be trusted."

"Then that is where we shall begin," Rosie tipped her head to the boy before honing on the assassin. "I will keep your weapons, all of them, and if you can prove yourself trustworthy they shall be returned to you."

Anjali's lips fell open, white teeth sparkling against the umber line before it turned a flushed pink. "That's it? You're not going to chain me to the kid here?" she jerked a thumb at Gavin who sneered. "Or lock me up in a room? Take a hand? Just 'teacher keeps your weapons until you can prove you're a big girl?'"

Rosie chuckled at that, "Oh no, far from it. If you make one move, one step that causes me to question your true loyalty, even if it's not against me or my house...I'll slit your throat myself."

The woman didn't shiver at her threat. Her teeth bit down into her lip and she smiled, "At least I'd get a nice view before my head rolled off my shoulders."

"My lady, I really must..." the Bann stormed as if he was going to ground Rosamund for her choices.

"All due respect, lord Micah, but this is not your decision. I have made mine and I expect it to be honored. Take her to the knights, have them draw up a detail. No doubt they will need to be briefed on all of the information our assassin will share for the next few hours. In the meantime, I believe it is in our best interests to return to bed."

"That, uh," Micah fumbled, uncertain what to do. Rosie's normally soft and womanly form was rock hard. She was so set in her choice, if anyone dared to go against it, she'd have them sent to the dungeon. "Okay, guards, do as your Princess commands. And double up patrols in case someone dangerous is out there."

Both of the guards who captured the wily assassin glanced down at her and sighed. They obviously disagreed, but no one was going to go against the Princess' orders. Together, both grabbed a hand around Anjali's black leather arms and began to drag her away. Before she vanished out the door, the woman winked once more at Rosie. A sensation bloomed in her stomach that she prayed wasn't regret.

Set in her choice, Rosamund turned to the Bann, "If there is no other business, I believe I shall retire properly." No one knew what to say, and watched with distended jaws as their future queen crossed slowly to the stairs.

At the top, Rosie turned down to eye up her brother, "And Cailan?" He glanced at her, a finger rubbing up and down his chin. "Don't try to seduce the assassin."

## Chapter Seventeen

### Healing Touch

Myra rubbed the palm of her hand against her eyes, trying to make certain she wasn't still asleep. She'd conked out in the stupid library, trying to get all those conjugations of Tevene done and sent back before her mother came storming across Ferelden. Her greatest fear had been to die of humiliation while Reiss Sayer scolded Myra in the middle of a ring of soldiers for not doing her homework.

Now assassins were in play. That was a new one. Sort of.

Apparently that was how her parents met. Someone wanted to kill her dad, her mom stopped it. Something something, fell in love, boom a baby. They seemed to be part in partial with royal life, but against Rosie? Who would want to hurt her? She was the chirping baby bird all cozy in its nest outside your window. A mewling kitten curled up in a bag of yarn. Sometimes really annoying but not to the point of wanting her dead. Cailan, okay, she'd believe it if someone was after Cailan. More a case of love's scorn than anything political, but still...

Myra's eyes wandered away from whatever huge room Rosie slipped into to land upon Gavin. What was he doing here? He had his hand cradling his arm as if in pain and one side of his face looked like it got into a collision with a wagon. There was also a sneer seemingly permanently embedded onto his swollen lips courtesy of the living assassin being escorted out. Maker. She was never so grateful to not have her friends around to see that raw anger burning off of him. They'd probably all faint at his feet.

"Hey," she tried to sidle up near him, but kept a bit of distance out of fear he was still running on energy from the fight. His shoulders dipped down but he didn't turn to her. "You, uh, you have a long night?"

A strange laugh tumbled up the knotted muscles along his back before Gavin turned to her and sighed, "Something of that nature."

"Maker's hairy balls," Myra cursed, finally getting a good look at his eye. "Oh shit, I'm not supposed to curse in front of the nob...Bann."

Gavin leaned closer to whisper, "I promise, I won't say a word."

"Ah, huh..." her tongue dried to dust in her mouth, before she shook her head like mad and forced herself to focus. "That has to hurt and, what happened to your arm?"

He finally released the grip on his bicep to reveal a tear in his shirt and stains of dried blood crinkling off it. "It's not so bad, a quick slice."

"You should get it bandaged and cleaned," Myra circled her hands around the wound, pinning the shirt in place while trying to inspect it. Unfortunately the tatters weren't helping and rolling it up, the damn sleeve kept getting caught on his forearm. She tipped her head to him, "You'll have to take it off."

Gavin blinked a moment in shock. "My...? You want me to...?"

Myra already turned away to the holy water fountain blessed by blah blah, she really wasn't paying attention. The Bann had them festooned around the place. It wasn't cool water, but it was clean. Dabbing a kerchief into it, she turned back with the drenched cloth. Gavin had no choice but to disrobe, only partially. Half, that upper part that was apparently fine for boys to show off in public. Sort of public. Oh Maker, stop staring. This is a medical emergency, kind of. You're helping.

Backing towards him without looking at him, Myra dabbed the cloth against his wound. He hissed at the first contact, fingers gripping into her shoulder no doubt in response to the pain, but as he eased into it, they too calmed. "Failed to parry when you should have thrusted?" Myra asked, trying to wipe away the awkwardness. Her eyes darted over a moment from the wound to spot his stomach and the waistband of his pants clinging to naked skin. So not helpful.

Too late. Her imagination was happy to try and supply whatever might be below said trousers, as if it had a good grasp on such things.

Sweat beaded up her forehead, but if Gavin noticed he made no mention of it. His eyes watched her holding the water tight to him, "I foolishly went into a fight barely armed. Can't imagine the scolding I'd receive if my father found out."

"Yeah, it'd be all 'Did you remember to sharpen your war axe?'"

"Don't forget to swap out the last load of arrowheads, the old ones were looking chipped from use," Gavin tried to mimic his father's voice but he seemed weary at the very idea.

"How'd you find an assassin of all things?" Myra meant it as a way to distract from her touching his naked body, but Gavin snapped rigid. He clearly didn't want to talk about something.

"Accident. Completely," was all he spat out, all those muscles of his taut like a lute string about to snap and take out someone's eye.

"Uh huh," Myra kept dabbing at the wound that was no doubt as clean as it could get. Not like she had any bandages on her to close it up, but she didn't know what else to do. A snicker lifted her lips. She leaned closer, able to get right into his ear to ask, "Snuck out, didn't you?"

"Um..." burning highlighted his cheeks, bringing into view the bruise already straining down his face.

"Don't worry, I won't tell," she promised. "Where was Ms. Stabs anyway?"

"At the front of the estate, lurking through that patch of long grass like a cougar waiting for its prey."

That would have put him at town, coming back from a night of...drinking? If he was tipping pints back with the other squires Gavin must have one hell of an iron stomach for it. Though, it may explain why he failed to dodge the woman's attacks.

"Myra?" Maker's sake, having him whisper her name caused goosepimples to march up her arms. No, stupid. Weren't you mad at him for something? Probably. She was always mad at people for dumb things.

Trying to shake it off, she turned to him with hope in her eyes. "Do you think you could use your magic to...?" he jerked his head towards the wound and Myra's stomach plummeted. He wanted her to heal him up, like him mom would. As if Myra had a tenth of her skill.

"N...n-no," her tongue tasted of ash, the girl forced to admit her failures to Gavin and while he was half naked. Could the world grow any crueler? "It, uh, it might draw questions about a mage being around here, and um..."

He stopped her babble by rolling his fingers around her wrist. "I understand," Gavin smiled sadly as he lifted the kerchief covered in his wet blood off of him. "I suppose I shall have to stop by the quartermaster to get a bandage."

Those breathtaking amber eyes stared at his arm, but his face seemed to be drooping in sorrow. Was he thinking of home? Missing how easily his mom could fix him up without a thought? Or whatever his dad did? Maybe he'd sing a stupid song the same way hers did whenever she'd fall or scrape a knee. Though it was hard to picture the famous Commander doing anything but growling. Myra ran her fingers over the missing pinkie tip thinking of her dad singing the same song from her childhood while she moped over the loss.

"I could," Myra's lips began to flap before her brain caught up with her. "Uh..." An idea slotted in place and she tugged open a sliver of the veil. Fade energy warped through the hole and she used it to form a sheet of ice around her palm. Cupping against Gavin's cheek, she pressed the cooling sensation against his black eye. "That might help."

His lips lifted a moment in a sigh of relief and he pressed his palm against the back of her hand, pushing her tighter to his skin. "It does. Thank you," Gavin smiled wider.

Lost in the rush of her fingers bringing comfort to a half naked man that could make girls squeal just by nodding at them, Myra forgot that there was still an entire castle of nobs around. They didn't say anything to them, but a few would peer over and attempt to make a clucking noise. Too bad she wasn't a princess. There was no governess there to keep Myra pure, no advisors to decree who was safe to orbit in her path and not. She was completely free, too bad that often involved colossal fuck ups that everyone else shrugged and said 'shoulda seen that coming.'

Gavin's eyes lifted and he asked, "Does this mean you forgive me for whatever offense I caused?"

"That, well..." Myra instinctively moved to shift back, that feeling of being a total moron burning through her brain hotter than dragon's breath. "I was an idiot. I do it a lot. Ask my mom, she's got files -- thick ones -- of all the times I completely messed up. Sorry. It wasn't supposed to be, well..."

Rosie barely batted an eye when Myra dropped the fur off. She was in the middle of some gibberish with the Bann and a few of the grey haired advisors who were all too stuffy to rough it in tents. Just a 'Thank you, Myra.' If it meant anything at all beyond oh look a trifle for me to blow my nose into, her sister gave no hint. Whatever Myra thought she kept seeing between them she must have been imagining, big surprise.

"I'm glad," Gavin spoke, his eyes focused only upon hers. "I wouldn't want to do anything to offend you, on accident or otherwise."

"Because my dad's the king?" Myra shrugged. She was used to it. The nobs would push it, knowing they had their own fancy daddies to protect them but the others, especially the elves, were all real careful around her.

Gavin shifted closer. It couldn't have been more than a subconscious twitch to keep his knees from locking up, but Myra moved to match. Maker, all it would take would be a small tip of his face and he'd be able to place his lips upon hers. Just a teeny, tiny movement.

"Because," his voice danced lower, shimmying down the octaves into a range that drew up more goosepimples, "I like you...r friendship." He tipped back from her, not far, but enough for Myra to snap out of her stupid haze. Gavin swallowed a few times, his eyes darting around the room as he gasped out, "I wouldn't want to do anything to jeopardize that."

"Yeah," Myra nodded, her free hand pinching into her thigh to keep herself focused. She was tired of imagining things, especially good things happening to her. "Right, friendship, that's real important and what not."

"Squire Gavin!" a voice as hard as flint struck through the rampaging awkwardness.

Gavin turned away, his face breaking from Myra's cold touch on his bruise, as he eyed up whoever marched into the room, "Ser Daryan."

Ah, it was his Knight. Made sense someone would go and get her. Myra closed up the veil, watching to see if anyone else caught on to what she did. At least no one here was one of those dreaded mage hunters of old.

Daryan eyed up Myra a moment before honing in on her errand boy. "What in the Maker's holy seat is going on?"

"That..."

"Assassins in the caravan? And you..." her cold eyes drifted over the shirtless boy to notice a red gash across his brown skin, "We should get that looked at. Then I expect a full explanation."

"Yes, Ser!" he locked in tight, his body pulling into a full salute.

Realizing she had nothing more to add, Myra began to move out, "I guess I'll be off to bed then. Hopefully no evil secret assassins will be lurking around. Or they'll at least wait until morning to attack. Whatever happened to civilized murderers?"

Gavin nodded at her, his lips lifting in a half smile, but it was Ser Daryan who cut back with a curt, "Truly, I doubt you need to worry my lady. They would all be skewered upon your razor wit."

Shoring up her steps, Myra didn't let on that she even heard the Knight's words. She was too busy pretending she had all the flippancy of her brother and the grace of her sister. The act was the only way Myra ever made it through the palace gates sometimes.

* * *

"That is your final explanation?"

Ser Daryan peered over at Gavin, her blue eyes like staring into frozen ponds while he attempted to knot on the bandage. A kindly old woman supplied him with more than he would ever need but said she was against getting anywhere near blood. That left him with the need to dress the wound himself, thank the Maker for the years at the abbey. Blood was far from one of Gavin's fears.

"Yes, Ser," he nodded his head.

She pursed her lips at his never changing response. It was odd to see her out of armor. Whenever she called her squire to her side it was always while she was in full plate as if the existence of him in her life was a formal matter. Whether it was to appear intimidating to the taller charge or because she truly believed that heartily in the cause to never change he couldn't say. A few weeks in and Gavin felt as if he knew nothing about her beyond her leather's size and weapon preference.

No doubt Myra could form an entire life history with that bit of information.

"Come along," Daryan ordered, leading him out of the back tents and the kindly old bandager.

"Wh...where are we going?" Gavin's eye was pulsing with pain. While Myra's spell helped at the time, without her cooling hand it was back to swelling in agony. He felt the right side of his vision trying to close courtesy of the trauma, but Gavin fought against it.

"To see if the other squires are in their beds," Daryan said in her crisp tone. She stared back at Gavin, seeming to hope he'd break down and confess to his real whereabouts, as well as damn the others, but he remained steadfast in his lie.

Though, it was going to be a lot harder to explain if everyone else was gone.

As Daryan stepped into the ring of tents, she drew the sword upon her hip and used the pommel to bang against the roof of one. "Hello! Get up! Let's go!" she shouted, marching through the circle as if the demons of the void themselves were waiting to pounce. Gavin flinched with each jab, his heart thundering in his chest when no voice shouted in response. What if they hadn't made it back in time? What would he say then?

His knight reached the full circle and began to sheathe her sword. Turning, she cocked her pointed chin at him to ask, "Well, it seems no one is..."

"Oi," a voice called out from below the canvas, then a head peeked out of a gap. It was Cal, his hair mushed from sleep...or other activities. The thought caused Gavin to sneer, leaving him wondering why he was lying for the man. "Is it daylight already?"

"No," Daryan's nose pickled, upset that she lost, "But your knight requests your presence. All squires present!"

"You heard her," Cal called and, as if they were all laying wide awake on their pallets too terrified to move prior, each boy's head poked out and they shuffled to land in a line in front of Daryan. It wasn't until Snowy's much shorter stature emerged from their tent that Gavin took a breath. If anyone could be left behind it would have been the dwarf...whom he abandoned without thought.

"Ser," Cal stuck out his chest, his arms lax at his side, "all squires present and accounted for." He let the serious tone slide as he glanced over at Gavin, "And seems you already caught this one wandering about after hours. Tsk tsk."

"Curb your tongue," Daryan ordered, then she turned to Gavin. "I ask you again, when you confronted the assassin in our midst..." All the boys gasped at that, their eyes darting over to Gavin in awe. "What were you doing out of bed?"

He could feel them all hanging upon his word, each head twisting to somehow both hear better while also trying to look as if they didn't care. For a brief stint Cal's smug face drifted in Gavin's vision. The boy snarled, no doubt trying to imprint a warning that he better keep his mouth shut.

"I was taking a walk, Ser," Gavin said.

"A walk?" Daryan snorted. "You expect me to believe on our first night with a town just a few klicks away, all you needed was to get up and stretch your legs?"

"Yes, Ser!" Gavin shouted, his eyes staring over the distance, "I couldn't sleep and thought pacing would knock me out."

Daryan snickered, clearly not buying it. She'd all but dragged him out by the ear to the medic, barely listening to his tale while she spun one of her own. The fact Gavin kept refuting it only made her grow more incensed. "And you're telling me there's no one else, no one here, that say 'went on a walk' with you?"

"No, Ser. I went alone. Which was why I was attacked by the assassin alone," Gavin explained in a calm manner. It was a simple explanation, one the seasoned veteran refused to believe.

Folding her arms up over her chest, she sighed, "You think me so naive, boys?"

"Ser," Cal spoke up for his brood as if he wouldn't sell them out in an instant to save his hide, "unless you've got something to prove against us, we were all snug in our pallets. Unlike your squire."

The other boys all flinched at Cal chucking Gavin under the wagon, but he expected it. Why not? _If I go in at you and you still don't turn me in, then I'll seem twice as innocent._ "Very well," Daryan sneered, tired of being played, "squire Gavin, for disobeying curfew you will be required to do double chores for two weeks."

"Yes, Ser," he shouted, glad it wasn't anything worse.

"And," Daryan continued, causing his shoulders to waver. How much more could she heap upon him? "The Princess has decreed that you are to serve in her bodyguard retinue." The knight pinched into the bridge of her nose as if she found the order beyond idiotic but couldn't argue with royalty.

"Ser?" Gavin turned, fully confused. He was supposed to be disciplined.

"Just...she seems to think the man who caught the assassin can control her. But don't think of this as a promotion. You are being punished for your misdeeds," Daryan waved a finger at him. Punished for stopping an assassin, sounded about how his night should end. "And the rest of you, get back to bed. Dawn isn't for a few more hours."

The other squires all scattered, practically fleeing to their bedrolls before more discipline was doled out. For a brief second, Cal stared into Gavin's eye and the boy nodded his head solemnly. Did he truly think Gavin took the blame for him? Ha. How great an ego must one have to believe that?

Bleary eyed, Gavin stumbled into his tent with Snowy in the lead. He struggled to yank his shirt off, his fingers running over the rip he'd have to repair at some point. There were bruises all along Gavin's midsection. If he touched his back he flinched in pain, and they were worried their might be poison in the knife wound. The healer woman gave him a disgusting poultice he had to consume all of to counteract it. All in all, a perfect end to his terrible evening.

"That was smart," Snowy whispered, sliding his feet up onto his bed. "Not turning 'em in. Showing, wozzat, solidarity."

Gavin blinked blearily through his right eye that was beginning to water. All he wanted was to vanish into sleep for a few blissful hours before he was due back at work. "I didn't do it for them," he said cryptically, curling up into a ball and turning away from Snowy and the rest of the squire camp. The final vestiges of the bonfire danced across his face, but it felt warm on his aching flesh.

"Oh?" Snowy whispered. "Well, I didn't tell 'em about you, uh, being a virgin. Secrets and all between bunkies. Not that it's, I mean, there's worse things to be, right?"

Gavin groaned under his breath. Yes, there were far worse things to be.

## Chapter Eighteen

### Intriguing

Rosie sat perched upon an outcropping overlooking the Bann's back acreage. She had to step away from the negotiation table to catch her breath and try to find a moment's calm. Her handful of handmaidens wandered off after a time, all content in the knowledge that their princess was content. Which she was. A soft breeze lapped against the summer fields, bluebells swaying to match while sunlight danced with the clouds skirting over the sky. And standing right in the middle of the vibrant field was their new assassin.

Maker, did Rosamund receive a cross look and sterner words from the lead advisor her father sent on this trip. It was so harsh it gave her flashbacks to her nanny catching a young Rosie attempting to use Cailan to sneak treats off of the high shelf. Marn would brook no such trespass, even from a princess, but Second Chancellor Avery had to. She was the lead in all matters, and she ordered that they keep the assassin with them.

"Wait until your father hears about this..." was the final threat, as if any of them would be telling the King of what transpired. He was a laid back sort of man when it came to ruling, but was highly liable to shoot the messenger that said 'Oh, and your daughter was nearly killed by an assassin. We think.'

Anjali, if that even was her name, remained dressed in the same strange black and red outfit she was first caught in. Clearly leather, there were slits to expose her shoulders and the sides. A distraction technique or perhaps to help the entire thing breathe? Maker knew Rosie would be a pile of sweat if she wore leather in this heat. The more striking detail was the red circling around the bodice. It coiled against her breasts like a snake lying in wait, then slithered down to wrap twice around her stomach. Red popped strongly against such darkness, constantly drawing the eye right to the woman's...figure.

Shaking her head, Rosamund returned to the paperwork in her lap. She set out on the assumption that she'd be free to read up on their next destination away from the stuffy whiskey stench in the meeting room. While the open air and sunshine were wonderful to refresh her soul, it was doing little to help her stay focused. Her eyes kept trailing across the meadow and always landing upon that dark spot in the middle of the flowers.

She wasn't even doing anything interesting. It sounded as if the Knights and the Bann's guards all devoted an entire night to interrogating the woman, but they could get no more than Rosie did. Micah suggested Anjali be bound at all times, but that was cruel and highly unnecessary. They settled on the compromise of their assassin informant forever being flanked by two guards. One was the squire who caught her, the boy's hand always settled upon the hilt of his sword, while the other would shift.

In truth, even Gavin would be allowed a break, but he seemed to take them less frequently. Did he consider Anjali his problem? She seemed to be Rosamund's, the one who let her stay in the first place. A bird chained around her neck.

This was getting nothing accomplished, Rosie chided herself, forcing her eyes to hone down upon the ledgers that she should have left with Cailan. There were long columns of numbers done in a neat hand that no doubt meant something important, but Rosamund didn't care. The history of the Teyrn itself, that was interesting. But a continual ranking on the price of wheat for over ten years bored her to tears. Maybe she should expand his job to include summing up this mess for her.

Her shuffling revealed a small scrap of vellum with little more than a few circles on the page. She kept starting and abandoning the page as she waited for inspiration to strike. Rosie twisted it around, her quill reaching for the ink pot perched beside her when a voice said, "Here I thought princesses never had to do paperwork."

The feather jammed hard against the rock, Rosie not expecting to hear anyone, much less that smooth and foreign accent so close to her. When she looked up, past Anjali, she spotted both of the guards standing close -- hands about to unsheathe their swords. Rosamund waved them down. Perhaps the assassin was ready to talk, properly talk without dancing around it all.

"I'm afraid it is nothing but paperwork, day in and day out."

"Well," she waved her hands, "I believe I shall never become a princess then."

Rosie snickered, "A wise choice." She allowed her eyes to travel up to the woman's face. While the shadows of the hall, the late hour, and threat of death in the air turned her sinister, by day she appeared striking. Here was a woman that could enthrall a room with a raise of her eyebrow and lift of her plush lips. The line of red that emerged against her brown lips when she spoke seemed to hypnotize Rosamund. She couldn't cease staring, curious what it... Merely wondering if it was cosmetics or natural.

"Mind if I...?" Anjali asked, appearing almost cordial as she gestured to the pile of dirt beside Rosie.

The princess shrugged, "I do not own it."

Plopping onto her ass, the assassin turned over her shoulder to snicker, "Are you sure about that? Isn't that how kings and queens work?"

"There's more to it than that. But, essentially you are correct."

The woman nodded a moment as if of course she was right, then those captivating brown eyes honed in on Rosie, "And practically?"

"I am as strong as the Banns that support me. Or, support my father. Anger enough of them and..." she knocked over a few rocks and sent them scattering off the overhang below.

"Smart and beautiful," Anjali mused as if to herself, but Rosie couldn't hide the flush rising upon her cheeks. "I can see why all of Ferelden adores you. Or is trying to get into your bed."

"That..." the blush burned hotter, Rosamund having to fan her face at the foolish notion. "That's not, um..."

"That is not proper conversation to have with the princess," a voice snapped to cover for Rosie's fumble. She caught it sputtering from squire Gavin who was glaring at Anjali's neck as if he could slice it apart with his mind. If his eyes grew any sharper they might.

For her part, the assassin winced, "Right, sorry. I've never really been around royalty before. Fancy royalty, at least. The flirting before, it's..." Anjali took in a deep breath, her nostrils fluttering as she closed her eyes tight, "It's just a tactic. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

"You didn't..." Rosamund began before stepping back fast, "you did not unnerve me. It takes much more than that to rattle a princess."

"Yeah? Like say the heart of a phoenix? Or a tail feather from a dragon? Ooh, I know, the tongue of a basilisk." Rosie chuckled a moment at the idea of someone presenting her with such inane gifts.

"Tell me something princess that cannot be rattled unless I wave the toe cheese of a giant at her," Anjali turned in her spot. She sat lower than Rosamund, her greater height bringing the two practically eye to eye. At the movement, both guards flexed their arms and shifted closer, but Rosie lifted her hand. It was all right.

The assassin seemed to not even notice, her hand dropping to the ground near Rosie's foot tucked under her skirt. "Why keep me around?"

Rosamund blinked a moment, "Do you wish me to change my stance? I'm certain upon release the Bann would catch you two steps out the door and have you hanged."

"Call me a glutton of punishment. A glutton of many things, I dare say. You have no reason to trust me, a huge pile of reasons to fear me. I could be a plant, or a double agent."

"It seems rather foolish for a double agent to raise the idea that they may be one," Rosamund mused to herself.

The wind blew through the contemplative silence, rattling Anjali's headscarf. Black curls spilled out of the back like crunchy oats. Maker's sake, what? No. Not that. It... While Rosie tried to shake away the terrible metaphor, Anjali's eyes narrowed upon her. Her question filled the air and the assassin clearly wanted an answer.

Folding her papers up, Rosie lay her hands upon the work as if she was posing for a portrait for the thirtieth time. "To tell you the truth, you intrigue me." The woman reared back in surprise, her lips falling slack to match the shock. "All my life I've been told everything about a person before I meet them. This is so and so, child of Bann such and what not. Heir to some important heirloom. The crown considers him to be good, bad, a nuisance, expendable. I've never been gifted an opportunity to form my own opinion of the unknown."

Anjali twisted her head around at that, "Can't you pull that magic of looking at my scuffed cuffs and knowing exactly who and what I am?"

At that Rosie snickered, "That would only be my sister who can do it. And even then, there are limitations. Though she could tell you what you had for breakfast."

"Maker, I hope I'd know before she would," Anjali gasped, causing Rosie to snicker. It was a moment, but it was enough to bring a similar smile to the assassin. Who was dangerous, and no doubt had killed people and would again. Focus Rosamund.

"So," Anjali shifted on her haunches, her fingers digging through the grass, "is this the part where I tell you my entire heartrending backstory? I better make it a good one, your shoulder looks very comfortable to cry upon."

Rosie's lips flipped into a frown, but the blush rampaged up to her cheeks. Clinging tighter to her work for support she sighed, "I would prefer the knowledge of your friend so we can plan to counter her attacks instead."

With a great humph, the assassin lay flat on her back, her arms stretched behind her head. "So much for a beautiful princess finding me intriguing. You just want me for my body of information."

She knew she was messing with her, trying to keep her unsettled with the innuendo that could barely be called it, but Rosie's cheeks refused to tone it down. Maybe she should have saved this for a cold dungeon and minimal lighting. With Anjali stretched out upon the grass the eye was drawn right to her stomach -- the crimson ribbons curving out to match her hips.

"Here's the thing, I could tell you all about her. What she looks like, her skills, if she's more of a skirt or pants kind of girl," at that Anjali tipped her head back to stare at Rosie, "but it won't matter."

"How so?"

Her question drew a small smile to the assassin's lips. "Not going to rail about how I'm wrong and should part with the information like your trained lap dog over there?" She waved her finger in a general direction but it was obviously meant to land upon Gavin. For his part, the boy only rolled his eyes as if he expected such a juvenile barb.

"We don't leave plans lying about. Be a damn stupid thing for an assassin to do, really. Here's a list of all the people I'm going to off and how I intend to do it, signed soon to be very dead assassin."

"But you know she came here..." Rosie prompted.

"Yes," at that Anjali nodded her head fast.

"And that she intends to harm me."

"That..." the woman's sharp eyes watered a moment, the always honed stare drifting downward. "That's what I fear."

"Fear?"

"Trust me, don't trust me," Anjali staggered up to her feet, both guards pressing in closer, "it's not important. What she's doing is...it's stupid, and dangerous. And I'd really prefer to stop her before she starts something none of us can, uh, stop. That sounded a lot more poetic in my head."

Rosie prodded at the papers in her lap. It was foolish, she had no basis in facts, but in her heart she believed the woman. She believed her in the middle of the night as well, but there was no reason to tell her that.

"Earn our trust," the princess said, causing the woman to snort as if it was easy, "by giving my company the information they request."

She looked about to argue, no doubt to remake the same points she did, but Rosie stared right at her. While her life was often bogged down in the minute problems of policy, she wasn't exactly an idiot about battle tactics either. There were things the assassin group would want to keep secret, things the woman could spill if she so chose. Bobbing her head, Anjali sighed, "All right. I'll see what I can do, _Sapheela_."

"Saphel...?" Rosie tried to ask for clarification but the assassin already turned to walk away, both of her guards hot on her trail. Smoothing her hands over the pages, Rosamund closed her eyes tight. She tried to remember the line of Teyrns out of Highever, and their convoluted ancient law system that involved stacking rocks, but her mind couldn't stop drawing forth the tight smile of a woman in black and crimson.

## Chapter Nineteen

### Hot Head

By the time they got back onto the road everyone was happy to be moving again, Myra included, which lasted for all of a day at most. The grumping and groaning traveled through the wagons loaded down with fancy furniture, skittered around the ears of those on horseback, and was loudest for those forced upon this death march on foot. Summer. Ha. Summer was a brash blast of sun that lifted sweat off your brow. This heat was like shoving your head inside a fire. By mid-afternoon, the fire might actually be a refreshing cool down.

When the caravan swung up beside the famous mountain clear lakes of the north, everyone was begging for a relief. The wagons practically exploded, cargo and tents flopping out as all the servants hustled to get set up so everyone could plunge into the crystal waters. Myra wasn't being a lot of help, tugging on Bryn's hands to get her to sneak out of her duties. She was pretty sure sweat found its way into places she didn't even know existed. But Bryn kept laughing and insisting she had to do this, and had to do that.

Myra was about to grab her hand, flop onto the ground, and refuse to move or let go until Bryn agreed to come with her, when who should stomp over but the prince and princess. The elf servant was all bowed head and polite murmurs for Rosie, who...Maker, even she looked a mess. Rosamund always kept her hair shortish, but brushed so straight that the locks looked like a black river. However, today there was a twist to it, a wave undulating below the surface to create dangerous eddies.

Wisely, Myra held her tongue about the state of her makeup, most of which dripped down towards Rosie's chin in the musty carriage. Ooh, she should go take a look at the handmaidens. They had to be in even worse shape and would care ten times more!

"Milord," Bryn murmured, her eyes darting over to Cailan.

He didn't skip over the girl, but paused and smiled, "Our lady Andraste, how can you stand this heat in such thick skirts?"

"It's..." Bryn picked at the hips of her dress as if noticing it for the first time. "It's not so bad."

"You're a braver soul than I," he sighed, waving a hand against his face. "Rossie," Cailan called to their sister, "when can we find some blighted relief from this heat?"

Rosamund chuckled, "Since when do I dictate what you do?"

"You've got the bigger crown," Cailan gestured a hand to her, which caused Myra to snigger.

When both Rosie and Cailan turned to her in question, she tried to wave it away, "Sorry, just...I was thinking 'her head's not _that_ big.' But, it's not true, about you having a big head I mean."

"You say that because you've never overheard the royal jewelers all in a tizzy," Cailan laughed, " _Oh, how are we going to stretch the official crown to sit upon our princess' head? It's easier to adorn a pumpkin._ "

"You're such an ass," Rosie snarled, swiping a hand at her brother who dodged out of the way and nearly trod upon poor Bryn.

The elf tried to scamper away, apologizing for existing, but Cailan caught her fingers and smiled, "No, please. You are owed the apology. No one with as intoxicating of eyes as you should ever have your boots scuffed by my ilk."

Well aware of her brother's never ending lust, Myra snagged onto her friend to yank her away. Poor Bryn was already blushing, her lips muttering something incoherent. "Can we just get to the lake part?" Myra honed in on Rossie who shrugged.

"Yes, fine. It's right over..." Rosie moved to wave a hand in the direction of the crystal glass glistening through a stand of trees when Avery the dream killer stomped into view.

Take a portly man aged to that vinegar stage, then pickle his features a bit until you're not certain if it's a person you're talking to or a moldy potato. That's Avery, the eternal killjoy their father no doubt saddled them with to keep them out of trouble. He was huffing, his hand waving a fan back and forth over his face while he tried to call for the princess.

"Your Majesty!" he waved again as if Rossie couldn't see him.

"Yes, Chancellor," she muttered, turning her full focus upon him.

"Ma'am, the lake, it's..."

"Don't tell me, too wet. Too cool. Too much fun, so we should all tie stones to our waists to make certain to not enjoy ourselves?" Myra interrupted, earning a low growl from Avery. He despised her and her mother. They didn't fit into the very specific mold of the royal family, and rather than bend the mold a bit, Avery chose hate. Not that Myra much cared, because she was happy to give back.

"Your Highness," he turned only to Rosamund, which Myra expected, "the entire caravan is heading towards the lake to swim." Rosie nodded as if she'd anticipated as such. "Your mother would not approve of both men and women together at the same time."

Ah shit. Did that mean one of them would have to wait? Myra and Cailan both shot a glance at each other and at the same time mouthed 'Not it!' Rosie seemed to be weighing the thought a moment, no doubt about to flip a coin to see who got to splash around and who had to wait in the insect filled forest for a go after the water was purified.

"And what would my father say?"

Avery grumbled, "That any babies produced should be named after him."

Rosamund laughed from their dad's flippant response. Laying an arm overtop of Avery's she said, "I think we can find a middle ground. Cailan, Myra, you're both free to head up. In fact, I dare say everyone deserves a break. Spread the word!"

"My lady..." Avery grumbled, always mad when he didn't get his way.

"Yes, I shall remain on shore. Do not concern yourself..." Whatever Rosie was finishing with Myra didn't hear as she was already streaking through the forest. Her brother was close on her heels, challenging her to be the first to break the water.

Not on her watch. Digging her feet into the ground, Myra pumped her legs as fast as she could, dodging downed logs, slipping below higher branches, and trying to trip up Cailan every chance she could. He wasn't built for the active life, the man preferring everything indoors when he could, but he wasn't weak either. That always seemed to surprise people. They expected their bookish prince to be soft spoken, sickly, and of course terrible with women.

"I am on your tail," Cailan called.

"Tail means you're about to lose." Ignoring the burn rising in her legs, Myra gave it her all -- the glorious prize waited just beyond their reach. Bluer than a blue crystal thing, the water sat as still as a mirror, reflecting the reach of white mountain cliffs hugging the far edge. The shore sopped right up against grass, barely rippling courtesy of no wind.

Slamming on the breaks, Myra paused just before the leap to yank off her shoes. Behind her she could hear Cailan coming to a stop, his breath straining out of his little nose. He was doing the same, undressing as fast as possible. They were neck in neck losing their boots and socks, but Myra had him easily beat when it came to the first layer. All she had to do was yank the tunic over her head and undo the trousers, leaving her in a tiny pair of shorts and a tighter bandage top. She called it that because half of the stomach area was donated to creating bandages, the hems tattered and torn.

Poor Cailan had to deal with lines of fancy buttons and ties, which his usually nimble fingers were stumbling with. Spinning in place, Myra stuck her tongue out at him, shouted, "See ya!" and dived right in. Water erupted around her body and then tried to smother her.

True bliss swaddled her body, the mountain water trying to freeze her skin, but she'd have happily hugged an ice sculpture to get out of this heat. Paddling in deeper and fully submerging, Myra's hands trailed along the bottom of the lake. Its sandy bottom dropped fast off a cliff a few feet out of the shore, but here she could easily stand if she wished. Beside her she felt a disturbance and turned to spy Cailan swimming past. As he crawled further out into the lake, he turned and stuck his tongue out at Myra.

Laughing internally, Myra swam up to the surface and took in a breath. Sounds of laughter, jabbering, and splashes erupted around her as the rest of the camp all raced to do exactly what Myra did. The caravan, regardless of age or gender, all stood around the edge of the lake and were stripping off their clothing before diving in. Ripples erupted off the once still surface, each one lapping back to cause Myra's floating form to bob.

"Hey," a voice called to her, and she turned to wave at Bryn who was more careful to take off her heavy dress and join in the fun. Soon the lake was full to bursting with people dashing in and out of the water. Myra and Bryn swam towards the far end, both of them struggling to balance on their toes and keep their heads above water. Bryn had to stand a lot closer to the edge, while ol' spidery Myra was practically in the middle of the lake.

Sadly, after a time, the head of the servants waved all their people back. Work never stopped. Bryn nodded her goodbyes, while Myra promised she'd come up with some plan to get her out early. A half an hour wasn't enough time to splash around out here. By the void, Myra tipped back onto her stomach drifting into a float, she could spend an entire afternoon on the water.

Her entire life was spent surrounded by people. Not like Rosie's where they were pushing and pulling to get her to fit into...actually, just like that. Expect Myra's pullers were her mother. And just her. Stand up straight, Myra. Okay, not that straight, you're scaring people. Listen. Learn to read the road. Watch people.

Maker's breath, she had to lose a year of her life just watching people at her mother's command. _When you can read them, then you can do what I do._ Well, who said Myra wanted to do anything her mother did? It wasn't as if her mom could throw lightning at a perp. Or melt an entire frozen lake. Or heal...okay, Myra wasn't so good at healing. She wished she was, but there hadn't been a lot of time out at the abbey and her teach said they needed to focus on the important stuff. Not setting people on fire was the top, followed quickly by how to put out said fires.

Somehow all of her magic stuff faded into the background once Myra returned home. She had her friends, her parents, her siblings -- as infuriating as the last two could get. She didn't want to leave all of that again. But...

A grating laugh, like the most dickish hyena just shoved its brethren off a rock, echoed above the hushed voices. Myra pulled out of her retrospective float to spot that knight's butthole with one of the younger squires astride his shoulders. The woman was struggling to stay upright in the water, her face flushed with panic, while Cal kept braying like a donkey at her. No, that wasn't nice. Donkeys weren't so bad once you got to know them.

Knowing where it all was going, Myra paddled to the shore. She kept herself submerged to avoid anyone staring at her. When she heard a huge splash her head turned as the girl wound up belly flopping. No doubt Cal let her fall, the various other squires around them laughing and chest thumping to show off their place in the hierarchy. With one hand trying to wring out her braid, Myra stood up out of the lake and stumbled towards the grassy parts where she left her clothes. She spotted Rosamund curled up in a chair, someone having placed a lovely sun hat on her head to protect her delicate skin from the rays. That was probably why Myra was coated in freckles and Rosie looked like fresh cream.

"Hey!" that Cal's voice called above the others. Myra ignored it, bending down to grab up her real shirt. There had to be a towel around here somewhere... "Who let the itty bitty titty club in here?"

She felt his eyes crawling up her back, and like a flock of brain dead pigeons, every one of the boys that cuddled up to Cal turned to stare too. A breath caught in her throat, Myra suddenly wanting to dig her way deep into the ground. Shame burned upon her exposed stomach, her hands trying to cover over the red blush as she whipped her head over and glared at Cal.

Rather than sink down as if he suddenly realized who he tried to insult, he threw his head back and laughed. He did it on purpose, or didn't care. Good. "Huh," Myra snickered. She took the time to slick some of the water off of her braid before turning her full venomous glare upon him.

Walking a step closer, Myra let her eyes drift up and down his body. "You would know about itty, bitty, teeny, weeny," she picked up her hand to show a minuscule space between thumb and forefinger, " _things_ , now wouldn't you?"

A flush rose upon Cal's cheeks, the pretty boy with a so-so family never having anyone walk right up and accuse him of having minute genitalia. Thanks for that one Lunet, her stand-in aunt a pro at knowing how to piss people off -- shithead boys in particular. He sputtered a moment, the rage stampeding out whatever higher functions he managed in his peabrain. Myra turned to leave when he called out, "As if you'd know. Ugh, a guy'd have to be desperate as hell to waste his time with you. You're like a stick with hair."

"And you've stuck your little cocktail weenie into so many holes I bet it stinks of fetid cheese and turned putrid green." Myra didn't walk away. It would have probably been the smart thing to do but she was bad at smart. No, she waltzed clear through the pile of squires who grew deathly quiet to get right up into Cal's face. He was bouncing onto his toes, pissed that some stick of a girl dared to be taller than him.

"Ha," he tried again, glancing around at his buddies who were starting to figure out that pissing off the King's daughter maybe wasn't so smart. "Right. Keep dreaming."

"Of your pus filled, flat as a pancake, trouser noodle? I bet that thing's crammed with splinters because you'd shove it through knots in trees." Her mouth wouldn't stop even while her ego huddled in the corner, begging to walk away and lick its wounds. People said mean things to her all the time, often behind polite hands. While she wanted to cry about it all, she couldn't. Myra had to defend herself otherwise it'd never end. They'd grow bolder, do more, do worse. Best to pluck them off the tree now before the entire thing went bad.

Cal's eyes narrowed, his throat bouncing with a growl. He folded his hands into fists, but wisely kept them at the sides. "You're one to talk. They say there ain't a dick in the entire alienage you haven't sucked." Myra didn't curse, didn't punch him. No, all she did was laugh. Her shoulders shook in the barely constrained giggles from the boy poking at straws. He'd probably call her fat next.

Nostrils flaring, Cal turned to his other fellows and in a loud voice said, "Not a big surprise seeing as how her mother's a whore."

Fire warped around Myra's hand, her eyes burning in rage as she moved to punch her flaming fist right through his fat mouth. "You son of a..." Before she could even get a swing on, a hand clamped onto her wrist and tugged back. "Let go of...!" Myra shouted, turning to find Rosie clinging hard to her.

"Put it out," she hissed at Myra, who was beginning to wilt from the glower in her sister's eyes.

Jabbing her chin at Cal, who was frozen but being careful, Myra sneered. He didn't seem certain if he should start celebrating his victory or not. But then Rosie gave her _that_ look. _Damn it!_ "Fine," Myra yanked back in the fade energy, the barest wisps of red sliding away from her fist. It was doubtful anyone even noticed. Rosie didn't release her tight hold, but began to tug Myra away from the pile of braindead fucksticks.

They all looked stricken dead, as if they just watched themselves be murdered right before their very eyes. All except for Cal, he stuck a fist on his hip and let a soft laugh twist his shoulders. _Screw him!_ Myra tried to shake off her sister, but Rosie clamped down harder.

"Sweet Andraste," Myra hissed, "Let go. Your poky fingers are like fangs."

Rosamund didn't do as she begged until they were back near her sister's little royal suite by the lake. The other advisors who weren't into nature had been clustered near, but all sidled away when Rosie yanked her wayward sister closer. Opening her fingers, Rosie hissed, "What do you think you are doing?"

"Calling an asshole a limp dick, braindead, knot fucker. You know, politics." She tried to smile through it as if it was all a joke, but Rosamund sneered.

"Myra, you know you're not supposed to use magic in such matters."

Her eyes rolled back and forth, exhausted with all these restrictions forced upon her. Don't use your magic in anger. It's only for self defense. We don't want people to know. It's not shameful, but act like it is. "Yes, oh dear perfect sister with hair of onyx. I shall refrain from throwing lightning at fools who fucking deserve it."

Rosie drew her fingers back and forth over her forehead before tugging up her hair the same way father would when he was annoyed. It worked on him, for her it just fucked up her part. "Is it too much to ask you to behave like an adult?"

"Me...? You, did you hear what he said?"

"Yes, and I shall discuss the matter with his knight. Who will dole out a proper punishment. Better than anything you could conjure up, I'm certain."

They treated Myra's magic like a parlor trick. Oh, you can start the fireplace without flint, how lovely. But the Hero of Ferelden said she was strong, powerful. Capable of things that...that even Myra couldn't imagine. She bunched up both her fists wanting to draw forth a huge fire to blanket the rotten shoreline, but she tamped it down. There was no point in arguing with Rosie, she was future queen, she got final say in everything. She was perfect and pretty; Myra was a walking stick with hair.

Spinning on her toes, Myra began to stomp away, needing to get far from her sister. But over her shoulder she spat, "Would you have stopped me if he'd called your mother a whore?"

Rosamund sighed, already beginning the excuses Myra knew by heart, but she walked away from them all. _No Myra, I wouldn't because I have control. It's better to think universally instead of laterally. He wouldn't have anyway, because my parents are married._

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fucking fuck!

Away from the piles of people back to happily frolicking without pause in the lake, Myra leaped up and down through a field trying to squash everything in her path. She didn't even know how she wound up out here, her vision a red blur as she kicked and thrashed her way out. They were probably all laughing at her.

_You know those half-bloods, so violent and ill tempered. Oh, I hear she was raised near the alienage too, poor dear. It's a wonder she can count to ten._

Everyone hated her because of shit she couldn't control and it was blighted exhausting! All she wanted was... To not have to think about anything anymore. Where was Bryn? She'd know how to help distract Myra. They could use their pickpocketing skills to lift a bottle off of the stuffy advisors, maybe throw the empty one at Cal's head when she was drunk enough to dare try. That was a good plan.

Glancing up, Myra caught puffs of smoke in the distance across the field. Probably the other half of the caravan, the ones ordered to get supper ready for about to be famished swimmers. Bryn had to be there.

With her eyes on the prize, Myra waded into the waist high grass. It was strangely golden for being summer, like there were tips of wheat knocking against her bare stomach. The knotted ends slightly tickled as they danced against her skin. Maker, she should have grabbed her clothes. She was going to get eaten alive by bugs. But back there was Rosie and her judgy shoes. No, better to keep going forward. Bug bites don't itch when you're drunk.

A solitary tree grew up out of the grasslands. Partially curious, and partially drawn by the break up in landscape, Myra pivoted her head towards it. A sheen of brown sat below, stretched haphazardly against the trunk. Her brain first thought _oh it's a forgotten sack_ , when the haze of heat lifted to draw forth the fact that the brown bore muscles, and was moving, and had a book in its hands. Sacks weren't known to be readers.

Gavin, fully unaware of his audience, turned the page of whatever book he must have been carrying in his pack since Denerim. He seemed completely at peace, his naked back tipped against the tree trunk while the sun glistened upon skin, so much skin. It was a lot of skin, more than she ever remembered spotting all those years ago, and in shapes that did weird things to her brain. She wanted to dance back and forth on her legs as if that might shake away the stupid feelings turning her spine to stone instead of staring dumbstruck at the boy. And, of course, he just kept on reading.

One hand cupped along his jaw, strong knuckles bent into the cheek while his tongue danced over his lip. She couldn't tell if it was to wet them or because he was so drawn into the story. Myra was too far away to see if his eyes were lit up the way they always had been before while enthralled. Shit, the first time she ever saw him, he was so enraptured in a book he walked smack into a beam. For wanting to be a braindead squire, he seemed to adore the written word.

Which was a far better thing to think upon than the way his stomach muscles fluttered out from his lean. Myra wanted to run her fingers up and down each hill. No, her tongue.

Her tongue? Why her tongue? That's just...is that weird? Seemed weird to want to lick people like a dog.

_Oh sweet Maker._ He shifted up, needing to reposition, which stuck out his chest. Over the soft tan of his skin rested a small nest of black chest hair. It wasn't much but it sat like a pile of fluff right in the middle, calling for fingers to stroke it. That was normal, right? To touch a guy's...various bits that were in existence.

Myra tried to stagger up on her toes, feeling far too brash at the moment and figuring she was in for a pound why not go for it. Damn. He was wearing pants. Of course he's wearing pants. He's sitting in the middle of a field. Normal people wear pants so they don't get butt worm. That's probably a thing. Butt worm.

And now you're thinking about his butt. Did he have a butt to speak of when they were younger? She didn't remember caring. He was cute, in that giggly bonk his head on things kind of way. Now it was all different. Myra hated different. Hated that changing parts of all of this puberty mess. Boys were easy for her for a long time. She knew how to read them, to predict what dumb thing they were about to say. Usually it involved trying to sneak a toad into or out of someone's pocket.

But then her brain started tripping her up. There's that boy with the dumb face that...suddenly has this jaw. Where did he go and get a jaw from? Who likes jaws? Why is that a thing? It kept happening over and over. Traits that she'd only recognize out of habit suddenly drew her intense concentration and rumination. Sometimes Bryn would offer up her own thoughts on the subject, but more often Myra tended to keep it all in house. She didn't like some of the stupid thoughts her body would have about boys, especially ones she knew were assholes.

Why couldn't Gavin have stayed all meek, and mild, and adorable? That one she could handle, could certainly talk to. This one it was like half the time she was fine, he was cute and she might blush on occasion but nothing out of the ordinary. Then others she'd glance down to see his wrists all square-like, or forearms flexed with muscle bits. Perfectly average thing for forearms to do, something she'd never even noticed before, but her brain would hop off a cliff and her tongue would bury itself in the back of her throat.

Maybe it'd be easier if he wore a bag on his head. Because that'd be a conversation you want to have, Myra. _Hi, so, funny story but you intimidate the hell out of me. Please put this on and then I can talk to you._ Maker, she was going to be alone her entire life.

"Hey Myra!" a voice shouted through the field. Instinctively, Myra dropped to her ass, her body vanishing into the tall grass. Damn it, Bryn! Her friend was wafting through the weeds, trying to find her. The voice must have carried over to Gavin as he turned away from his book and was peering around.

"Pst," Myra tried to whisper shout, "Bryn, get over here. And by the void, go low!"

Bryn chuckled, but obeyed, crouching down and scuttling through the grass to find Myra ass down upon the field. "What in the Maker's name are you doing?" she asked, "I spotted you and thought we could..."

Dropping a hand over her friend's chattering mouth, Myra jabbed a finger towards the boy that returned to his reading. Below her palm she felt Bryn break into a big grin. "So that's it," she shifted closer, her hands peeling apart the grass to try and get an unobstructed view of him. "Damn. Have I damned enough yet? I think I should damn it a few more times."

"Just don't do it loudly," Myra pivoted back and forth on her legs wishing she could both run and melt into the ground.

Bryn rolled her eyes. "What's it matter? Oh, or are we hoping he'll...?"

"He'll what?"

"Ya know," Bryn tipped her head back and forth, "drop trou."

"Maker's sake," Myra whacked Bryn in the arm, causing her friend to tip over with soft laughter. "No I am not! That's..."

"Uh huh, your cheeks are cherry red," Bryn chuckled, back to peering with hungry eyes at Gavin.

"Because of you talking about...bits, and bobbles, and argh!"

"What do you think he's got?" Bryn mused to herself. At Myra's confused look, she added, "The bits and bobbles, or the argh?"

"I hate you," Myra fake slapped against her shoulder, repeatedly knocking into it to try and make no point, "hate hate hate!"

"You're the only one to even get close with him," Bryn mused as if a few innocent kisses would have led to _that_. She tapped a finger to her chin and sighed, "So far, anyway."

At that Myra locked up, her head pivoting fast to her friend, "What do you mean, so far?"

"Come on. Squire, looks like that, son of a famous general. Got that whole stoic thing down pat. The skirts are going to eat him alive once we get to Highever."

Right. All those high born ladies that'd be flocking around the caravan. They loved when the royal one traveled through town, if not to land a fancy husband, to at least get a good roll in. The Bann's estates were little more than his family and a few servants, who were all a bit older. Highever was a great tract of land, there'd be pretty girls all over the place. The kind of girls who knew how to talk to boys that they couldn't stop staring at.

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 her 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.

Gavin was about to turn to face him when Anjali dug a foot in, twisted without thought, and slicked her stolen sword right across the bandit's chest. He kept running, the momentum unaware of the internal injuries that would lead to his death. Lashing a foot out, Gavin kicked right into his knee, finally ending the dead man's run into the ground.

Swiping an arm over her forehead, Anjali coated it in blood, "Not bad, baby knight. See, we work pretty well together."

Grimacing at the damn nickname and the idea they would do anything together, Gavin suddenly remembered the royal carriage. Turning, he leapt over a pile of cargo the knights no doubt covered the ground in for a distraction only to find...a pile of blackened and charred corpses clinging to the handle of the door. Breath caught in his throat at the macabre sight, but the rest of the carriage didn't look to be damaged at all.

He thrashed a foot out, trying to kick the charcoal bodies away. They made a sickening crunch and then splort noise as his boot sunk deep into the gooey parts. His fingers fumbled with the latch, when a cold voice warned, "Try that and you'll be as cindered up as the rest."

"My lady!" Gavin gasped both in fear and gratitude. They were alive.

The door popped open on its own, Gavin stumbling back with it as the princess stuck her head out. "Squire," she gasped in surprise to find him there. She didn't look any worse for the wear, her hair partially out of place, and a redness burning upon her cheeks as if she sat very near a hot fire. Glancing into the shadowed carriage, Gavin spotted the prince sitting with his knees up against his chest and a silver dagger in his fingers. The last person inside was the reason they were safe.

Myra had her fingers spread out, the veil twisting around her. At his look, she sucked it all away, her eyes grim but a shrug to her shoulders. He couldn't stop the stupid grin rising upon his face and an even dumber chortle in his gut. They were all alive and safe.

"Hey," Myra moved to wave, when a hand clamped onto Gavin's shoulders. He spun, his body prepared to slice into whoever else would dare attack, when he spotted the gritted jaw of his knight.

"Ser Daryan," Gavin sputtered, needing to get the name out to remind himself she wasn't a threat.

"Your Highness," the knight spoke, before glancing over the rest, "Highnesses. Are you all right?"

"We are, Ser Knight," Princess Rosamund smiled, her lips flushed redder than her namesake. She must have been very close to Myra's point of attack.

Daryan blinked a moment, a hand trying to tuck the errant strands of hair that slipped free during battle back against her sweaty forehead. "How?"

"We are..." Rosamund glanced over at her sister who was staring out the other window at the carnage in the trees, "not without our defenses."

"Well, good," Daryan gasped, struggling to get in a breath after the unexpected attack. "Remain in here until we have the area secured and..." Her eyes drifted away from the crown. Once she was certain the line was safe, she took the time to survey first her squire who was sliding further back in respect, then to the assassin.

"What in the Maker's name is she doing armed?!" Daryan roared waving her own blade right at Anjali's head.

Smartly, the woman held the blade parallel to the ground and began to slowly lower it. "I believe we call it 'saving your ass' in the common tongue. I could teach you it in Rivain but I don't think you can handle it. There's a lot more tongue rolling than you're used to."

"Traitorous cur," Daryan cursed, about to swing her blade back, when Gavin stepped in.

"She saved me!" he shouted, for Maker only knows what reason walking in between his knight and the woman who a few days prior kneed him in the groin. "Two bandits attacked and, if not for her intervention, I would be gravely injured," he explained, both hands up.

Out of the carriage, both Rosamund and Myra stuck their heads. The latter's eyes darted down his body fast, trying to find the damage as she mouthed, "You did what?" at him.

Daryan intervened from Gavin trying to explain what happened to Myra. "That is no reason to arm a potential threat, squire. You shall be..."

"Rewarded," Rosamund interceded, stepping out of her carriage to face down the raging knight.

"Your Majesty, that isn't your decision to make," Daryan hissed, in no mood to have her sovereignty questioned. Neither, it seemed, was the Princess.

"Unless my father is lurking around somewhere, am I not the highest ranking voice on this journey, Ser Daryan?" Rosie stared up and right into the woman's hard eyes.

She gritted her teeth like a golem's jaw, Daryan's nose sucking in a deep breath as she swallowed all the things she no doubt wished to holler at her future queen. "That may be, my lady, but..."

"This woman saved my life," Rosie began before blinking. "Saved the life of a squire that should have been under your care. If anything, you owe her your thanks for doing your job."

"Your highness," Daryan growled, somehow making each syllable sound like a threat. Everyone else all but flinched at her voice, except for Rosamund who seemed to refuse to be cowed. "You are walking on very dangerous ground."

"Is that so?" Rosie turned on her, those forest green eyes narrowed to slits in a challenge. Maker's sake, did he just get his knight in trouble? If they...if she was executed what would that mean for Gavin?

Daryan swallowed hard, her stance fading back to neutral, "We do not yet know who was involved in this attack. It could have been your pet assassin that instigated it."

"Then," Rosamund folded her arms, clearly considering the matter settled, "I think it best you find that answer before we go throwing around accusations."

With a growl, Daryan strode off, shouting orders at any and all who glanced her way. The princess didn't release her rigid stance, her eyes trailing the knight with concern. "Squire Gavin?" At his name, he snapped up, trying to focus away from his knight. "Keep an eye on Anjali for me, until the matter is settled."

"Yes," he moved to salute, when his eyes darted away from her highness to Myra. She was leaning out of the back window watching the mass of people dragging dead bodies out of the trees. To think, if she hadn't have been in that carriage with her siblings... "Yes, your Highness," Gavin finished with. He moved to grab onto Anjali's wrist and pull her back to where they belonged in the line.

Before trailing with him, the assassin glanced over at the princess and very clearly winked.

## Chapter Twenty-One

### Tactics

She had to find Bryn.

The caravan was a disaster. It never looked that great before, operating on a lot of luck and people not wanting to get lost so they clumped together, but now... People dashed back and forth trying to cart up the tipped over crates. Clothing and cooking pots were scattered into the dirt and getting trampled over by the people who were supposed to be picking it up. On occasion, a cry of shock would echo from a raw throat. There were a lot of those when they spotted the fiery remains Myra caused.

Okay, it was probably more for the bodies than the blackened dirt. Not a lot of people got an up close view of charred corpses. Mage fire tended to go so quick it looked more gruesome but killed faster. She barely glanced down at her handy work before sliding past Rosie to find her friend. So help her, if anything bad happened to Bryn...

"Myra!" a voice shouted from behind her. It'd been making a lot of ruckus for her attention, getting real anxious when it got caught behind roadblocks of mess, but she'd been too focused to glance back and answer it. Where in the void was Bryn?

"Stop, please, I..."

A massive trunk was shoved off a wagon bed, the wall that used to keep it in place long since plucked off. Myra scattered back just before the damn thing broke both her feet. She glanced up, a sneer in place, to find a couple of the younger servants gasping in terror. "So sorry!" one called, her fingers waving sheepishly. "Didn't expect that to happen."

They were all rattled. Calm down. Wiping a hand down her face to try and knock away her glare, Myra asked, "Have any of you seen Bryn?" Both heads shook negative and shrugged. _Damn it all!_

She began to walk further on, when a hand grabbed onto her arm. Surprisingly, Myra didn't spin around and whack right into the face of the owner. The adrenaline in her system didn't kick in much, truth be told. Even the pit of worry didn't open up until she hopped out of the carriage and got a good look at the chaos around them. Far too many bodies were left rotting in the dirt for this to be no big deal.

Sighing, she glanced back expecting to see Cailan or one of the grumpy Knights holding her in place. Amber eyes blinked furiously, as if some of her smoke was still clogged up his vision. "Myra," Gavin began, his voice fluttering like he was uncertain if that was her name. She stared at him, her brain cracking in half. _What did he want?_ kept rattling through it. She couldn't make sense of his sudden appearance.

Glancing over at his hand as if surprised it wound up there, he suddenly released his grip and dug his fingers over the felt-like hair on his head. "Sorry, I...are you, are you okay?"

"Yeah," she shrugged, completely lost. Shouldn't he be off consoling Rosie or Cailan. Okay, Rosie probably had her shit together, but Cailan went five shades of white in the carriage. He didn't really have the stomach for fighting.

"You..." Gavin bounced on his toes, "I was only concerned that, I mean, when you, um..."

Myra watched for a time, wondering if anything approaching a coherent thought would tumble out. The boy gulped a few more times, a very nervous grin plumping up his cheeks. After a few deep breaths, he seemed to have calmed himself. Abashed eyes darted over to hers and he whispered, "You're probably used to all that."

"Dead bodies? Yeah," she laughed. She'd been trailing her mother's work since she could walk. "Fights? More than I should probably admit to." On that account her mother would have her head. Reiss knew of a couple times the supposedly 'safe' assailant wasn't such easy pickings. But there were others. More down and dirty back alley fights growing up. Myra's height served her well when she was younger, but when she stopped putting on any weight she pretty much classed herself out of surviving anything in the streets. Good thing her magic came in when it did.

"It..." Gavin glanced back at the carnage where he left their beautiful princess. Rosamund had been tapping her foot in impatience, stuck in leader limbo while all those around her rushed off to find the information to give to make her useful again. No doubt it'd be a few hours before there'd be anything interesting done. In the mean time...

"Look, you can come with, but I have to find Bryn. I have to know if..." That bravado Myra wore like an old coat slipped away and her throat caught. If Bryn was hurt, so help her.

Gavin bowed his head, revealing a bit of blood crested in his tightly shaved hair. That caught Myra's attention and she tried to peer closer. "Are you, did you...?" She shook it off. It didn't matter, she couldn't really help to heal him even if she wanted to. And there wasn't a good reason for her to want to. Caring for squires was someone else's job.

"Come on," Myra jerked her head onward. "I need to check to the end. No one seems to have seen her." Nodding dumbly, the squire trailed along behind her. He didn't say much, but he kept hunting through the debris and people all curled up in shock while helping to look for her pseudo-sister.

"Do you know what she looks like?" Myra asked, suddenly realizing how little help he could be.

"Pale skin, blue eyes, round face, elf," Gavin repeated at the drop of a hat. She turned in surprise. How did he remember what Bryn looked like _that_ fast? Was he running around looking that closely at girls all the time? At her look, Gavin said, "You'd mention her often at the refuge and...I suppose it stuck."

"Right, okay," Myra shook her head in anger. Stupid. You're being so stupid right now. He's trying to help and you're all... Just don't be stupid. "Pretty lucky thing, eh? You rushing up to save the day like that."

A snort echoed from his nose, "I hardly 'saved the day.' Seemed it was more you that did."

"Eh," Myra spun her hand around. In truth, she'd been trying to form a barrier, but when they moved to open the carriage she lost control. Could have burned off her sister's eyebrows if she wasn't careful. Which, admittedly, would have been really funny to watch later. Rosie trying to act all pleasant and princessy without eyebrows. "But it's the optics, ya know. The story. Young squire rushes to the aid of a princess in need."

Her gut plummeted at that thought. And in all those stories the princess falls helplessly in love with her savior because stories need simple endings. Blushing in more of that stupid, misplaced anger, Myra tried to hide away her cheeks with a hand while snapping out, "You're sure to get another promotion out of it."

Gavin laughed mirthlessly to himself, "I doubt it highly. I fear my Knight shall have me peeling potatoes until my hands turn blue."

"My dad's really good at that. The potato part. I don't think I've ever seen his hands blue." She felt even dumber, dredging up her father as if it was no big deal. Just the King of Ferelden, ya know. Used to peel a lot of potatoes. Still does it sometimes at night when he needs to think. Freaks the cooks out. Thought they had potato fairies for awhile.

A silly smile lifted upon Gavin's lips and he snickered. "I think my mother made mention a few times of his skill. I suppose I should ask him for advice whenever we return to the palace."

"Should be pretty soon," Myra snorted, resuming her walk down the caravan. There was no one here, save a few dead bodies left to dry out in the dirt. "No way they'll let Rosie continue on after this disaster. I can't believe Dad didn't rush out here once word of assassins popped up." She narrowed her eyes in thought. That was odd, really odd.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Gavin staring right into an arrow riddled corpse. He seemed so entranced with the body, she could have easily left him behind, but for some reason Myra didn't want to. "Hey," she called, "you...?" Asking him if he was okay felt dumb. He was fine. He leapt right to their side and was this weirdly calm and collected voice in a sea of people shouting why.

"They really don't bother you, do they?" he spoke so softly, Myra had to inch closer to hear his baritone voice.

She shook her head, "No. I've seen death so much, it's... I, I make it into work stuff. Compartmentalize. Like here, all I see is arrow wounds. Most likely cause of death. Or that one," she pointed to another body, "sword to the gut. And that one, sword to the throat."

Myra waved around the pile of dead bandits as if they were pieces of a macabre puzzle. Her mother taught her to do it because it was useful to the problem at hand while freaking out wasn't. Shrieking because a dead woman's hand landed in her lap wasn't going to solve anyone's murder. But that reaction probably wasn't normal, certainly not for a young lady. They were supposed to titter and faint so other people could feel strong.

"Is that...?" Myra screwed her eyes up, her arms wrapping around herself as she felt the cold clutch of the void, "Is that weird?"

"I saw death often too," Gavin spoke to himself. Perhaps he didn't even hear her. "But it was always from sickness or injury. Bodies were laid out as respectfully as possible. Even to the pyre, even if they had no one or nothing to their name. Dignity, it... This doesn't feel very dignified."

"This is survival," Myra snorted, repeating a fact she'd hear often around various tables. It meant something different at the palace's grand long table compared to her mother's tiny lap one, but it ended in the same. You live, the other one doesn't. Simple maths.

Beside her, a hand fumbled through the air. It grazed against her thigh before knotting fingers through hers. Gavin didn't glance up from the body, but he locked his grip in tight. Wind through the leaves wrapped the metallic stench of blood and splintered wood through their noses. That cocksure perch Myra rested above everyone else began to plummet to the ground. Death sang through the air, its never satiated wings drenched in life-ending vigor today.

"I, uh," Myra stumbled back, a hand wiping at a sting in her eyes. "I should find Bryn, before...I just need to find her."

Gavin snapped away from the body, those amber eyes crushed in a pain she couldn't quite catch. It was like trying to read a poem you sort of knew but in a different language. Whatever it was flitted in and out, glancing off his brow and eyes before dragging his lips down. Nodding, he snaked his fingers out of hers, seeming to feel foolish for needing a moment of comfort.

_Was that what it was?_ Well, that's okay. Friends do that.

_Wait, were they friends?_ Gah, she didn't have time to worry about this stuff.

Turning on her heel, Myra bounded further down the caravan calling out for Bryn. With each step her cries grew more jagged, the name slicing apart her throat as the fear came to roost. What if she didn't make it out? What if she...? There were a lot of arrows, the bastards shooting haphazardly into the crowd. It'd be a miracle if everyone survived really.

It was simple maths.

Rounding near the end of the train, Myra was about to turn back and try heading north certain she missed something and not that it was a fool's errand, when a head prodded through the gap. Tears sputtered from her eyes, Myra shrieking the name as the girl it belonged to whipped her head over and smiled. Leaping like a fool, Myra all but flattened Bryn to the wagon in her need to hug her.

"You..." she struggled to speak, "you had me, what are you doing back here?"

Her friend laughed a moment, patting Myra on the shoulders,  "Collecting lost belongings like I was ordered to. Why?"

"I thought..." Maker's sake, she was an idiot. She should have asked that head servant who bossed them all around. He'd have known right where Bryn was. "Forget it. You're, you're good? No, nothing bad?"

Bryn yanked up her skirt and jabbed at her leg, "Twisted my ankle running to hide under a pile of the princess' dresses. Not so sure if they made it out okay."

At that Myra waved her hand, "If anyone can make arrow holes fashionable, it'd be Rosie. You're sure you're okay?"

"Me? What about you? Weren't you up in that carriage where the fireball went off?" Bryn gasped before she paused and slapped her head. "Oh, duh. Who else would have done that?"

"There's lots of other people. Qunari. They can do it," Myra blathered, feeling a bit foolish. She used her magic for defense. There was no way her parents could be mad at her for it. Okay, it was slight overkill, but it got the job done.

"You're such an oddball, My," Bryn shook her head, breaking out of the hug. As she smoothed down her dress, Gavin hustled up. In his exhausted and probably injured state, he couldn't keep up with a panicking Myra.

For a beat his eyes traveled over Bryn before landing right upon the half-blood. "You found her. Good," he smiled bright.

"Yeah," she tipped her head, not about to let go even as Bryn tried to worm her way out.

"I'll, I think I shall return to the head. No doubt my knight has orders to...something," Gavin gasped, suddenly realizing he trailed the entire way to the end of the caravan with Myra. Unable to think of a response, Myra waved meekly while he turned to do as he said.

"So," Bryn whistled once Gavin was long out of earshot. "Did he really...?"

"Yes," Myra spat out fast, feeling as if her hair was blushing. Maker, she hoped not. She'd look terrible as a redhead. "But don't go thinking anything. It was just, he was probably ordered to."

Bryn sighed, her head tipping back to the sky, "Right, ordered to. Whatever you say."

"Shut up," Myra lightly punched her in the shoulder. "Come on. Forget whatever you were doing back here. Let's go find Rosie and see what the shit happened here." Knotting her fingers with her friend's, Myra pulled Bryn with her.

* * *

Deep breaths. A count of two in and then two out. To most people dashing about the disaster area their princess was the porcelain figurine decorating a jewelry box. When they wanted her to dance, they simply had to turn the key, but without her being needed at the moment she stood perfectly still, always in anticipation. Inside however her stomach churned with how close of a call that was. Cailan, in particular, was in the mood to keep reminding her.

"If Myra wasn't there..."

"I know," Rosie sighed. She kept her eyes closed so no one would see her rolling them.

Unable to stop picking at the cindered door, Cailan's fingernails black from the effort, Rosie ordered him to sit down on a trunk. Even with his ass locked tight to it, he kept staring at the handle the bandit rattled. The cocky prince who had a comeback for everything froze in that moment of potential death. With it passed, he seemed to be doing everything he could to replay it and find a better solution.

"Aren't we supposed to have guards around us?" Cailan whined, before his eyes darted out to the pile of squires that weren't doing much beyond standing in the way. "Better guards. I'm going to write a letter to father telling him..."

"You will do no such thing," Rosamund spun fast on her heels, startling a few of the handmaidens who flocked to their princess' side once they were certain it was safe. It'd been an hour or so since the attack, those who weren't useful in cleaning up forced to sit by the side and wait.

At her outburst, Cailan narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. In doing so, he scraped the black charcoal across the sweat stained doublet. Quickly, Rosie tried to reel in her emotions. "The people here are trying, and doing their very best." Her lout of a brother snorted at that and began to nervously tap his knees up and down. He looked as if he wanted to argue, no doubt he had a dozen good reasons, but at that moment Daryan returned to their side.

"Ser Knight," Rosie said trying to get some grip upon the situation, but her mouth fumbled and Daryan sneered at the lack of her proper name. "You have news?"

"Sort of," she stretched her neck, trying to work a crick out of it. Bloody handprints coated her chestplate as if she smeared them across it in an attempt to clean off her hands. "It'll be a few hours before we get started."

Rosamund nodded, she'd assumed as such given the state of things. "The bandits," she pressed, "what do you know of them?" Jogging up behind the knight came Gavin, who once again held Anjali's metaphorical leash. He tipped his head to the princess before seeming to fold in half in exhaustion.

"Oh look, the assassin's here," Cailan muttered. "Yay." He'd found the idea of Rosie keeping her around rather humorous at first, as if his sister wanted a pet. But after the attack he was firmly in the decapitate her camp even if she'd done nothing wrong.

Catching on fast, Anjali tipped her head to the prince and then said something in her native tongue. It split through the air like a hatchet shattering firewood, everyone turning to the woman in question. She didn't blanch at the attention but lifted her chin and grinned. For his part Cailan shook his head and sighed, "Whatever you said."

"The bandits..." Rosie prompted to the Knight in charge.

"We have a few in custody," Daryan said with a weary sigh.

"Some lived?" Anjali responded with a surprised lift of her brows.

The knight honed in on her, eyes staring daggers into Anjali's, "We are not barbarians, assassin."

"Not good ones, at least," the woman laughed, always keeping everyone off kilter. It was what she did, seemed to revel in it. Daryan, like a bear in a cage that just had someone rattle the bars, puffed her chest out and rose to the limits of her spine.

"Please," Rosamund interrupted, "tell me what we know of the bandits!" She was exhausted, her face still flushed from the saving fire, and she was tired of everyone looking at her. All Rosie wanted was to curl up under a cool, wet cloth away from questioning eyes and wagging tongues.

Daryan stepped away from the assassin, but not far. No doubt she wanted to keep within easy striking distance in case. "They're bandits. The two remaining were jabbering about how they had no idea this was a royal caravan. They thought it was easy pickings."

It was Cailan who snorted first, "Right. We are to believe bandits can be so brainless they'd ignore all signs and displays of strength, and swoop down upon the first thing they find? They're either idiotic or desperate."

"I'd say these are both, your highness," Daryan snapped at him. No doubt she'd been trying to get more out of the captives for the time being. Was it their blood that coated her chest from an interrogation and not a dead body's?

"Meaning we are remaining firmly in square one with little chance of moving forward. Delightful," Cailan was in a full on snit. He wasn't much of a drinker, preferring to savor the rarer brews than go bottoms up on swill, but Rosie suspected he'd be ten deep into a cask tonight. In this state, it was doubtful he'd even want a woman to join him.

"As I understand it, then," Rosamund began, trying to fold her hands in front of her stomach like in all the old portraits. It wasn't natural, but it made people think queenly thoughts whenever she did it. "We have no proof of any malfeasance beyond the fact bandits have grown too numerous in the Highever Teyrn. This is an issue, and one I must discuss with the Teyrn himself."

Her head advisor dashed forward, Avery having been kept far from the real danger along with the others. Once it cooled and squires dragged him out of his hiding place beside their belongings, he considered it his job to pontificate upon the situation -- loudly and with hand gestures. "My lady," he said, bowing his head a bit lower, "the Teyrn is not a fan of being lectured by..."

"Is it not his duty to protect the roads? Why even have this alliance with the crown if he refuses to honor it?" Rosamund was growing more cross with every word. She wanted to take it out upon someone and Teyrn Cousland seemed an obvious choice.

"He..." Avery tried to talk over her, but she was having none of it. She was growing weary of men inserting words into her sentences.

"Shall have to face the issue of the bandits when we drag our prisoners before him," Rosamund ordered.

The Knight flinched, her fingers digging into the sword upon her side. "Your Highness," she began in that mocking tone, "that's really not smart. It'd be best if we chop off their heads now."

"No," Rosie thundered, collapsing her hand into her outstretched palm. "Justice in such matters rests in the Teyrn's hands and it is he who will answer to it. Surely he will agree with a need to increase soldier patrols down the king's highways once he's greeted with such proof."

It seemed so simple to her. Present the bandits, ask the Teyrn to meter out justice, and then calmly bring up one of the sticking points that her father was often railing about. Far too many bandits easily slid into the forests stashed about Ferelden's roads, making travel risky. A lot more people would take the Waking Sea than dare tempt the roads, which was causing the middle of the country to dry up.

Rosie was practically grinning ear to ear at her brilliant plan, when she caught Avery fiddling with his fingers and Daryan sigh, "As you say, my Lady. We'll chain up the prisoners and drag 'em with us. Here's hoping they don't escape."

"I shall put that on your head," the princess shot back, but the Knight only shrugged. No doubt she'd assumed as such.

Sliding away as if she had far more matters to attend to than keeping her leader informed, Daryan began to march away when she paused. "On the matter of the assassin..." she began.

"Yes," Rosie lifted her head and stared directly at Daryan, "I wished to discuss that as well. Thank you for the opening." The knight snickered at that, as if she was really doing the princess a favor. "Given the danger we apparently face, I think it only proper she be returned her weapons."

"What?!" Daryan gasped, all but leaping towards Rosamund. Behind her she heard a few others exasperate in surprise, and one palm smack into a forehead. "Lady, my lady," Daryan struggled to act contrite in the face of such madness. "This is by a wide margin..."

Lifting her palm up, Rosie managed to maintain an air of serenity about her, "If you please. Anjali shall have her daggers returned to her; however, they will be tied into their sheathes. It will be up to the guards watching her, in particular you Squire Gavin, to decide if she should be trusted with them."

"Me?" he jabbed at his chest in surprise, but it was the assassin Rosie turned to next. She anticipated a smile of gratefulness upon those full lips, but the woman had them pursed to the side, her eyes staring warily around the group.

"Your highness, princess, this is..." Daryan tried to shake her out of it.

"Bonkers, balmy, a sign Rossie whacked her head into a low beam," Cailan muttered before he looked up as if surprised anyone heard. "Shall I continue on?"

"I'd say she proved herself. She assisted the squire in the attack and then rushed to my aid, not my death."

"As far as you know," Avery butted in. "She could have been planning to steal a blade and in the chaos assassinate you, but the squire here got the better of her."

 Rosamund ignored him. She was getting good at letting the man's words wash into the background like waves upon the ocean. No wonder her father would often hum songs whenever the flock of crimson robes circled him. Stepping closer to Anjali, she looked the woman in the eye and asked point blank, "Did you intend to murder me in the chaos?"

"Uh," she bounced on her toes, her eyes darting around to the faces that wished to be rid of this problem immediately. After a circle, they landed fully upon Rosie's. For a beat that felt like more, she locked her umber gaze in before her eyes darted to the ground. "No, of course not. I mean, if I had I would have waited until everyone was busy with clearing out the archers, then attacked."

Her honesty brought a smile to Rosamund's lips and she nodded her head. "Is that what you would have done, Ser Daryan?"

"I would not kill my Princess," Daryan stuck up for herself, "nor engage in such dishonorable tactics."

Rolling her eyes, Rosie turned to stare over her shoulder at the last person to trudge up to the ground. "What of you Myra?" Her sister had her arm around an elven servant's shoulders, but at the focus from the royal think tank she paused.

"Yeah, probably. I mean, easier to slip out in the chaos if half the guards are on the other side of the wagon or in the trees," for a moment her sister's sight wandered off from Anjali to the boy standing beside her. Rosie followed to find Gavin's face knotted up in a sneer. "Not that I think that's proof of..." Myra began, but Rosie turned from her.

"I dare say that's enough of a reason to give the woman a bit more trust in such matters. Now, Ser Daryan, Chancellor Avery, and the rest, I need a moment to cool myself off," she tried to step back from the horde, but they all squeezed in around her. The handmaidens in particular fluttered up like a flock of seagulls, but Rosamund was in no mood.

"I have given my word, do as I say," the curtness was enough to freeze everyone in their tracks. Rosie turned from the group, shuffling out into the cooler shadows below the trees while the advisors all fell to bickering about the princess behind her back.

She didn't get into the forest proper, no doubt there'd be a good swath of people who'd run out to rescue her, but Rosamund had to free herself from the pressing fist of politics. How in the Maker's holy name did her dad manage any of this? Putting up with people questioning your every decision and choice as if you were little more than a chicken pecking at a board with words scratched on it made her want to scream. Her father was...not prone to being diplomatic, to put it nicely. It must take every sweet bone in his body to keep from regularly sending an advisor to the stocks for a few hours.

Running her fingers over her flushed cheeks, Rosie sighed. What she really needed was to cool off, and mercifully someone left a bucket of water perched upon the ground. The reflection of her face in the murky depths was all shadows, her light dimmed to a sliver like the moon before it vanished behind the horizon. She stared down at herself, lost in the sneering face of the darker version of the princess. That one would have never suffered fools so gladly. She would have strung them all up to decorate the trees with.

With her fingers, Rosie tugged up a stained rag and dipped it into the water. The dark princess lapped away from her dousing the cloth, receding back to the depths of her brain. Wringing the cloth out once, Rosamund placed it to her cheeks and sighed in relief. A cool balm suffocated her burn, knocking it back to let her feel normal for a moment.

"Never thought princesses would wash using old rust buckets and rags stained in blood."

Her eyes shot open wide at the voice, but she didn't turn around. Trying to dig for a semblance of poise Rosie left in the dust, she covered her face in the cloth a moment. "I'm afraid I can't speak for others, but..."

Anjali laughed a moment, the woman folding her arms over her chest in a defensive pose. "So, I'm allowed to have my daggers back." She spoke as if it was fresh gossip for Rosie, her tongue sucking in her bottom lip before she chewed upon it in thought.

"Do you not want them returned?" she let the rag fall from her cheeks, water glistening upon her flushed skin as she turned to Anjali. The woman's eyes lit up as her nervous gnawing halted. She made no bones about staring across Rosie's features, those umber depths memorizing her nose, her cheeks, her thinner lips. It was so brazen it brought a new burn to Rosie's already weary cheeks.

"Just," Anjali sighed, her hands unfolding to dangle against her thighs. "Seems a bit on the unwise side of things."

"Because..." Rosie prompted, turning back to the bucket. She washed her fingers off, trying to remove the last of the char from Myra's spell. When she blasted the bandits to ash, some of it blew back into the carriage. Rosie kept insisting to herself it was the dust of burnt wood and not a dead body. It was the only way to keep from screaming whenever she stared at her fingers.

This stranger she let live, let travel with them, found herself trusting for no good reason, and would often stare at without her aware, closed her eyes tight. "Because there's a good chance, a damn good chance, that those bandits were hired by my friend to try and test the security capabilities of the caravan. She'd risk nothing, and convincing a bunch of starving idiots living in the woods to have a go would be pretty easy."

Anjali winced as the words left her mouth, each one placing another log onto her pyre. The bandits were related to the assassin. An attack the one supposedly here to protect Rosie failed to anticipate or mention. It would reflect poorly upon her and was why she kept quiet about it with the Knight.

Dropping the rag back into the bucket, Rosamund nodded her head, "It's as I assumed."

"You..." Anjali whipped her head back at the caravan but surprisingly no one followed her. Then she honed onto Rosie, Anjali's body slipping right into her personal space. Through the burn in her cheeks, Rosie could feel her heartbeat increasing in speed. It thumped faster, sending blood and rampaging adrenaline throughout her body. Run. Fight. Something else?

Rosie dug her fingers into her thighs to keep herself measured and stared up into Anjali's eyes. The woman smiled, a side one that quickly spread over the fullness of her lips. "You knew?"

"Assumed," she said, swallowing to hide the tremor creeping up her spine. Why was she shaking like a leaf? Her guards weren't even a few steps away. "I didn't know if it was a real possibility until you confessed it to me. For which I am grateful."

"Maker's kiss," Anjali whistled, clearly impressed. The idea twisted Rosie's stomach into a bow. "How did you know? How did you know and not the rest of them? Or tell them?"

"I read a lot of tactic books as a child," Rosie confessed. Her mother was often complaining about how the war books wouldn't really suit the future queen. People would rather be at peace than war. She understood, but the strategies were fascinating in a way incidents of public intoxication and correlations with incidents of death by exposure were not.

Anjali's fingers lifted up into the air. Something in Rosie tensed, watching them hover near her arm. It wouldn't take anything more than a breeze for those strong but soft hands to cup against the sleeve of her dress. But Anjali was only reaching to scratch her nose. Rosamund swallowed hard, cursing at herself for even thinking to...fear such a thing.

"I need to rethink everything I know about princesses."

"Perhaps," Rosie smiled. "I also didn't say anything to them," she jerked her head towards the various advisors, "to see if you would bring up the subject."

"Well well, beauty, grace, brains, and a love of old military stratagems," her eyes burned as she settled onto her heels while staring deep into Rosie's sight. "The Maker sure took His time crafting you."

It was foolish, the woman was clearly pulling her flirting card to try and throw Rosie off balance, or get into her good graces. Her brain understood fully, she just wished someone would inform her fluttering stomach about it. While trying to shake the idiotic thoughts away, Anjali stretched higher, her arms elongating her body.

There was something graceful but strong to the way Anjali held her body, like a hawk clipping through the warm winds to dive and pluck a single mouse out of a field. Sometimes Rosie expected to turn her head and find feathers dangling off the woman's thin arms. When she rolled her head around on her neck, her eyes popped open and Anjali laughed. "Are you feeling as boxed in as I? A stretch can really do wonders."

"No, that's..."

"I can always help," she extended her hand towards Rosie as if the assassin would actually slide her arms along her spine or tug her arms high above her head. The thought caused Rosie's eyes to dart over to the piles of people who were doing their best to watch without making it obvious.

"I am quite fine. And I should return to you your daggers, provided that they remain tied to their sheathes," she added on the last bit. If Anjali broke that promise then... It didn't matter how graceful her body was.

The woman smiled serenely, "Yeah, I got it. No yanking 'em out unless baby Knight says so. But, I hope you'll allow me the freedom to perform my daily exercises with them."

"Exercises?" Rosie asked.

A soft laugh lifted up her lips exposing the pearl teeth before she tipped her head back to the sky for one last stretch. "If you think this is impressive to watch, wait until you see me twirling with a blade in my hand."

Her cheeks burned so bright, Rosie may as well have not bothered trying to cool them off. Patting both like a weary child, she turned away from Anjali and tried to keep her voice from warbling. "My hope is that you will take the time to prepare our forces for whatever attack your _friend_ has next."

The assassin broke out of her stretch, her hands hanging limp again as if they were made of grass. Reminding her of her duty to the crown and also this other one she swore herself too seemed to have curtailed the gleam in Anjali's eyes. With a tip of her head, she intoned solemnly, "As you say," but then a wicked smile curled up her lips, " _Sapheela."_

## Chapter Twenty-Two

### Through the Heart

Their arrival was trumpeted by a kennel of hounds barking at the noise. The slobbering mabari must have been out on a walk, a pile of them all being tugged back to allow the Princess and her mass of advisors entrance into Highever. The city itself stretched around three concentric rings built into the side of a mountain, a stone path winding its way back and forth from the gate to the heart. Rosie felt the crisp bite of the thin air against her skin and she kept struggling to take in more than she was used to. Hopefully in time she'd think nothing of it, and the light headed feeling would pass.

Heads prodded out of windows, the people of the Teyrn pausing and then slumping down to a knee as they realized who was at the lead of the little parade. Scattered through the roads stood little children, all of them clinging to their parent's legs while they tried to get a closer look at their princess. Rosamund risked a small wave here and there, shuffling her shoulders deeper into the white fur Tess insisted she wear for the march inside. It seemed foolish by the summer heat, but she felt a bit more royal thanks to it.

Trailing along behind for what felt a mile marched the advisors to the crown, the servants, the wagons loaded down with their luggage, and -- in theory -- her brother. Cailan should have been by the princess' side, but the moment they reached the gates he was inexplicably impossible to find. Knowing his preferred extracurriculars, Rosamund was in no hurry to unearth him. The knights, most of the security, and their prisoners were all sent ahead to secure things and alert the Teyrn of their presence. No one wanted to be surprised by a princess left standing on their doorstep.

A few more gasps broke from the people watching, Rosamund turning to spy bunting in the colors of the teyrn's house flapping between buildings. They built them staggered here, levels often jutting further out than the top or even the bottom structures. It struck her as very topsy turvy, but Highever existed since before Calenhad united Ferelden. Whatever they did it must work.

"Amelia!" a voice shouted from the crowd and a tiny body darted out into the road. The girl who couldn't be more than three or four was barefoot, a sack dress tied off around her waist. She paused, her big eyes darting around the piles of adults stomping through her town, and then she froze fully.

Her mother began to run out to grab her wayward daughter, when one of the guards left to protect the princess ordered her to back off. Another two moved to surround the girl, but Rosamund waved them off. The little Amelia had her hands wrapped tight around something, her eyes boring into the dirt being trod upon by dozens of armored feet.

"Hello there," Rosie smiled, bending over to meet the girl in the eye. "What's your name?" The girl only made a small chirp noise, her eyes growing wider.

"Amelia!" the mother shouted, whether it was to answer for her or get the child's attention Rosie couldn't say. The sound caused the girl to whip her head to the side. Buried under stick straight mahogany hair were a pair of long, pointed ears.

Scooting forward a bit, Rosamund stuck out her hand to the girl. "Pleased to meet you. My name's Rosie."

Amelia stared at the hand as if it was some fabled toy she'd spot locked away in shops only to be seen and never touched. Blinking her big eyes a few times, she whispered, "Are you a princess?"

"Ah," Rosie wobbled on her heels, "yes, I am."

Endless brown eyes met Rosamund's as the girl suddenly snapped up and smiled wide. "This is for princess." She unclasped her hands and revealed a red rose with petals barely open had been kept safe inside of them. With a smile, Rosie quickly accepted the flower and wafted the petals against her nose.

"Smells divine," she said, "thank you." Reaching her hand out in gratitude, the little girl took it and the pair shook. With a tight hold, Rosamund parted through the guards who were itching to yank Amelia away. She deposited the girl back into her mother's careful arms who was trying to whisper such a continuous apology Rosamund knew she couldn't get a word in edgewise. Nodding and smiling to try and diffuse any tension, Rosie returned to the head of the parade.

But behind her, she watched little Amelia grab onto her mother's cheeks and shout, "Mama, I met a princess!"

The rest of the march through Highever was less eventful, people rushing out to see who came to their doors, but no one getting into the middle of the road. Flitting through Rosamund's fingers as she switched it back and forth to wave was that young red rose. Someone took the time to cut off all the thorns before giving it to her. A very generous thought.

At the gates of the palace proper, Rosie paused her retinue. This wasn't her first time walking into this castle. She'd been a few other times over the years, but it was always with her father taking lead. Once she sat upon his shoulders, having to duck below the archway or risk banging her head. Now, she was on her own. _That's what you wanted, Rosamund. A chance to prove yourself._

True. But it wasn't supposed to be this terrifying.

Closing her eyes, she tried to think of the waves washing against cliffs hugging the shoreline. No matter what troubles weighed upon her brows they too would be eroded away like rocks standing up against the never ending ocean.

"My Lady," a voice whispered beside Rosie's ear and her eyes popped open. "Shall we continue?"

She focused upon the door at the far end of the courtyard. An older man stood there, a fur robe knotted around his shoulders as he had every intention of impressing the princess come to his home. It will be all right. They want you here. Ferelden can't do this on her own. It needs your hand.

Nodding her head, Rosie stepped forward as the gates cracked apart. With her spine straight, she lifted her chin higher, blanketing herself in the serenity of the crown that they'd drilled into her in schools. No one liked a panicking ruler, they wanted to gaze over at their queen, or future one, and see only calm certainty. That was what she must portray. A shame she couldn't behave like her father and just run about shaking everyone's hands without thought or consequence.

The Teyrn stepped down off of his stairs, his robe's green train cradling the steps behind him. Two of his own advisors stood beside, both appearing even stiffer than Rosie remembered. Oddly, neither were his children. There was a daughter in her forties that would sometimes smile at Rosamund when she was a girl, and a son aged to his mid thirties that had no time for the King's children. He was almost never around, but it felt strange to see neither beside the Teyrn. Word was he dotted upon his progeny almost as much as the King did.

"Your Highness," Teyrn Cousland greeted her by bending deeply at the waist, but his advanced years and an injury from younger days made the trip difficult.

Rosie paused before him and moved to stick her hand out, "My Lord Cousland." She tried to get him to stop in his bow, but he finished all the way down and one of the older gentleman beside the Teyrn assisted his rise.

"I welcome you to my estate, and the teyrn itself. We were anticipating the arrival of your father, but...it seems plans have altered."

Fergus Cousland, leader of Highever, veteran of the blight. Like many during those dark days he lost much, his entire family. As the last in the line he took it upon himself to try and rebuild the Teyrn's honor and power, always keeping a watchful eye turned to Amaranthine. They said Highever used to be better allies when the land was in the hands of the Grey Wardens but after the issues during the days of Corphyeus the land reverted back to those who served under the traitor. There was quite a bit of bad blood shared between the two which grew more heated with each passing year.

He was shrewd, they said, but not an unkind man, and he had a cautious love for her father. Conservative in his stance on political policy, when it came to the King's more groundbreaking changes, he would always stand up for her father's ideals if not his ideas. They also enjoyed riding together, as apparently both were horrific at it and preferred to sit back watching everyone else suffer horses.

"I'm afraid he was needed back in Denerim," Rosamund said, her lips sliding into an apologetic state. Many of the other Banns and Arls she'd meet would be ecstatic to not suffer the perceived buffoonery of her father.

She took the proper tactic as Cousland smiled, "Not an illness, I pray."

"No, nothing of that sort. Politics, the Arl of Denerim..."

Fergus extended a hand, "Say no more. I have, unfortunately, met the man. At least our King is wise enough to keep any power out of those grubby fingers." He blinked a moment before turning a shrewd eye upon Rosie, "I pray the future Queen feels similarly."

So many options here. She could agree with him, thereby establishing herself as against the Arl of Denerim. Not a strong man by any means, but he had allies who owned great swathes of land. They enjoyed being able to tug on the strings of the man living right upon the King's doorstep. Disagreeing would certainly turn the Teyrn against her, cutting off practically all of north Ferelden.

Pursing her lips, Rosie dipped her head, "Power is a dangerous thing in the wrong hands."

"Too true," Fergus nodded his head, giving in to her deft dodge, "but who decides the right hand to hold it?"

"The Maker, and Andraste of course," Rosamund shrugged. She felt like Myra leaping from one edge of the roof to another, always managing a catch or landing what felt a solid save, but with only an inch to spare. It was invigorating.

"My Lady," the Teyrn extended his arm to her. "We should recline inside before discussing matters of the state."

"Yes," she bobbed her head, her fingers reaching out to slide along his forearm. "The bandit population in particular is of great concern," Rosamund began, confident in her jump. This was the time to bring it up. Cousland was a good man, he'd see the wisdom in coming to her side. "It is my hope that the Teyrn of Highever will do all it can to assist the crown in..."

"Assist?" Cousland stumbled back, his arm dropping away from Rosie's. Anger burned in his eyes as he glared upon her. "Assist is another word for serve. Do you expect us to crawl upon our bellies?" Venom stung his tone as he eyed her up, "To dance at the whim to the throne of Denerim?"

_What in the Maker's hell just happened?_ Spinning in place, the Teyrn crossed his arms tight over his waning chest and he glared down at Rosie. "No," she gasped out. "I only thought that you would like our help in..."

"Ha," Fergus laughed, his voice raising higher to include all of his people standing in the courtyard in this discussion. Dozens of foreign eyes glared at the princess whose cheeks were turning bright pink in frustration. "Help. What help could the waffling crown possibly provide? Strip us of more land? March your knights through without thought of the destruction they leave in their wake? Increase the grain you steal in order to feed fools idiotic enough to try and repopulate Ostagaar? Highever does not, nor will it ever 'serve the crown.'"

"I did not claim you would serve," Rosie waved her hands in the air, trying to get ahold of the situation, but she felt herself tumbling into space. She'd fully missed the grab and instead found an entire wall crumbling upon her. "I only wanted to speak of your problems..."

"There!" Fergus jabbed a hand at her, "There it is. They send the child to placate us, then to our face accuse us of our failures."

"I am not a child!" she screamed, her hands flailing into the air. In her rage, the rose tumbled to the ground, its ripe petals bouncing upon the cobbles. Sucking in a breath, Rosamund tried to find a calm but the best she could do was not glare murder upon the Teyrn twisting her words around like a pretzel.

The flock of advisors beside her suddenly all sprung forward. Heads bowed, hands extended with palms flat, they looked like worms trying to scrabble over the ground upon their bellies. "Forgive her words, my good Lord."

"She is young, she does not know what she says."

"Of course the Teyrn would never be expected to serve the crown. That goes against every treaty ever signed."

The babble continued, boots rushing forward as even more voices tried to call Rosamund a complete idiot without using those exact words. Bundling her fists tight, she stared down at the ground to find her rose flattened, its petals ripped off the stem and scattered over the ground. _She didn't mean to... She didn't expect it to... How did it all go wrong so fast?_

Risking a quick glance up, she watched the Teyrn standing as still as a statue. He folded his hands up across his chest, not about to be moved by any of the ass kissing. While he looked as if his attention was upon the apologizing advisors, his eyes burned at Rosamund. Her cheeks lit up brighter, practically as red as her dead rose. Not thinking, not caring, barely coherent beyond sputtering rage, their crowned princess and future queen spun on her gilded slipper and marched back out of the gate.

The only things to follow her were shame and failure. Red as blood, the embarrassment of her foolish tongue leaping ahead without thought lurked in stomach like a sea monster bubbling below the waves. And failure, Maker she was getting tired of those knives that left no trace of their multifaceted cuts. She did all she could. Studied. Planned. Certainly more than her father ever would on such a trip.

But he didn't have to, because he'd been doing this for years and everyone was...everyone was used to their king. What did they want from her? To watch Rosie bleed? To smile at their pretty little princess as she walked down the road, then leave all the decisions to the rest? To the better?

Bending her head down, Rosamund ran to her wagon of junk and yanked out the only thing she needed. A few of the handmaidens looked up at her, about to offer suggestions, but the spitting tacks princess snarled before dashing off like a feral beast. Her heart thundered in her chest, Rosie's skirt flapping through the air as she skidded towards the only potential balm in this disaster. Digging her hands in tight, she clung to her prized possession, squeezing so deep the metal rosette upon the middle embedded into her palm.

As she slowed to a stop, the princess honed in on a single wooden man left sitting alone in the ring. A few archery targets leaned up against a wall along the back, but that wasn't what Rosamund wanted. Not what she needed. Pausing before the wooden dummy a few inches taller than her, she stretched her back leg out digging the heel into the ground for balance.

With a flick of her wrist, she slid her sword out of its scabbard, but didn't toss the metal and leather keepsake to the ground. Lining the blade up in her right hand, the deadly edge extending further towards the dummy, she tucked the scabbard back against her hip but kept it in her left palm. No one was watching, and even if they were she didn't care. This was her sword and no one could tell her to stop. Act as if she was in the wrong. Treat her like a pretty doll to parade around at parties then store away on a shelf.

There were no wrong words here, no missteps that'd endanger treaties decades in the making. Just her, a knife's edge, and wood.

"Aaah!" Rosamund screamed, her nose flaring to take in as much of the thin air as it could. With all her force, she slammed her blade into the shoulder of the dummy. It teetered back at the attack, the spring bounding from such force. The toy weapon in its fake hands bounced too, as if it could mimic a real warrior.

She lifted her scabbard, using it like a shield to deflect the minor nuisance of the wooden sword. The dummy's hand wobbled in a trajectory towards its back, Rosie spinning and striking from the left with her sword. Two fast slashes bit against the wooden chest, splinters sailing to the ground while she screamed again.

It wasn't supposed to happen! She had a plan! The Teyrn was going to admit there was a problem, let her assist. It'd be her first ever deal cut without her father holding her hand or letting her sign her name because it was cute. She'd be a Maker damn adult for once!

Lashing back, Rosamund whacked the scabbard's end twice against the dummy's face. The cheap ball knocked about like it was shaking its head no at her. A scream burning in her veins, she jammed her sword deep into the chest right through the lopsided heart someone carved into it. In her anger, the sword traveled halfway up the blade until it finally struck a knot or her muscles gave out.

"Damn it," she hissed, wiggling her hilt back and forth to try and yank her cursed sword free. It wouldn't budge. Blinking against the tears of frustration and shame, it grew harder for Rosie to see her sword, and then the dummy. Why did this have to be so blighted hard? Everyone else made it look easy. Just...do what you're told and it all works out. That was how it had always been. You're so smart, Rosie. You've got this.

Ha. They were all lying, every tutor, every trainer, everyone that needed to prop up a princess. What did they care if she wanted to be good? They just wanted her limited approval. She was a waste, a mistake at all of this. A failure without being wise enough to know it.

Releasing her grip on the hilt, Rosie slid against the wooden dummy and bashed her forehead to its painted eyes. The poor thing was staring askance, one eye focused upon the sky, the other towards the far left. It was foolish, but the idea of the dummy even attempting to enter combat with that view drew a laugh to her stomach.

She released a few chortles even through the tears, when a voice spoke up behind her. "That's one way to clear a place out."

Shit. Rosamund moved to wipe away evidence of her crying, but she froze realizing the mere act of it would give her away. She could hear Anjali sliding back and forth behind her. How long had the assassin been watching? All of it? Maker's breath.

"I did not expect anyone to follow," Rosie admitted, stepping back from the dummy she mutilated. Her sword remained jammed inside its heart, the rounded hilt curling downward towards its wooden flesh as if to gesture and emphasize her idiocy.

Anjali stepped nearer; she could feel her without seeing her, a warmth from this stranger's body reaching out for Rosie. "No one else did, and I'm not surprised. Royalty starts screaming and people scatter lest they lose a head."

Snorting, Rosie pointed to the dummy's wooden noggin, "He was allowed to keep his."

"Heart's not in such a good shape though," Anjali whistled, easily spotting the mess Rosie put herself in. She grumbled at the obvious failure and slid away, wanting to bury her face in her hands. Perhaps, when she removed them, she'd find herself back in Denerim with nothing more important on her shoulders than what clothing to wear that day. That'd be nice.

The trained assassin's fingers drifted across Rosie's sword. She didn't grab onto the grip and yank it free, but let her tips trace up and down the smooth, rose-like petals of the hilt. Each edge of the petal was razor sharp, the better to impale the enemies with should they try to yank her sword out of her hand. Whether Anjali noticed or not, she gave no hint.

"You're pretty scary with that," the woman who no doubt killed dozens of people in her day pretend complimented. Rosamund snorted at it, well aware of her lagging skills. She wrapped her hands around her chest as if she suddenly grew cold, fingers burying into the fur.

"Really?" Rosie snickered cruelly, striking back at herself. "I'm not allowed to square off against any living opponent. Only..." she jabbed a finger at the dummy whose head bobbled back and forth.

"Why?"

Lifting up her hair, Rosie revealed a scar across the very top of her forehead. "Blade broke, dug in pretty deep. Edict decreed and everything. The princess shall not engage in live combat."

Anjali drifted away from the sword and stood just out of view to tip her head, "Still, you're not bad for only going after wood. Not the most graceful, I'll give you, but sometimes brute screaming your lungs off and fighting as if your ass is on fire does far better. And the scabbard bit..." She gestured to the stand-in weapon still in Rosie's hands. "That was impressive."

"My dad, he..." Rosie sucked in a breath, "he always used a shield and I wanted to but couldn't swing carrying one. It ruins the lines of most dresses."

At that Anjali snickered, her plump lips lifting higher to reveal her pearly teeth. She was a strong smiler, no half measures to appear disinterested in everything the way so many blue bloods did. When she showed enjoyment it was with her whole heart. Her dad would like her, Rosie thought...except for the assassin bit.

"What happened to warrant you sticking your sword deep into Woody's chest here?" Anjali jerked her head towards the dummy as if it was a simple matter, but Rosie felt the waves crashing around her again.

Glaring at her feet, she spotted the dirt of the fighting arena coating along the hem of her dress. The girls were going to be extra cross for that one. With her fingers, Rosie tried to roll up the hips of her dress as if that would somehow rescue the hems from future damage. Foolish. What did it matter?

"I made a grave mistake," Rosamund muttered, shaking her head. Turning away from Anjali, she stared out at the city resting below them. Palace walls hid much of it, but a few chimneys and protrusions of the mountain itself broke up the landscape before a bright orange and pink sunset filled the sky. Stirring her foot into the dirt, Rosie sighed, "I never should have come on this journey in the first place."

"Maybe," Anjali spoke in a hushed voice, causing the princess to break from her glare at her shoe to look at the woman. The assassin's lips lifted in a smile and she beamed her decadent umber eyes right into Rosie's, "But then you wouldn't have met me, and that'd be an eternal regret upon your soul."

It was said with such silly determination, Rosie couldn't help but laugh. "Perhaps," she felt oddly glad to have this unknown, foreign stranger prodding into her business. Isolating herself and her tantrums for the good of the country could be exhausting. Squeezing her eyes tight, she whispered to herself, "Perhaps I should return home. Forget I ever tried. Or leave it all up to Avery and his flock of pigeons to handle such diplomatic matters."

A simple solution, really. They didn't honestly like the idea of her prodding around into things. They barely tolerated her father, who many dismissed as a complete moron. Someone asking pointed questions and listening threw everything off. There were backs to scratch and coffers fill, deals stretching behind the scenes a bumbling royal could destroy without thought. It'd be easier if she played along. Acted like her father or the girl in pigtails they all remembered from twelve years ago.

"Is that what you want?" Anjali's voice strummed the air, the accent's emphasis like plucking strings from a full bodied lute.

Rosamund snickered, "What I want? As if that is a simple question or answer for anyone. What do I want in all of life itself? Perhaps if I sang about it." Her voice rose up to hum out, "I want adventure and a great big cake."

Laughing beside her, Anjali appeared upon Rosie's periphery. The assassin was all eyes for her, while the princess only risked an occasional glance over. "Only sing if you have adorable woodland creatures to back you up."

Cranking her head around, Rosie turned to her left, then her right. After a beat, she sighed, "Sorry. No such luck. I think you have to look to Orlais for the woodland creature princesses." With her lips in a half smirk, her pivoting face landed with her staring dead center upon Anjali. How did the woman's cheeks shine like that? It wasn't sweat, the air was far too cool for such a thing here, but a glisten against her deep brown skin as if she glowed all the time. Absently, Rosie's tongue lapped against her top lip in contemplation.

When the woman's eyes darted to her mouth and Anjali smiled at catching her, Rosie tried to bury the thought in a pile of 'she should ask about her skin regime' excuses. Fully blindsided by her blush, Rosamund curled her hands up tight, while Anjali took control of the conversation.

"Let me guess here. Beautiful princess, no man you're betrothed to -- if I hear the scuttlebutt around the fire correctly. You're probably looking to sneak off into the wilds, live life like a peasant, and stumble upon your one true love -- who's either a woodcutter or another prince pretending to be a woodcutter."

At her summation Rosamund broke into peals of laughter. The entire thing was preposterous. Who would want any of that? "No, I...I want to be queen. To be a good ruler. To continue what my father begun, guide the country, do what I was born to do. Help...help people."

"I admit, I haven't met a lot of destined to lead types before," Anjali slid a hair closer. As if it was no big deal, her hand gripped onto Rosie's shoulder, the strong muscles and bones rubbing into her skin and kicking the princess' heart into overdrive. "But that's the best reason I've ever heard to want to be queen. Much better than 'someone's gotta chop out my step-daughter's heart and it might as well be me.'"

"The good it does me," Rosie sighed, unable to break from her despair pit. Nonchalantly, Anjali slid her fingers off of her shoulder, but she wished they'd stayed there. For a bit longer. "Barely into it and I've already caused a national incident that could spill over into the threat of war."

What would her father say? Nothing. At least nothing that wasn't a joke. But what would he do? Shuffle Rosie back, say that she wasn't quite ready for the headache and that she should live her life free of it for as long as possible. Damn it all! She was ready. She wanted this more than anything. Why couldn't she get it right?

"Well," Anjali stepped away from her. "I don't know much about politics and national snits that could bring about war, but..." Grabbing onto Rosamund's sword, with one smooth pull, the assassin yanked her embedded blade free. "I know people."

Stepping over to the princess, Anjali held the extracted blade out for Rosie. With a careful eye, the princess slid the scabbard over the sword, sheathing it safe into her hands. "Like say whenever I do a contract," Anjali continued. "When they need something done it's all 'oh Anjali, you and your band are famous across thedas. Only you can help to rid me of my sticky problem that we're going to call marmalade for some reason. Code words are so cutesy.'"

Rosie cracked a smile at the pathetic simulacrum Anjali attempted of her clients. She kills people. The problem they're talking about is assassinating someone. Why was it so hard for her to remember that simple fact when she looked at the assassin in their midst?

"But then I show back up with the bill in hand and the switch gets flipped. 'Well, what you did was easy. Damn near anyone could have handled it. I don't know why I should pay you so much. You certainly don't deserve it.'" The woman scoffed, "Dumb bastards, who short changes an assassin that knows where you live? But more of them try it than don't."

"That's..." Rosie began when an idea struck her.

"Stupid, right? I try to explain to them why, usually with very sharp objects that could go into their tenders, but..."

Her rant faded as Rosamund turned to gaze back at the caravan. Yes. That just might work. "I need to find Cailan first. And one of the... No, Cailan probably already has it memorized." A plan snapped into Rosie's head and she moved to dash back to her people, ready to make the Teyrn pay up for his blunder.

Pausing in her tracks, she sheepishly glanced over her shoulder at the assassin left in the dust. "Thank you for your help."

"Glad I could offer it," Anjali waved. "Eyes as beautiful as yours should never be washed by tears."

## Chapter Twenty-Three

### Ambush

After Princess Rosamund had the bill delivered to the Teyrn she expected it to take a few hours for the man to respond, but a messenger with a face red as a tomato came hoofing it towards their stand-in campsite. When Rosie caught sight of him all but begging for the princess to reconsider the Teyrn's hasty declarations and join them in the parlor, she turned to her brother.

"What all did you include in that?"

Cailan had been squatting on a stand in chair playing a dwarven game with marbles that also involved counting. Lifting up a piece of green glass he shrugged, "The usual. Damages to the royal wagon, costs for any emotional burdens heaped upon our soldiers. Wear on blades. Extra to replace arrows." He turned from his game to smile at Rosie, "It added up to quite a fee in the end."

That was her ultimatum. If the Teyrn did not wish to work with the crown, then he would owe them compensation for his bandits attacking the royal train. It was, after all, only fair. While, no doubt, her brother's cruel machinations with interest rates and business jargon startled the Teyrn, it was probably Rosie's decision to include mention that she'd already sent a copy on to her father that sent the messenger peeling out to the lawn.

Even still, she chose to force the man to wait a few hours, her turning to the advisors as if needing to confer with them. They drew up a half tent, the front exposed to reveal Rosamund calmly stitching up a ripped piece of canvas as if she was part of the clean up effort. Every once in a while, she'd glance up at the palace with an 'it didn't have to be this way' look. By the time she entered the palace proper it was nearing the supper hour and she was battle ready to take on whatever challenges the Teyrn tossed at her feet.

It proved to be for little, the man seeming to have lost his bluster outside the door. As they sat down to the negotiation table Cailan whispered to her, "Bet he didn't want to admit he had a bandit problem and thought shaming you out of his house would work. Oops."

Rosamund wanted to appear magnanimous, the sweet princess who could forgive the bill and cost to her people. All she required in exchange was for the Teyrn and his various advisors and treasurers to hear her out. Midway through her attempts at building up negotiations to get the Teyrn to increase his guards patrols by 25% while the crown would take up the slack with knights, Cousland suddenly rose from his chair.

She gripped tight to the table, her research flush around her like a wall to stop any invasion, but he didn't wave her off. "My Lady," he tipped his head down, "I believe it is time for dinner. There are others who are visiting our beautiful lands that would love an opportunity to meet with you."

"Oh," she pursed her lips, her fingers hovering right over the next point in her agenda. What would her father do? Get drunk with Fergus and convince the man it was all for the best before they wandered around in the back gardens hunting snipe. Sadly, that wasn't an option for a young lady. Running a hand across her face, she looked over at the Teyrn and asked, "Is this a small get together or a full on fête?"

"I assure you, I would never be so crass as to spring an unexpected party upon a woman," Fergus smiled, dipping his head down into an honorable bow.

Well, that wouldn't be so bad. She did need to eat, and after they could resume discussions before adjourning to bed. Gathering up her information and passing it to Avery, who continued to smack his lips in disagreement every time Rosie spoke, she smiled. "That sounds lovely." When she rose to her feet, the Teyrn took her arm. "A quiet dinner would do me good."

By the time they reached the stairs, Rosamund's lips all but thinned to nonexistence. She heard the music first, not a simple lute or bard strumming with a flute for accompaniment. It was a full on tavern experience, drums hammering hard through the walls, various flutes piping to keep up, and lanced above it all a voice hopping so quickly through an epic poem that should take ten minutes it would finish in three. This was no small dinner, it was an ambush.

The Teyrn tapped her hand as if he expected her to suddenly flee. Her hair was flat, only a single small braid dangling off the side which she used to keep fresh quills close. There were no petticoats under her dress, no bustle to emphasize what she always felt was fine on its own, and the neckline to her traveling dress cut higher up than was fashionable. No doubt this was meant to mortify Rosamund, a young lady who must pride herself upon her appearance to others.

Too bad this wasn't Orlais.

Patting her free fingers over the Teryn's grip to her, Rosie -- a girl who'd stumbled into parties since she learned how to walk -- smiled wider, "This is a most raucous dinner."

"All in celebration of the arrival of their princess," the Teyrn smiled. He was angry about the bill. Understandable. It was a very crafty move, but Rosamund wasn't finished with them yet.

"Delightful," she laughed, every inch of her body language informing him that she was ecstatic about such a thing. "I dare say I do deserve celebrating every once in awhile," Rosie tacked on, leaning closer to the older gentleman.

Dinner was taken in the grand ballroom, half the chandeliers lit because it was doubtful the servants had time to reach the rest. While the guests -- stretched out across two gigantic tables lining the sides of the room -- were mostly those of the palace and Rosamund's traveling companions, there were a few new but sadly familiar faces. She nodded her head at a pair of young men sitting at the main table but down from the Teyrn, his son, and certainly nowhere near the Princess. It was a question of what they were doing here, all being from the southern bannorn, but one she could bring up later.

When Rosie curled up into her seat, she caught sight of Cailan stumbling into the room and that damn bastard looked like a thousand sovereigns. He'd combed and pressed his wild hair back flat against his head, and took the time to put on a doublet with tails of all things. Rosamund watched a few of the girls already seated around the room slap into their fellows to jab fingers at the prince sliding into the place as if he owned it. That was her brother.

He took a moment to stop and say something to Myra, who sat further down towards the middle. It was often a mess to convince the Bannorn that the king's bastard daughter was viewed the same as the other children in her father's eyes, but as Myra grew she seemed to prefer a middle of the road seat. As she put it that was where the interesting people were, and no one in the fancy chairs could see what she got up to and stop her. Rosamund would sometimes be jealous of such an option.

After batting her brother away, Myra snatched up her silverware -- spoon in one hand, fork and knife in the other -- and began to juggle them. At least she was finding some entertainment in all of this. Cailan managed to finally make it up to the dais where his chair sat empty for the man who liked to make a scene. He turned to nod his head at the Teryn's son, Devon, then smiled over at Rosamund.

"Look at this, Sis. So much pomp just for us."

"Yes," she stretched her cheeks wider as her foolhardy brother plopped into his chair. "It's almost as if you could predict such a thing occurring."

"Not me," he patted his chest, his fingers messing with a dozen golden buttons it must have taken him forever to knot on. Leaning closer over the table and the Teyrn, he whispered, "I'm not the detective in the family."

Rosie snorted at that. Of course, Myra caught on. Either she warned him or let it slip as if the fact was obvious. She could prove a very useful ally, when she was of the mind to help. Too bad her helping came at the whims of the breeze. She's young, her father would say, she'll assist when she's older and gets that head screwed on straight. Something told Rosie that that eventuality was as likely as a pride demon becoming Divine.

"Oh," Cailan interrupted her thoughts as he jabbed the Teyrn in the side, "I had an interesting discussion with your treasurer. At the rate of inflation, unless you stagger your tax increases, you're going to lose something around 10-12% of your population to starvation due to compounding grain prices."

"What?" Teyrn Cousland blinked, the man bowled over by this young upstart's cold calculations. "My Lord, I'm certain that what you've heard or declared is not a great concern for our teyrn."

"If you say so," Cailan shrugged, easily put off by the bluster of politicians. He didn't enjoy rocking a boat. "But," yanking a small tomato off of the roast goose platter, he popped it into his mouth, "don't come whining to me when you're facing a declining population and lack of hands for harvest."

"Shall we eat?" Rosie tried to talk over her brother who was no doubt making things harder for her. The Teyrn glared daggers at one of his advisors sat at the far end of the table, probably the treasurer who gave up too much to the seemingly amiable prince. There'd probably be a lot of words later, and -- if the man was smart -- he'd do whatever Cailan blathered on about.

The dinner was delicious, perhaps the first good thing to happen to her since they set foot into Highever. After the bandits attacking, the heat, and the shame that knotted her stomach into a ball, Rosie didn't realize that what she needed most of all in the world was a proper roast goose, boiled vegetables fresh from a garden, and watered down wine. The stewards were happy to keep the goblets full, Cailan taking advantage, but Rosamund couldn't afford to lose her wits. She'd already tipped over once in matters of diplomacy, another display could cost them greatly.

While the head table took its time carefully dissecting its food, savoring the flavors, and conversing on matters that inevitably turned political no matter how hard they tried to avoid it, the lower ones ripped apart their meal. Bread was hurled from one basket to the next, meeting with whatever hand was quick enough to snatch it from the air. A brawny man, but lacking in stature, snatched up an entire roast duck and began to rip it apart with his bare hands. He didn't horde it, but shared in the bounty to those who asked.

Finishing much faster, the lower tables all broke to dash out into the middle where a ring of dancing quickly happened. No doubt that was where the unwatered wine all went, or perhaps the mead itself. They were all braying in intoxication and swaying while arms stretched over shoulders in a great line. The dance was nothing of the intricate moves Rosamund had ever seen, but they all seemed to be having a great time. Pity she was trapped with the Teyrn who looked about to pass out into his peas.

"Welp," Cailan dipped his fingers into a bowl of water and worried them about a bit before staggering to his feet. "If you will excuse me, I do believe I see a beauty calling for me." He pointed towards a row of women who kept eyeing up the prince as if he should have been trussed up on a silver plater.

Maker's breath. Don't give him any ideas.

"Your Majesty," Cailan bowed deep, causing Rosie to roll her eyes. He laughed once and then dashed towards his next conquest, all three girls raising their hands in the air and trying to drag the prince to dance with them first.

Beside her, Rosamund heard the Teryn's son scoff at Cailan's enthusiasm. "Lord Devon," Rosie began, trying to strike up a conversation with the man. He was handsome in the fashion people always claimed men of a certain type were. The features fit with the face, he had a line of grey hair sprouting from his temples to make him more distinguished, and the skin gained a touch of cragginess over the years. All in all he was attractive in a portrait but forgettable in person.

The man shifted in his seat and collapsed his hands together to face down Rosamund and she continued, "I find myself curious where your sister is. She's always been tightly involved taking the reins of the...reign here." While the younger son was your average looking guy, Sonya was striking. Auburn hair that turned to fire by the sun, and eyes always scrunched up in a curious gaze. She bore a sweetheart face that Rosie remembered coveting when she was a girl. When younger, she'd try to pinch her chin and jaw in her palm, thinking she could make it more pointed. But no, she was forever saddled with the same round features of her mother.

Devon tapped the end of his fork against the table, savoring the sound a moment before speaking, "She's in the south, visiting with the dwarven towns they established outside of the disaster area."

"Oh?" Rosie sat up higher in her seat. She'd never seen the infamous sinkholes, the area a complete waste after the surface collapsed into the deep roads, but she'd heard tales of them. Apparently her father went once, which was when darkspawn sprung from the ground. Since then the land was left to the dwarves who created the problem in the first place, their people on their own to make a new home.

"Is there going to be talk of a treaty with the misplaced families?" She didn't fully understand the dwarven caste system. The concept, certainly, but their bullheaded stubbornness to cling to it confused her. When most of Orzamaar was covered in rubble, a lot of the high caste families were left with no choice but to venture to the surface. Somehow they maintained their elite system, while a few remained in the deep. The cavern dwellers consider themselves the only true dwarves and the ones on the surface were all branded. Meanwhile, the surface dwarves had decided they are unlike all the other surface dwarves by refusing any overtures from the crown or other politicians. It's a nightmare.

Devon turned to glance over at Rosamund, when his eyes landed upon his father. His slack lips closed up a moment before he shook his head, "No, no I don't believe so."

"It is a touch of reconnaissance, nothing more," Fergus inserted himself.

So Highever was trying to prod into the dwarven matters. Everyone wanted a cut of the lyrium trade, and with the dwarves in even dire straights than before it seemed the perfect time to renegotiate. With the mage college established so near Highever it was no surprise the Teyrn would be prodding into that quagmire on their behalf. Or...was it without the college aware? Technically it answered to no one politically, so Ferelden wouldn't be seen as the country harboring all mages. But in practice, their council often came to her father for certain issues beyond them. Did he know of this?

"So I should tell the King that..." Rosamund began when the Teyrn bolted out of his chair. His movement caused her thought to trail off, Fergus leaning closer.

"Her Majesty should go and enjoy the festivities," he said, waving a hand towards the hopping dance floor.

Rosie screwed up her eyes and turned in her chair, "Her Majesty would rather..." At that moment a man she thought she left behind in Denerim appeared from the lesser end of the table.  "Lord Eldon," she sighed, her memory quickly dredging up the man's file. Five or so years older than her, only son of a Bann that was growing sickly, but who every voice seemed to point to giving his arling over to his younger sister. Which would then put the line of succession upon her family and leave the son nowhere near it. Eldon was cursed with being power mad and having no skills to achieve it.

"Dear princess," he bowed his wispy head deep before reaching over and picking up her hand, "would you do me the honor of the first dance?"

With the distraction, the Teyrn and his son both began to bolt out of the room. No doubt the Teyrn was going to berate him over letting such a vital piece of information slip, which was what she needed to overhear about. There could be more. "I need..." she rose to her feet, planning to pursue, when that damn Bann's son locked his grip in tighter.

It took little for him to tug Rosamund with, her slick soles offering no resistance against the polished floor. She could tug back hard, trying to slide her fingers free, but to every eye in the palace she'd look like a weary child not wanting to go to bed. Giving in, she trailed after the man while trying to eye up any potential excuse. It wasn't as if it was the first time she was forced to dance with a person she couldn't stand. That was practically broken into her on the first day of tutoring. Lots of people you will hate will touch your hand, kiss your cheek, or dance with you. And, it is your curse to have to pretend you enjoy it at all times.

Trying to bury the snarl deep in her heart, Rosie lifted up her hands and folded them above her head. Eldon matched in kind, the man standing up taller as he led the princess into the dance steps spilling around them. It was a simple one where, at the end of twenty hops forward, the woman would spin in place before joining up with the man's hands forming a bridge above her. So on and so forth until the cursed music ended. Around her, a gap widened, people terrified to imagine trodding upon their princess' toes.

Rosie managed the first turn without incident, her muddied skirts flaring from the twist. When she returned to Eldon's greedy mitts, he stared down at her. She'd never been more grateful for the modest neckline she needed to keep from burning to a cinder while outside. All he got was a view of brown flowers stitched upon an olive green field. In terms of her dresses, Rosamund looked like a dead fish rotting on the shore after the spring thaw while wearing it, but it was exceedingly comfortable. She'd take that over beauty while working. Attempting to work.

"My Lady," Eldon tried to dip his taller head down towards her, but Rosie hopped further to the side. "You move with such elegance."

"Years of being trained to do just that have paid off. I'll be certain to give my tutors your compliment," she said, barely hiding her contempt.

The damn man chuckled as if she made a joke instead of trying to brush him off. "May I also share that your skin looks divine under candlelight."

"Maker's breath," Rosie gasped, "that sounds like something a murderer says before he pulls out the mother's corpse he had stuffed and mounted." The fingers holding onto her gripped tighter, Rosamund glancing over in surprise to find Eldon's face turning a brighter red. Oh no.

No, this... He was not!

Damn it, mother. She must have arranged this, sent all the boys Rosamund was cruel enough to ignore ahead. Had them set up shop at the first stop to try and woo her away. By the void, Rosie had work to do here. She didn't have time to waste it frivolously flirting with random young men.

The man whose ambition could reach over a bruised ego forced a laugh up his throat. "Your mind is a fascinating specimen," he sputtered. This time Rosamund bit back on her snide comments though she added another tic mark to the serial killer box. "But your body is a true gift of the Maker."

She stiffened in his arms, feeling his fetid breath curl down the back of her neck. With a twist of her ankle, Rosie spun fast away. Maker, how she prayed it would be fully out the door, but Eldon was quick to catch his prey. "Is that so, Lord Eldon?" Rosie's eyes darted to the ground, her brain uncertain what to say. What did one do in such matters? She could speak of his father's land. It wasn't impressive by any means, though it did have a large iron deposit in the northern acreage which contributed greatly to its wealth.

Because that's what normal girls think about when it comes to boys, iron and acreages. Sweet Andraste, why couldn't she simply head to bed? Sleeping was far easier than this mess.

"Your eyes sparkle like two emeralds," the boy whispered again, his head dipping so close Rosie could bean him with hers if she thought she could get away with it. Trying to not roll her eyes, she muttered in her head 'as if I've never heard that one before.' "Your lips are like a cherry, juicy and tempting for a taste."

Rosie had to cough loudly to hide the retching sound riding in her throat, and the tremble of revulsion. Oh Maker, what if he read that differently? Did people tremble in lust? She'd heard of it but considered it an embellishment of writers. Needing a breath of air and to try and clear her mind of the twisted thoughts, Rosamund spun out early. Eldon was either not counting or didn't care as he gave up easily.

In her turning, her eye drew across the back wall. Another gap emerged in the crowded gentry. It wasn't due to a high noble in their midst but a dark assassin leaning just into the light. With her arms crossed over her chest and foot planted back against the stones, Anjali looked as if she was waiting for a better party to arise. Her eyes were hunting over the proceedings, her full lips quirked up in a smile as if she was watching a herd of druffalo foundering in a stream.

When they turned away from a man attempting to lift a girl above his head (no doubt both besotted beyond belief) Anjali's burned into Rosamund's. The fire struck her so hard, Rosie's feet slowed, her arms held at an angle as if she was a music box dancer that had the magic run out. Their assassin was dressed differently; someone must have feared the Teyrn or others wondering about her as they got Anjali into a doublet and fetching tan trousers. The pants were made of silk, and ballooned around her legs to mimic a skirt. For the doublet -- a striking ivory that made her skin glow -- she undid the first three buttons revealing a hint of her cleavage. It was tastefully elegant while also distracting, like a flute of champagne with a strawberry placed upon the lip.

Eldon's fingers grabbed onto Rosamund shattering her focus as the man yanked her away from the assassin. A flush rose upon Rosie's cheeks at having been caught gawking so. He had to notice she was staring at...someone else. Would he say anything? Surely, he'd be annoyed at least.

But no, the damn man was so far up his own ass he continued to parade Rosie around as if she was already his pet. She lifted her hands higher, trying to stretch them away, when Eldon's hand suddenly broke and wrapped around her waist. Maker's breath! Rosamund moved to slap him away, when he whispered into her ear, "Your breasts are two milky-white pillows I would cherish laying my head upon."

She wanted to scream at him to stop, to step back, but her body froze. The well trained part to always be cordial and polite was insisting that she was being watched by a lot of people who had to suffer her mishap earlier. But they didn't just have their chests and other body parts spoken of in such a manner.

"Lord Eldon," Rosie began, trying to find any way to let him down as nicely but definitively as possible, when the music faded to a single string humming through the air. "It appears our dance is finished." She couldn't hide the grin of relief at being rescued in such a manner.

"My Lady," he tried to trap her, but Rosie moved fast, sliding away from the man's rapacious hands.

"I believe I am owed dances by a number of people tonight. Please, enjoy the party..." _Which I had nothing to do with._ Maker's breath, it was automatic for her now. Eldon's mouth slipped up to a sneer, the boy mad she wasn't swooning from his paltry attempts at flirting.

"Princess Rosamund, there is a matter..." Eldon began, waving his hand at her while she used her waning height to slide into the crowds. They were quickly becoming too drunk to notice the princess part which Rosie preferred.

Waving a final dismissive hand, she called to him with the royal equivalent of fuck off, "We shall have a chance to speak again later." Freed of the man's lecherous gaze, Rosamund took in a proper breath. She caught what looked like her sister grabbing onto an elven woman's hands and the two of them swinging together. It wasn't a dance, but they seemed to be having a lot of fun.

Was that what she was missing out on? Behaving like an idiot because she was free to? Then again, if Myra wasn't their father's child she'd be corralled into a different collar, one of servitude and obedience. Somehow she gained all the freedom of the crown and none of the drawbacks. Lucky girl.

Rosie wandered through the crowds, terrified of stopping too long because someone might recognize and drag her back out onto the dance floor. By pure coincidence, when she turned away from eyeing up a traveling keg, she found herself standing before the back wall Anjali was propping up. The assassin woman only glanced over at her a moment before resuming her gaze at the assembly.

"Princess," she bowed her head and Rosie's cheeks lit up like wildfire.

"You don't need to call me that," Rosamund insisted as if the two of them were fast friends.

At the foolish gift, Anjali turned to fully stare at Rosie. "Do you prefer Your Highness or Your Majesty?"

"Rosie seems as if it'd be easier, but...do as you wish," she folded her arms across her chest and faded against the wall beside the assassin.

"Okay," Anjali tipped her head down, her voice dropping lower. Barely a breath passed while she whispered, "As you wish." The hunger in the words drew a shiver up Rosie's spine, her tongue absently lapping against her lips.

"I see you're without your guards," Rosie commented, trying to bury the fact she reacted at all.

"Not really," Anjali jabbed a finger towards Ser Daryan who stood towards the head of the table looking like a nanny forced to chaperone a dozen children to the pond. Then she turned to Gavin, who seemed to be surrounded by a pile of women. The poor boy looked as happy about it as Rosamund felt in Eldon's grip. "But they let me have a little bit of leash, at least."

"Your outfit is..."

"One of yours, funny enough. I got myself into a princess' trousers," Anjali ran her hands down her stomach before skirting over the hips, Rosie's eyes trailing her movements. Suddenly, the assassin grew deadly serious and she whipped over to her, "I hope that's okay. They said I shouldn't be dressed like death and that I could take something..."

Rosie cut her off with a smile, "That would explain why I thought it stunning."

"You do have beautiful taste, though I'm afraid I'm a bit lagging in your curves," Anjali said lifting her chest for emphasis.

"They're, um," the blush burned into a rash of shame at how Eldon spoke of her accents. "They're not too, I know they can be a bit..."

Anjali reached over, her fingers landing upon Rosie's shoulder. With a bright smile, she whispered, "They're perfect for you." Maker's sake... Rosie grabbed onto Anjali's warm fingers touching her, the palm cupping over it and softly caressing up and down the skin.

For a beat, the assassin's lips parted, a breath waffling through the breach before she smiled and turned away, "I imagine that's why every man here is chasing for your hand."

Right. The betrothal her mother was forcing down her throat. "It is exhausting."

"What? Dancing? Having men compliment you? Bring you...I assume they bring you gifts. Or is Ferelden against gifts?"

"No," Rosie laughed, "we do gifts, but..." How could she explain it? Cailan didn't understand why his sister was so vehemently against this courting process. He found it easy, the charm almost never turned off. Even when he was laid up in bed sick with a stomach flu the damn man managed to seduce the healer sent to check on him. He was insatiable. But Rosie, the one that had to be wed, had to produce heirs...she'd rather forget the whole thing entirely.

"I'm not very good at it," she admitted, feeling foolish.

She expected Anjali to laugh at her, to tell her how easy it was, but the woman paused and shrugged a shoulder, "Are you certain? I'd have called you a pro from my angle."

"That's--" Rosie's entire body burned bright pink, the blush taking over. She grabbed onto her cheeks, feeling the heat flaring off of them that she was inexpertly attempting to hide.

"Perhaps," this strange woman turned from her stance against the wall and slowly drew her finger from the top of Rosamund's shoulder down her arm with only the pinkie. It followed the dip and swell of Rosie's muscle as Anjali whispered, "you need to practice more."

"Your Majesty!"

Rosie practically leapt out of her shoes at the voices echoing above the party. Turning away and trying to shake off the guilt, she left Anjali to tumble back against the wall. Even as she faced not the advisors coming to tell her off, or even a band of young men about to demand she marry them on the spot, Rosie couldn't bury her heart beating its fists against her chest. It wanted freedom.

Clattering up beside her ran her handmaidens, Tess being the one to call out for her. When she got closer, she laughed in a drunken stupor, "Rosie, did you...did you see that...?"

"Whoa," Rosamund quickly slipped a hand over her friend's shoulders to keep her steady, "slow down, Tess. We have all night."

"We do?" Tess glanced back at the others, then raised her hands in the air to shout, "Whoopee!"

"Come on," Nelly grabbed onto Rosie's fingers, pulling her with, "we've got a game going. You have to join in."

All the girls stared at their princess who was unable to refuse. She smiled, nodding her head in agreement, and they swarmed around her like a protective bubble. But as Rosie stepped away, she turned her head back to spot Anjali staring ahead at the dance. She didn't seem upset, but her neutral face looked forced on instead of easy.

"Thank you," Rosie called, causing the woman to blink in surprise and glance over, "for your advice. It helped greatly."

Anjali snickered, "I assumed as such, or else this is the most laid back invasion I've ever been a part of."

Laughing along at the assassin's joke, Rosie dashed away with her friends. Forget men, forget politics, she had a pile of buttons to win in a card game. If only she could forget the way her heart skipped when a woman's dainty fingers curled against her arm.

## Chapter Twenty-Four

### Helpless

This was all new to Gavin. Rather than being placed around the outer ring of the hall, the squires were all seated more or less together. He sat beside Snowy, who was scurrying away half as many rolls as he ate, and a ginger woman who came from Highever. For a time she spoke to Gavin in an animated voice, waving her hands about like she was conducting a symphony. But as the dinner wore on, she began to talk over Gavin to Snowy who was quick to say things that would get her to laugh. Somewhere further ahead ate Cal, the boy clearly recognized as warranting a higher seat beyond 'random squire number 5.' That was all the better for Gavin, who preferred the freedom away from the posturing.

When the mass of people all rose, he moved to circle back towards Anjali, but Snowy grabbed onto his arm and pulled him towards the appearing dance floor. "What are ya doing?"

"Work..." he tried to point towards the assassin who seemed to be eating in solitude, the woman now reclining against the back wall.

"No, no, no, we're somewhere new. Shiny. Where we've never been," Snowy raised up his eyebrows and tried to undulate them. Fully lost, Gavin blinked slowly a moment, then moved to slot into place to guard the assassin. "The girls here have never seen our like before," the dwarf continued, dragging the unresponsive human onward. Despite being so short, Snowy had strength in his arms that could shake a druffalo by the horns.

"And we ain't never seen their like neither, nor will we have to when we need to leave," he let up on his grip to Gavin and slapped both hands into his thighs. "Get it?"

"Not particularly, no," the boy admitted, causing the dwarf to smear his hands over his face.

"For the love of the..." Snowy cursed, trying to yank his beard off with both hands, when two women approached from both sides. He dropped his hands and the grimace, sliding into an easy smile to tip his head to them. "Ladies."

Both women ignored the dwarf, their eyes glittering as they honed in on something behind Gavin. He turned, expecting to find Cal lurking beside him, but there was nothing save a gap that led to the high table. Whipping back around, he nearly collided his chin with the first woman. She gasped, her eyelids dotted in silver powder blinking madly before she smiled.

"Maker's breath, your eyes are captivating," her voice rose up higher and softer, Gavin having to strain to make it out.

"I'm sorry," he shook his head, the music easily stampeding out whatever she meant to say. "I didn't catch that."

"I said your eyes are..." the woman began to shout, before drifting back to her feet and turning to her friend. _Should he bend closer?_ The girls came to somewhere under Gavin's chin, making him feel even more awkward than usual. What if he stepped on one? Was that a serious blight against a person's family? Stepping on someone? Maker, this shouldn't be so hard.

Somehow another two girls slid into place beside the first ones, Gavin feeling like the single piece of corn about to be pecked to death by a flock. He tried to step closer to Snowy for backup, but the dwarf was eyeing up a blonde woman in a blue dress. She kept politely responding to Snowy, but she was staring right over at Gavin, her eyelashes flickering. Did she have something in her eye?

"What's your name?" a voice suddenly sprouted beside Gavin's ear. He sprung out of his shoes and twisted to beat it away.

"What?!" he cried, managing to keep his hands to himself as he realized it was a fifth woman. Were they replicating behind him?

"Your name," she said, her voice growing more strained, "you must have one."

"I'm, um...uh," his fumbling was rescued by the dwarf who spoke up.

"I'm Snowy, and the tall, dark, silent one is Gavin." Blessed Andraste, did he have to describe him thus? Famished eyes stared deep into Gavin's soul, the women barely hiding their stare down his body. "We're squires," the dwarf tacked on with a laugh before returning to his blonde in blue.

"Oh, squires," the one behind Gavin pressed. She must be the leader, all the other girls following her cues. Like Cal but in a dress. Somehow the thought both disquieted him and brought a snicker to his lips.

"You know," a hand cupped against Gavin's bicep, fingers digging in to pinch, "I've heard a squire has to be rather athletic and that they are renowned for their...stamina."

"Names!" Gavin blurted, throwing his shoulders up in formation. It was enough to cause the woman's hands to tumble off. "What are your names?" He tried to calm down his thrumming voice, his head whipping wildly at the women.

"I'm Trin," a shorter brunette with a spray of purple in her hair stuck out her hand. That Gavin could understand, and he happily took her fingers for a hearty shake. But the one on his shoulder pursed her lips. She was like an acidic parrot about to bite off someone's finger should they draw too close.

While Trin faded back at the sneer, the parrot smiled, "My name is Lady Solona."

"What?" Gavin's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, his eyes trying to dart back to this woman that had a few years on him.

"Ah, I'm Solona too," another spoke up, "though most people call me Sol." Her voice died down at the parrot's glare, "There are a lot of Solona's around, so..."

The Lady Solona snickered, "Indeed, so very many you'd think it a common name. A shame that many have despoiled it over the years."

Whatever pecking order the nobility were having was lost on Gavin as his eyes kept darting from one Solona to another. How many more were drifting through the throngs? How many could he run into? He didn't need to ask to know who they were named for. Hero of Ferelden, saved them all. A beacon of light they all held up as the great warrior of the country who was blessed with a foreign and exotic name. A woman that also happened to be his mother. She was somehow behind their creation, either by saving their parents or just in ending the blight. A hero Gavin couldn't possibly ever hope to duplicate, who he sometimes remembered as the warm lap that'd drop the book lower to show him and do silly voices.

His vague panic at having to be in a social situation flared to dragon spotted in the sky levels. Gavin wrapped a hand around his forearm, digging his nails in as a distraction while the women all tried to get him to open up. It would be easier to excavate the long lost Temple of Sacred Ashes.

"So, Gavin, are you from around here? You look familiar."

"No."

"Oh. Then, Denerim?"

"No."

"The south?"

"No."

"Maker's breath, I'm going to be guessing all day," the first Solona (except not the first one really) slapped a hand into her thigh.

Snowy slid over from the woman who was giving him more than the time of day, "He can't really talk about it much because, well...look at him."

"I am," Trin mused, a hand cupped under her chin. The look was so blatant Gavin swallowed hard, his throat bobbing with the move.

"See that chin," Snowy reached up to grab onto Gavin's jawline, twisting the man's head back and forth. He wanted to slap the dwarf's hands away but Gavin was still frozen in place. "Doesn't it look a bit...familiar?"

Sweet Maker!

Gavin cracked up fast, wiping his fingers up and down across Snowy's hand. "He's kidding. There's no one I look like. Except myself. I try to look like him when I can, I mean..." He darted his eyes over at the dwarf, feeling a sneer rising on his lips at the roommate bringing up his father, when Gavin froze. The sneer was the worst of them all.

Trying for a goofy smile instead, Gavin wiped a hand over the back of his neck and mumbled something about donkeys. It was the first thing to come to his mind, and caused all the girls to glare murder at him.

"You're kinda weird, aren't you?" the second Solona said, her nose lifting higher.

"Not really," Gavin sputtered out. "At least, I don't try to be. Or want to be, it just..." Happens. It always happens. He doesn't know how to do any of this. Being charming on command, talking to people he's never met. But they want him to be suave and debonair. To whisper one line and then they'd...something. The damn dwarf kept nudging him in the ribs with his elbow as if Gavin could flip a switch and become the dark, mysterious stranger.

"So..." Trin was trying to pick back up the conversation that lagged from Gavin's sweaty palms slicking down his pants. "I see they got the dancing going."

"In Nevarra, there's a special holiday where they open up the tombs and let their dead dance through the streets," Gavin sputtered out the first fact to come to mind. Well coiffed heads twisted to him, eyes narrowing at that, "It...it's a way for them to connect with their ancestors. Or so I read, um..."

Trying to wick away the idiocy nesting in his ears like swallows, he lifted his chin higher and turned to follow the dancing. Cal had rounded up a girl, the two of them parading about in some highly skilled steps Gavin couldn't hope to copy. A few of the others were following as well. Spinning on the outskirts was the princess. Should he be trying to guard her now? She seemed to have the dancing part well in hand.

Everyone was having a great time, except for Gavin. Dancing was supposed to be fun, right? All he saw was hands slapping into his face, and legs kicking into his gut because he was too uncoordinated to move when he was meant to. No one ever bothered to teach him the steps everyone else knew by heart. No one thought it important. Even he thought the social aspect of being a knight would be minimal. Barely a month in and he'd already been forced to attend two parties. Great guess as always, Gavin.

A loud shout of joy echoed above the thin music and Gavin turned to find Myra leaping about with a great grin on her face. She wasn't following the constrained moves of everyone else, but was twisting to match her own beat. At first, she swung on the arms of her friend Bryn. The two of them kept planting their feet, then swinging the other to try and get them airborne. It was sort of working.

Suddenly, Myra froze, swiped her hands back over her face, then dropped into a full on run. Her feet pounded against the ground, the beat matching the bass, when the girl coiled up her thighs and leapt into the air. Pinwheeling forward, she cartwheeled twice through the gap, moving so fast her skirts didn't have a chance to think of getting in the way. At the edge of the dancers, Myra landed upon both hands and then sprung fully up into the air. Like a cat, she landed perfectly balanced, a great smile stretching her cheeks flushed with the exertion and accomplishment.

Applause broke through the crowd at the girl that provided an acrobatic display and she bowed deeply to her public. Gavin moved to join in, a smile tugging hard on his cheeks from her spectacle, when a boy slid up beside Myra. He barely exchanged two words before they joined hands and lopped off around the dance floor. His guts rolled at the sight of her glistening from joy and exercise, a true smile raising her freckled cheeks, as she spun about in the arms of a random man from Highever.

"Well," the first Solona snorted, "it's amazing what one can get away with with the right father."

"I don't think he's why she can move like that," Gavin commented. He meant it as truth, having been told more stories of King Alistair's antics than witnessed, but the girls around him all scoffed and leaned away as if he released gas. Oh Maker, he didn't do that too, did he?

"My lord...squire," Solona seemed to have fully forgotten his name, or didn't think him worthy to speak it. "If you will excuse me, I believe I see a friend calling for my attention." Without a by your leave, the woman slipped away into the crowd but he could feel her eyes slicing him up. Having lost the leader, the group shattered apart, each girl vanishing save the blonde in blue that was enthralled with Snowy.

Gavin wasn't sad to see them go, but he felt foolish standing alone on a dance floor. In his mind he knew that wasn't how the exchange was meant to end, but he didn't know what the right answer was either. Always happy to provide it, his roommate slid over and whispered, "That was...interesting to watch."

"I'm not surprised," he crashed his chin to his chest, the shirt pinching tighter around the midsection than he remembered.

"There, there," Snowy patted against the arm, "you just...you tend to lead with your mouth, huh? They don't want that."

"What?" he was confused. Wasn't that supposed to be how those interactions worked? You speak, get to know one another, form a bond.

"They just want the mysterious stranger who's fine to look at to sweep them off their feet. Talking's optional when you look like...you."

That made Gavin shift deeper into himself. "Oh," was all he could muster, his cheeks burning in shame.

Snowy winced at the reaction and tried to put on a smile, "Next time, just ask them to dance and let them do all the talking. You'll do fine." The dwarf glanced over at the blonde who was pressing her lips together. "And, if you'll excuse me..." Releasing his grip on Gavin, Snowy managed to wrap an arm around the back of the woman's waist.

"Don't wait up," was the last thing Snowy called before fading into the dance.

And then there was one.

Gavin patted his limp fingers together, wishing just a single strike would drive some manner of brilliance into his mind. He could head back to the tent, early and alone, no doubt every squire watching as their confounding oddball hung his head towards the exit. There was attempting to speak with the locals, though most of them were either dancing, drunk, or attempting both. For a brief second his eyes flitted over to the assassin woman. She remained in her spot, but the princess stood beside her. They seemed to be speaking privately when Anjali turned from their royal highness and her eyes cut straight through to Gavin.

He sneered, knowing full well that the assassin would somehow lord her special attention over him. She seemed to think he would care. All that mattered to him was keeping the princess safe, even if Rosamund seemed to be making it difficult with every choice. Letting an assassin wander freely through their ranks was dangerous. If anyone were to get hurt, it'd fall upon him. That was where he should be, even if his knight waved him off it. Even if all the other squires were free to imbibe to their heart's content. He belonged watching the assassin.

"Hey," a pair of hands lashed out and grabbed around his wrist. The fingers tented together straining to reach as both arms tried to pull Gavin away. When he turned from Anjali he nearly bumped right into a sea of freckles. Myra blinked a moment, her eyes even greener by the yellow candlelight. "Fancy meeting you here," she laughed before glancing down and realizing she was holding him.

As her hands parted to release Gavin, he forgot about the assassin and focused upon Myra. "I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd pop by," he tried for a laugh. After the night he had he expected a grimace, but she cupped a hand along her ear, leaned closer to him, and then snickered.

"It was this or the party down at the tanners, right? Hard choice, but this has better food."

"I wouldn't trust the lemonade their either," Gavin said back, wishing he could amplify his voice. It always sat deep in his chest, the words dropping down to the ground with a plop. How he wound up with such a bass voice to his father's more striking tenor he'd never understand.

Myra snickered at that, then spun back a moment to stare at the dancers. He feared she might vanish back into them, perhaps wow another boy with her acrobatics, but it was her elven friend she waved over. "Bryn," she giggled, jerking her head at the girl. "Do you know Bryn?"

"Ah, not formally," Gavin stuck out his hand and the girl's wide blue eyes darted over to Myra, then at the ceiling. With a small giggle she slipped her thinner fingers into Gavin's mitts and shook. "Though," he remarked turning back to Myra, "the way you speak of her I feel as if I already know her."

"That's the nicest," Bryn began before turning to her live-in sister and shouting, "What did you tell him about me?"

"Only good things," Myra insisted before tapping a finger to her chin and whispering, "I think."

"My, I swear to the Maker, if you told him about the..." Bryn's entire face slid over to the boy sitting in confusion and curiosity upon the feud. Suddenly she laughed, her cheeks struggling to make a great smile as if everything was fine. "Lord Gavin..."

"Please, just Gavin. Squire if you need to yell at me from across a field." The last part caused Myra to snicker though he meant it truthfully.

Bryn nodded her head. She was a girl somehow opposite in Myra in nearly every way. Short to Myra's staggering heights, Bryn's face was round and wholesome like fresh cream. Myra was many things but somehow wholesome never came to mind. Her face was clear, save a small mole upon her upper lip, while Myra's freckles had to rival the stars. She was more soft spoken as well, often ending her sentences as if they were meant to be questions. But in terms of getting along, the two were as inseparable as twins. He found himself very jealous of such a relationship.

"How are you finding all of this?" Bryn asked, her head tipped to the side. She kept her hair short, the brunette ends curling around her pointed ears.

"Confounding," Gavin admitted.

"Loud, I bet," Myra added on seemingly to herself. Sensing his eyes upon her, she turned to her friend to say, "The abbey was so quiet. Like pin drop quiet. Denerim market square at 2 in the morning quiet. But with less murders and hooking."

Gavin's cheeks lit up bright red at her assurance, "That's...um." His thoughts dropped off a cliff, the embarrassment swelling his tongue until it threatened to explode in his mouth. Both girls turned to him, no doubt expecting more witty repartee, or his explanation upon the lack of prostitutes at a healing abbey. Panic tipped up his stomach, Gavin grateful he ate light, when salvation came upon the strangest of heels.

Prince Cailan sauntered through the throngs of people. He had no one on his arm, but there was a glass in his hands. Upon reaching the group he tipped it back to finish. With a cool eye, he turned to find Rosamund surrounded by her handmaidens towards the head table. "Don't tell me, dear sister has somehow completely bungled this and we'd all best be making for the mountain pass before they release the hounds."

Snorting at her brother's words, Myra wrapped a hand around her elbow and turned towards their sister and princess. "I think we're safe for the evening. Tess and the rest of the skirts have her well corralled. And I hear they hid her sword again."

"Maker's sake," Cailan scrunched his eyes up and pinched into the bridge of his nose as if he grew a headache, "we will never hear the blighted end of it when she finds out." In moaning, he nearly bonked his empty glass into his face.

Bryn noticed immediately, and like a good servant raced to rescue the royalty from embarrassment. "My Lord," she began, "I can take that from you." Her fingers rolled up along the bottom of the glass, but Cailan's bright eyes popped open to focus only upon her.

"How in our beloved Andraste's name are you not out on that dance floor this very minute?" he asked, clinging to his glass.

"I'm..." Bryn's cheeks lit up brighter than anything Gavin's fumbling could cause and she shuffled her feet. "No one deigned to ask me."

"Well that shall have to be remedied immediately," Cailan pronounced and with a flourish he dropped his empty glass into Myra's fingers. "You can take care of that, I imagine." Scooping both hands along one of Bryn's, he pulled the elven woman out onto the dance floor. Whatever words he was whispering near her caused the girl to keep giggling and blushing even brighter.

Loaded down with her brother's dirty dish, Myra began to bang the bottom of the glass into her open palm. Beside her, Gavin tried to find any sense in all of this. "That was...something."

"Ha, you should see him when he's really trying. It is kinda funny to watch him fail though. Not that it happens as often as it should. Girls are so stupid sometimes. He's a boy not the blighted tears of Andraste, just..." Her thought trailed away while Gavin stood listening. When he realized it wasn't the music that drowned it out but Myra's choice, he glanced over afraid to find she'd vanished. Those meadowy eyes were scrutinizing him, the focus seemed to be narrowed down upon his nose.

"What is it?" Gavin reached up to cover the offending thing, afraid that on top of everything else he'd had a bogey up there for the entire evening.

"Uh, nothing. Nothing at all, I..." Myra banged her glass a few more times before sighing, "Want to get some air?"

Remain in this intricate step of politics, romance, and desperation, or abandon it all with a nice girl? "Yes, please," Gavin spat out.

Nodding vehemently at his decision, Myra scampered out through the throngs of people. He had to keep tight on her tail. Even though she was nearly as tall as him, somehow her thin body could ooze into and through gaps in the crowd Gavin had to excuse himself around. When they reached the doors, Myra weighed the glass in her hand and a wicked smile lifted on her face.

Spinning on her toes, she got a short run in and hurled the glass until it shattered against the far wall. "That's for being mean to my sister," she sneered at the offending thing that was tucked away in the corner. It didn't seem much of an act of rebellion, but a few of the grey hairs perked up and began to hunt through the crowd.

"Ah shit," Myra grabbed onto his hand, "run!"

Together they tossed open the doors, both giggling with the freedom when she suddenly paused and dropped his hand. Turning on a copper, she dashed back into the ballroom. Was she planning on apologizing for the broken glass? Did she change her mind and realize she wanted to remain? Before Gavin could think of a third question, Myra appeared.

She lifted up her hands to explain, "Forgot my shoes." With a tight grip to her nearly forgotten footwear, both of them dashed down the steps and into the night.

## Chapter Twenty-Five

### How To

It didn't start out so bad. The dinner was fun, because Cailan and Rosie were stuck playing hobs to the nobs while Myra got to talk to one of the pikemen. They were kinda fascinating to her. Your job is to stand there and hold a stick. If you do it right, something gets stuck on your stick. If not, bye bye stick and bye bye you. Simple. Elegant. Stupid for the man forced to do it, but fascinating.

The dancing was even more fun, Myra being able to finagle Bryn to her side lightning fast. They were a lot less stuffy here than in Denerim. There was no way she could have gotten away with one cartwheel, much less a backflip back home. Bea would have drug her dad in by his ear, then her mom would show up and it'd be a fifth blight all over again.

When she first looked up to spot Gavin surrounded by a bunch of fancy skirts, she tried to play it light. They were all there to mingle, maybe he was mingling. Then the one woman's mingling grew too cozy, her fingers pawing at the boy as if he was some horse she was going to buy at auction. Ugh. It was disgusting.

Hating that she cared, Myra fell into a few rounds with some of the Highever boys that hadn't learned who she was yet. People always seemed to like her until they got either the bastard or the king's daughter bit. It was downhill every time after. By the time she spun away from a twirl, feeling like her head was dancing without her body, she spotted him standing alone.

He looked the exact opposite of the boy she spotted in the meadow. Poor Gavin was twitching his fingers, his face all scrunched up in a nervous sneer while he kept turtling up his neck into his shoulders. It was an act of pity that drove her to strike up a conversation with him, nothing more.

Okay. That was buyable. So why'd you talk him into abandoning the dance with you?

Because...shut up, that's why. Myra tried to shake off her brain's thoughts by hopping onto a bannister running the length of the staircase. While Gavin took the stairs like a normal person, she stepped with her feet completely sideways down it. The focus needed to keep from face planting was enough she nearly forgot he was even beside her.

At least until the boy gasped out, "I will never understand how you don't fall. I'd fall."

"The trick is to picture the ground and how much it would really, really hurt if you did. Then don't do that," Myra explained. Getting a good feel for her balance, she picked up speed, dashing forward. At the end of the bannister was some iron mabari statue squatting on its haunches. The iron dog looked like it wanted a treat, the stubby tail sticking out to the side. Reaching the end, Myra scooped her hands upon the dog's head, pushed her legs up high and skirted her ass right over the top.

With a simple plop, her feet landed upon the ground and she turned backwards with her hands extended. Gavin had to increase his gait, jogging down the steps to join her. For a moment he looked at the dog she sailed over and grimaced as if it should be impossible to pull off. Myra'd been leaping over, under, and around worse since she was twelve. Her sister once joked that they should enter Myra into the steeplechase. After seeing some of the horses that year, she probably wouldn't have come in last.

"You're doing well," Myra said, her feet slowing as they circled around the silent courtyard. She suddenly realized she had no idea where she was going to take the boy she invited out. Great thinking there, Myra. Way to really plan ahead.

"Oh?" Gavin slowed up as well. The awkwardness hadn't entirely fled his body, but he didn't have his chin tucked up against his chest either. Progress.

"Captured a deadly assassin, helped to stop a bandit plot..."

"As I seem to remember, it was you who stopped the bandits."

Myra waved it away, "Promoted to bodyguard for my sister, and on our first fancy stop you had a whole bustle of ladies begging for a dance with you." She was trying to be light hearted, to compliment him, but the boy's face dropped.

"How did you...? You could tell?"

"That they were circling you like a pack of wolves that spotted a limping deer?" Myra plucked at her lips as if in thought. "It's not that hard to tell, even if you're not taught to do that shit. The 'ladies' at these stops live for this stuff. New blood, some fancy toy to play with that they've never had before. Pick, prod, toss back for the next one."

He fell silent and she turned from gazing out at the grey and black gardens to try and catch his eyes. "Did no one warn you about that?"

"It seems there is a lot I was not...informed of," he grumped as if being saddled with good looks was such a burden.

Would that be his excuse? He's too pretty for the common woman? No, not pretty. Pretty implied fine features that would shatter like glass. His could cut glass, maybe shatter a few bricks too. Even now there was a ruggedness to him she didn't spot in the other squires. His broad nose and jaw would get better with age. And, damn it, Mom! Myra did not care what he'd look like older, if he'd look better older. That was all the lady Solver's doing, teaching her to look and anticipate people, to know them inside and out.

"What...?" Myra stirred her slipper on the ground wishing she'd worn real shoes. They'd barely had any warning there was to be a stupid dance and she grabbed the first thing she could out of her wrecked luggage. "What happened?"

"I..." he pursed his lips together. Even by the starlight and fire of the hall in the distance Myra could spot the edge of his bottom lip glistening. It highlighted the swipe of pink before his lips trailed off to become a tempting tan. And you're staring at him. Stop doing that!

Shuffling on his feet, Gavin glanced over at her and sighed, "I don't know how to dance."

"Is that all?" Myra gasped. She'd expected something else, anything else but that. The boy's haunting amber eyes crossed into a stern look at her flippant response, but she was too busy sliding over and grabbing his hands to care. "Here," Myra extended his hands out, "I'll teach you."

"What?" he looked about to shy away back into his shell, but she had a tight grip when she wanted to. All that climbing and not wanting to die, probably.

"Don't panic, it's easy."

"Says the girl who can climb up a sheer cliff like a mountain goat," he was in full on grumbling mode. Normally, Myra would prod at someone behaving like a bee flew up their trouser leg but it was oddly captivating when he stuck out his bottom lip. No, damn it. Forget that stuff, focus on whatever you were going to do.

Raising her hands up into the first formation, Myra's brain tossed out 'Not as if he'd ever look twice at you anyway' to get one last stab to her self esteem. Thanks brain.

"I'll show you the...think of it like the base dance. Everyone knows these few steps, it's what you cut your teeth on, and then as you get older you learn a bit more fancy stuff to do with it."

"Fancy like those twirls and dips and twists?" Gavin turned to her but his shoulders were relaxing out of their carrying the whole world state.

Myra snatched up his fingers and placed them on top of hers, "I prefer to add something fun like plate spinning or lion taming, but yeah, I guess there's always twirls." She cracked up at her stupid joke but froze at the sound of the boy beside her laughing as well. Good thing it was nearly black as pitch out here so he couldn't see the blush burning on her cheeks.

"Okay, first thing you do is step like this. Step, step, step," she shuffled her feet as if they were half the size they really were. "Raise up a bit on your tiptoes like you're trying to sneak out late at night."

"Like this?" Gavin's far too great form somehow daintily lifted onto the very tip of his toes as if it was no bother.

"How in the Maker's name are you so good at that?" Myra tried to copy him but her tiny toes screamed in qunari curses that Qimat taught her. There was no way she could get up on them. With a sly smile, she bent the crook of her elbow towards Gavin's side. "Did you give the stuffy ol Commander the slip?"

"No," Gavin swallowed, his eyes darting around as if he'd been caught being naughty. That'd be the day. "The abbey would sometimes require quiet days and...my mom would make a game out of it."

"Oh that one. My Mom tried that too. 'Myra, let's see how long you can go without talking.' 'Oop, I lose. So, Mom...'" She giggled at the memory, her mother often turning her own special shades of red while suffering her daughter's jabbering jaw. Reiss liked to claim that when Myra was a five year old, her mother lost her voice for an entire week from trying to answer all of her daughter's questions. That seemed mostly unlikely.

Catching on that she was supposed to be teaching and not thinking about home or her big warm bed, or the way Lunet would sometimes sneak in a special pink donut just for her, Myra shifted her body. With a careful step forward, she tugged the cargo ship with her. Gavin, while light standing on his toes, was less so moving on them.

"Think of clouds, or water and how it flows over floors when you spill it," Myra began. He wasn't getting it. He'd shuffle forward at intermittent speeds, his toes all but nipping into the back of her heels. Then he'd overcompensate and lag behind, tugging Myra's arms back over her head. It'd be funny to watch, she'd have to give him that.

Biting onto her lip, she began to tap the beat through her fingers against his. "One, two, three, step, step, step." _You're holding his hands._ Yeah, I'm trying to teach him how to dance. _You're dancing with him._ If this is dancing, swallowing a bucket of leeches is medicine. _You're enjoying it._

"Not like water, forget that," Myra shouted all of a sudden. She craned her neck to spot Gavin's eyes open before he pursed his lips. He thought he had it. "Think of a fight."

"Dancing isn't combat."

"Sure it is. Dancing is combat but with sharp tongues instead of swords, and quick toes instead of...shields? I'm not so good at the metaphors. In a fight you read your opponent, right? You anticipate their moves and counter with your own." The boy's stupidly handsome face nodded. He leaned tighter to Myra to try and listen to her advice. It wasn't too close to be anything but friendly, but she could smell a combination of a juniper oil and that man musk that would turn her stomach. But it wasn't doing that this time. She wanted to lean closer and sniff more. No, Myra. You're treading into weirdo territory again.

"Here," she shook her head and leaned away as if to get into position. The garden's sun baked fragrances filled her nose instead of boy. It helped clear her head. "Watch me, and prepare to counter my moves."

With a breath, she stepped off. At first Gavin hung back, their tether straining as he seemed to be eyeing her up from behind. Myra was about to tell him he had to remain by her side for it to be a dance, when he suddenly darted closer to her and began to match her right foot for left. They paraded around the garden, her arms screaming for a release as they'd been held in the same stupid position behind her shoulder and to the side for too long. But he was starting to get it, really starting to get it.

"Okay," Myra paused them up and dropped her hands. Her puny biceps cried in bitter relief but it was a short victory. "I think you're ready for the next bit. Twirling."

"I..." his eyes flailed wide at the concept. "I'm uncertain if..."

"Don't worry, the girl has to do the twirling. All the boy needs to do is make sure to be in place when she comes back. Here," Myra betrayed her arms and moved back into position when she paused. Unknotting the leather tie in her hair, she began to quickly undo the braid. As it fell apart, her dark gold hair freed from its bonds slipped down to near her waist.

With her eyes closed, she tried to comb her fingers through the top section, savoring the feel of a soft breeze darting against each hair. Myra could feel the boy staring at her in seeming confusion, and she burned even hotter. "It...the twirl is meant for loose hair. Looks better," she tried to stupidly explain, feeling more self conscious with every word. That was why she let it down, not because...because he used to like playing with it. There was a logic there.

"It's..." his fingers darted through the air but didn't touch her, "wavy. I didn't know it could curl."

"Oh?" Myra plucked up the ends which twisted together at the bottom, "Probably because I've had that in for a few days. It'll fall soon, once I brush or wash it. Is that...?" Maker's sake, why did she turn to jelly around him? "Do you think it's dumb?"

"No, I," he snickered, his head tipping down, "the only hair I know is mine, or my parents. Curly no matter what, often worse in the rain. I didn't realize someone with straight hair could alter it so. Sorry," now he was smiling like the utter goofball she remembered, "I imagine I sound like a rube to you."

"Nah, I mean, it's cute," Myra threw off before panic squeezed her guts, "That you didn't know. All those little things we think everyone does know about us, but they don't cause they live different lives. My mom calls it blinders." Oh blessed Andraste, what are you doing? "She says you have to take them off to do her job. To see people for what they are instead of what they project."

You're talking about your mother and her boring ass work. He doesn't care. Stop it. Shut your mouth. Shut your mouth right now!

"It's, that's all, the cuteness of...blinders like horses have and I was going to teach you to twirl," Myra slapped her hands together hoping that would finally stop the babble that spat out of her throat like a crossbow bolt. Wincing a bit, she lifted her arms and turned to face the garden.

Either okay with her sudden explosion of uncomfortable verbal diarrhea or thinking it best to play along, Gavin resumed the position beside her. With her fingers tapping the rhythm in her head, Myra set out and he followed right beside. One, two, three...she counted her steps until coming to the twentieth. Barely turning on the ball of her feet, she raised their conjoined hands higher and spun in place. It was a simple revolution, but when she returned to marching her head felt lighter.

"Was...was that it?" Gavin gasped.

"That's level one of twirling. Most girls can only do that, or will do that. Every 20th step she stops and spins, her skirts flying in the breeze and long, flowing hair doing the same thing I guess." She squinted feeling like her arms grew heavier with uncomfortableness.

Licking her tongue against her chapped lips, Myra glanced over quick and complimented him, "You did good, exactly what you need to do. Stand still, keep your fingers in place, and then get back to walking once it's over."

"It seemed obvious," Gavin tipped his head, the boy already the master apparently. "I watched and matched you like in a fight."

His cheeks were so thick from his heartfelt smile Myra wanted to take a bite. Lick them? Maker's sake, stop wanting to eat people. It's weird. The amber eyes which could burn with such anger were soft as honeysuckle. Trying to distract from the whole handsome package, Myra stared down at his lips, which only reminded her of how she'd kissed him before. She was the one to make the first move. Bold Myra, never did as she was told. It seemed easier then. See boy, have boy invite you to secret grotto to climb on a magic horse statue, find boy cute, kiss boy.

Now it felt as if she had to turn a dozen different gears to unlock a puzzle, but each twist threw the entire landscape off. She'd be turning switches until she was blue in the face before understanding any of it. When did this all get so complicated?

"What's a complicated twirl look like?" Gavin's voice punctured through her starry eyed drooling.

"Wha?" Myra mumbled before shaking her head. Right, he wanted a real twirl like the professional ball goers would do. Grabbing up his hand, Myra slotted her fingers over his. Gavin stared at the handhold in mild confusion before she turned on her toes and whipped her feet at lightning speed out towards the edge of the garden path.

The boy froze, uncertain what to make of the woman having pulled off three rotations before she came to the end of the tether. Lifting his hands high, Myra raised her leg parallel to the ground. She used his grip like a spindle, twirling one last time with her leg fully extended like a plank. It was much slower than the others, giving her time to catch sight of the boy's lips popped open.

Once the last spin was done, she dropped her leg and rolled back towards him. Myra misjudged her amount of twirl and she curled up into Gavin's arms, her shoulder nudging against his chest. Trying to hide how self conscious she felt, she laughed and then promptly darted back like a skittish deer.

"That's a complicated twirl, that can also take out a few people who are dancing near you, so use with caution."

"I...I've never seen anything like that," he gasped as if she'd done something impressive. There were plenty of girls and women that could do the same, probably a few inside right now. But he was looking at her as if she moved a mountain.

With her cheeks fully cherry red and her stomach in flames, Myra turned to stare ahead and began to march him back into the steps. How many stupid dances had she done over the years? Her Dad had her attending them since she was able to walk. A lot of that was so he could use the excuse of 'the baby's acting up, I have to go.' When she stopped being a baby, and he'd just leave when he wished, Myra began to stick around. There were a lot of boys at first that wanted to dance, then were forced to, then really sweaty palm wanted to. Now it felt like she was back to the forced to part. Be nice to the bastard, she's important to the King. Maybe we can use her as leverage.

But this... She was waltzing around like a peacock in an orlesian flower bed without any music, clinging to a boy who'd never managed a step in his life and it was the realest the dancing ever felt. Magic. That was it. It reminded her of the first time she managed to cast a fireball on purpose, her stomach all twisted up in concentration, but elation when it caught and a bit of fear of what came next.

Oh shit. What comes next?

"Myra?" Gavin murmured, his always low voice practically rumbling in the air like thunder.

"Uh huh?" was all she could manage. The boy paused in his dancing and she matched. Turning towards him, she found he was framed by starlight, the brightest of them bursting behind his head. His amber eyes darted to the ground, Gavin knotting his fingers up in pure nervousness. What was he concerned about? Was he going to...? Her heart leapt into her throat as she stared dead center at his lips that were pursed with a barely concealed thought. Myra reached over to wrap her hands over his to try and smooth down the nerves.

"I've been thinking, wondering. Perhaps it's not my place to ask you, or question it. These things are..." _Maker's breath, either spit it out or kiss me!_ Gavin's striking eyes raised and he stared dead set into hers, "Why did you stop writing to me?"

A punch to the gut winded Myra and she literally teetered back on her toes, partially to get a breath and also to keep from doing anything stupid. He didn't care about...that stuff with her. He only wanted to know about, of course, the friendship bits. Wincing, she dropped his hands and drew her palms over her forehead. Some of it was to yank back the stray hairs that crept closer, but a lot was to buy her more time.

"I should not have pried," Gavin raced to fill in. "It is your prerogative and..." he winced as if an arrow struck him to the heart. "I only feared that I did something or said something to, to offend you."

"No," she shouted so loudly it startled a few birds that'd been trying to sleep. "No, believe me if I'm offended I tell someone. Mom says I can't stop speaking my mind. It's..." You really walked into this one. What? You thought you could pull the vanishing act and then, boom, he'd forget? "I did it because I'm a very bad person."

"That's not true," Gavin insisted despite all evidence to the contrary.

"I'm always forgetting to answer letters. Shit, I wrote up most of the ones to my mom before we left so she couldn't yell at me or drag me home on a technicality. It's like 'Hey Myra, remember all that mail stuffed in your desk? Cause if you don't deal with it, the entire thing will collapse.'"

He didn't seem to buy it, his head listing to the side. "That makes sense," Gavin answered because there was nothing else to say. Calling her on her bullshit wasn't really his style. "I," he winced again, "I thought perhaps I was rather boring. It wasn't as if I had much to talk about."

"Nonsense, you were always going on about these wild things you read about and..." She kept every one of his letters, often reading them a few times. They were prolific in that winter between Myra's training sessions, coming once a week. But when she got the news she was staying at home, it...it didn't seem worth it. He lived on the other side of the country, she was never going back. He would never come to Denerim.

And you feared the day you'd have to read the letter where he talked about this beautiful girl he met in the market. How you'd have nothing to respond with beyond talking about Bryn. Rather than tell him, you stopped answering period.

"I'm sorry," Myra sputtered out. "I didn't meant to make you feel bad, though I can get why it would now. It just seemed like..."

"A lot of trouble, I understand," that armor was back. She'd seen it around others, Gavin often retreating inside of himself when he was being wary, but never around her.

Fumbling over, she gripped onto his hand and shrugged, "Like I'd get in a lot of trouble if I ever tried to hitch cross country." His eyebrows met in confusion and Myra struggled to explain her joke, "Because I'd want to see you again, because your letters were so... Never mind."

He smiled softly at her fumble and glanced down at their conjoined hands, "Are we friends?"

Myra threw on a smile of her own while she felt her insides melting. Friends. Yeah. Buddies. Comrades. People who were shoulders to cry on and nothing else. Just an old chum you'd chew the fat with and then head home with someone else. Why were you thinking there'd be anything more? Because he's nice to you? Because he sometimes smiles? Blighted look at him!

"Yeah," Myra nodded her head vigorously, "we're friends."

"Good," the stupid boy seemed grateful for her agreeing.

"Now," she tried to shake off the pain lodging in her throat, "let's give it one more go around the garden, then I think you'll be ready to try it for real on the dance floor."

Her partner smiled wider, his body locking back into formation. "Yes, ma'am." All those girls he'd snubbed would be bowled over by the few dance moves he could manage now. Pretty things that'd coo the right words at him. Smart women who wouldn't ignore his letters because their young hearts were stupid as a nug. "Right," Myra smiled, "from the top."

## Chapter Twenty-Six

### Shot to the Heart

"And this is the training grounds."

Rosie wanted to roll her eyes, gesture to the lines of targets archers were trying to pick off, and sigh 'You do not say.' But that would be impolite. Instead, she forced on a tight smile and nodded as if it was the most fascinating bit of trivia in her life. Her jaw was beginning to ache from all the smiling.

Their time with the Teyrn was proving not as useful as she'd like, but she was graining some ground. Though, she wondered how much of that was courtesy of a raven from her father directed to Cousland's eyes only. Rosamund didn't have a chance to read or inquire about it, she had her own short two or three sentences from the King to peruse but the Teryn's eyes practically popped out of their sockets. Whatever they were trading about, the man had to suddenly excuse himself, leaving Rosamund on a tour with random cleric number three.

Her own advisors began the tour hustling around her, but as it continued onward they began to drop like flies. How did any of them manage a lick of this with her father? Perhaps they never tried, preferring to leave their King to his own devices. What would she have to do to receive such disrespect?

Running a hand back through her hair, she snagged upon the false braid the handmaidens insisted upon for the day. Properly dressed to take on the rigors of courtly machinations instead of huffing up the road, Rosie felt more indignant. The corset was knotted loosely enough it was easy for her to breathe, but how it swooped under her chest made her feel as if she was in proper armor. Raised sleeves upon the shoulders of her dress were her pauldrons. All she needed was a sheet of chain mail to slip overtop her dress and she'd be fully battle ready. Too bad that wasn't in fashion, while runching along the hips was. It managed to emphasize her already wider bottom, making the woman fear her figure bore the resemblance to one of those carved wooden dolls that couldn't tip over.

There were far more people out on the range than the first time Rosamund found it. Some were clearly the Teyrn's men, dressed in the Cousland livery while they aimed up a shot towards the targets. Mixed in were hers, most stripped to the waist in deference to the heat. At least the female squires kept a smaller undershirt in place. She didn't need to hear how horrified her mother would be at such display of bare breastedness.

Two of the squires were squaring off in the ring, one tall and blonder than her father, the other a dwarf. Probably their only dwarf come to think of it. The male Knight sent to watch over them kept shouting out orders, all aimed at the human squire. No one seemed to be on the dwarf's side. The human squire's arm was waning, his shield tipping down to the ground while the dwarf held his ground.

"For the Maker's sake, Cal. Prove your mettle and finish this!" the Knight shouted. It would probably prove to be a fascinating fight, but Rosie's eye was drawn by another squire and the woman he couldn't leave alone.

Anjali was back in her black leathers, her crimson dagger hilts visible from over her shoulders. That was what Squire Gavin kept staring at, almost as if in disbelief she had them. She'd been waving around a practice wooden sword, not doing anything more than getting a feel for it. But even that proved too much for the boy left at her heel.

"Really?" she turned to him, waving the wooden stick faster, "You can't even trust me with this?"

"I wouldn't trust you with a feather," Gavin stuck his chin out. He was yet sporting a hint of the bruise Anjali decorated his cheek with, the skin turning a green-yellow before it'd fully fade.

The assassin stopped waving her sword around and smiled, "You'd be terrified of what I can do with a feather, baby Knight."

Gavin bristled at such a name, not surprising. He seemed a proud sort who expected honor if he treated others with such. They'd no doubt shake that from him eventually, assuming he didn't walk away from the knights upon growing tired of it.

"Come on, baby Knight, I have to do something," Anjali clasped her hands and was begging Gavin.

"Tell us how to stop your fellow assassin," he sneered, unmoved by her plight.

She expected Anjali to shrug and fade back to silence, but the woman reached over to grab onto the hilt of Gavin's blade. He reacted quickly, his fingers wrapping tight over hers, but not quick enough to stop her from drawing it free. Between the two locked in a deadly stare, the sword vibrated as both struggled to take command.

Rosie shifted, prepared to call for aid should something terrible happen, but Anjali didn't attack. With her free hand she drew her fingers up the sharp edge. "See this bit, it goes into the bad guy. Then they don't get up." She released her hold, the sword and Gavin both staggering away. Anjali wiped her hands down her stomach and snickered, "That's how you do it. Which you might want to figure out fast before you graduate to full time knighthood."

A low growl reverberated up Gavin's throat, his eyes clearly wishing to rend the assassin to pieces. With slow, exaggerated movements, he sheathed the sword back upon his hip and then kept a tight hold lest she try to disarm him again. Their assassin found it funny, snickering as she turned away from her guard. In doing so, her sparkling eyes landed right upon Rosie who'd been staring far too closely at the pair.

The woman smiled wider, her bright teeth glinting in the afternoon sun while Rosie felt herself begin to burn from it. Waving a hand against her face, she turned to find her tour guide. No doubt there were more parts of the palace she simply had to see, but the man was in conference with a younger girl who appeared out of nowhere.

Was this about whatever missive her father sent? What was in that blasted thing? She narrowed her eyes, wishing she was capable of reading lips. Realizing he was being watched, the tour guide whipped his head up and began to apologize. "So sorry, your Highness, but I need to attend to an unexpected matter."

"Oh dear," she raised her fingers to her lips in a gasp, "I pray it's nothing serious."

"No, no...a small matter of..."

"Perhaps I should assist. Or one of my own," Rosie began to turn her head towards the piles of her training guards, and the man blanched harder.

"Please!" he all but shouted, "I wouldn't want you to waste your time with such a minor issue. I will be but a moment and then we can view the Teyrn's private wine cellar."

"Wonderful," Rosie said, her voice full of sincerity while internally she was sneering. They were trying to pull the wool over her eyes yet again and for what purpose? She was going to figure this out even if it cost her.

Dipping his head further in apology, the man scuttled off dragging the messenger with. She could order one of her own to follow, perhaps try to be sneaky about discovering what secrets the Teyrn was keeping. But who could she send? The advisors would flat out refuse her, even if they might agree with her dad. The knights were not known for their stealth. Myra would flat out laugh at her and Cailan... No, Cailan was a bad choice all around. Assuming he'd even make it near wherever they were meeting, he'd probably get distracted by a lovely ankle and fully abandon his plan.

With a sigh in her heart, Rosie accepted that she was trapped in the dark -- at least for the time being. No longer having a royal audience, she relaxed out of her princess in recline pose. Her shoulders snapped back, lifting her chest higher as she began to parade back and forth behind the archers at practice. Part of it was nerves and needing to stretch, some of it was curiosity. There was talk that the archers of Highever used a different technique that enabled easier mounted archery. If so, she wasn't seeing any evidence of it. Another thing the Teyrn was hiding?

"How's it going?" a voice whispered from behind her. Rosie turned to find Anjali standing within reaching distance, her arms crossed and her head tipped down as if she didn't have a care in the world. But she looked up from her bent brow, right into Rosie's lower eyes.

"Why do you ask?" she tried to not be flustered by the woman's curiosity, bouncing back the question with ease.

Anjali shrugged and let one of her arms drop out of the cross. "Just wondering if our...what do you call them here? Terns?"

"Teyrns," Rosie answered quickly.

"So terns, like the bird."

"No, it's..." she began to explain the name but caught Anjali's grin rising even higher. She was being messed with. "Close enough." At that the woman laughed, her lips surprisingly crimson for the day. Did she carry a dab of pigment with her or 'borrow' it?

"You speak our tongue well."

"Better than I imagine any of you can handle Rivaini," she said, tipping her head as if the conversation was over. Rosie blinked her eyes a moment, hoping for more, before darting away.

"Oh? Was there a question in there? You Fereldens dodge direct talking more than Orlesians," she muttered while running a hand back through her hair. After knotting the towel on tighter she glanced over at the princess, "What? Not even a raise of the fist or snarl?"

"It's all internal, believe me," Rosamund tacked on. The crowned princess of Ferelden would fight anyone who dared to call her Orlesian, perhaps the worst insult one could throw around.

Anjali snickered at her answer, and picked back up Rosie's unasked question, "Assassin, it tends to require knowing a few languages beyond the usual colors, numbers, and where do I find a bush to squat in." She reached over as if to snatch up a bow off the rack but paused, probably due to Gavin shifting closer, his hand still threateningly upon his hilt.

Rolling her eyes at his jumpiness, they landed upon Rosamund as she added, "Also my mother."

"You have a mother?"

"Surprised? Even assassins have to come from somewhere," she snorted at the blisteringly obvious statement. Of course, everyone had to have a mother, but it seemed odd for someone trained in matters of death to have one. As if she should have been formed of clay and baked by the sun, foolish Rosie. She's not a blighted golem.

"I'm surprised. I thought guilds would take children when they're young. Orphans and the like."

"That'd be the Crows. What's left of them, anyway. No, we don't operate like that. We're not like the House of Repose either where it's all family lineages and pure blood to draw blood. It's..." her shoulders fell a bit while Anjali stared off towards the north. Somewhere far across the sea was Rivain. Rosie'd never been, though she'd seen a few paintings of the nation that was one part sea teeming with people living right above the waves, one part piping hot grasslands filled with deadly lions, and one part desert with cities bursting from the sands like jewels. It sounded fascinating.

"My mother wanted me to be cultured," Anjali picked up the edges of her tunic and curtsied. "Well rounded to take on the...family business. I suppose you'd know all about what that's like. Trained from the cradle to be broken and reset into the ideal shape." Her umber eyes burned into Rosie's with a supposed shared past, but she didn't feel the same need to break out of her future -- not often.

"I wish to be Queen."

"That's wonderful for you," Anjali smiled, seeming to not be thrown off by their lacking shared moment. "But I didn't. So...I became this instead."

"A murderer," Gavin spoke. Rosie whipped her head over in surprise; she'd somehow forgotten he was even here. That any of them were here overhearing their conversations. Maker's breath, her tutors would have had a fit. Always be aware of your surroundings. People loved to talk, especially about their queen.

Twisting her crimson lips over at the boy, Anjali snickered, "Don't forget pickpocket, thief, burglar, and occasional blackmailer if things are a bit slow. We're not just assassins, we're more like a fancy merc group with really good word of mouth."

"Is that why you have a scarlet tattoo?" Rosie asked, gesturing to the drawings circling Anjali's eye.

The woman drew her fingers up around it, trailing the ribbon of ink and she winced. "That's why it's red, but...that's all I want to say." Her wide nose bunched up and she whipped her head a bit, "The story's not very interesting. Though," her words turned coy and she eased closer, "if you get me drunk enough I might show you some of my _other_ tattoos."

Blisteringly aware that there were dozens of people listening in, Rosie drew a hand up against her cheeks in a vain attempt to hide her blush. Hopefully it looked as if she was trying to tuck her hair back. Gulping, she steadied herself and smiled, "I will take that under consideration."

This other woman -- imposing, carefree, eyes of a gemstone, and voice as full bodied and rich as a fine merlot -- coughed a moment and whispered, "Well, how about that."

"Tell me," Rosamund sputtered out, trying to make up for her folly, "of your friend. She is an assassin in your order?"

"Was," Anjali slid back to the side, her arms crossing her chest as if to form a blockade. Her once open body posture instantly folded in on itself. "Rather doubt they'd want to let her back in after this stunt."

Folding her hands primly on top of each other, Rosie steadied her shoulders, "What is she to you?"

The locked up stance faded in an instant and Anjali's dancing smile lifted even higher, "Curious if there's a bit of competition?"

"No," Rosamund gasped out, her ice white face blushing like a sunburn. "No, no," she shook out a few more times, growing more foolish with each. It was impolitic to assume such a thing, nor should she care. Nor did she care. "I am only wondering if you were close...as in you know her well."

"Yes," Anjali's words dipped down into a maudlin tone, though that mischievous smile playing with her lips didn't fade. "I was the one who came across her, found her I guess you could say. Pulled her into the loving embrace of killing people for money." She clucked her tongue and sighed, "Shows what I know. No good deed and all that. Invisible though the web may be..."

Rosie blinked a bit at her words trailing off, "I don't know what that means. A web?"

"'Invisible though the web may be, the spider's fangs will still sting.' Old Rivaini saying, I guess. I thought everyone used it. Means..."

"Even if you failed to spot the dangers ahead, they will still harm you," she explained, nodding her head. A useful aphorism, certainly one that felt as if it applied to politics.

Anjali stuffed the heel of her hand to her chin and gazed at Rosie, "Tell me again how you exist. No one that beautiful should be so dangerously smart either. Right, baby Knight?" She reached over to nudge Gavin in the ribs. The Squire was kind enough to stare ahead at the sky while Rosie felt herself melting into the ground. Why was it so damn difficult for her to talk to this woman?

"He knows what I mean. Same problem, different face," Anjali waved it away without thought. If she intended to push both the princess and her guard to bumbling flop sweat and shameful blushing she pulled it off. For a brief second Gavin's striking gaze met Rosie's and she could almost sense a confession in his eyes. Whatever it was, she didn't want to hear it.

Stepping back from the assassin, Rosamund threw on a small smile, "Thank you for your limited information. I pray more will be forthcoming."

"Uh," Anjali staggered up out of her cocky lean, "sure. I mean, I'll tell you what you want to know if you ask it."

Rosie turned away from her to try and steady her nerves, but in doing so faced down the row of archers that were finishing up with their rounds. A pair of younger men were slapping each other on the back and commenting on the groupings, when one with floppy black hair caught the princess' wandering gaze.

"Your Highness," he stuttered, uncertain what to do in the face of royalty. With a trembling finger, he extended the bow downward to her. "Would you like to have a try?"

"I..." Rosie's fingers glanced across the polished wood, tracing up and down the black finish that glistened in the sun. "Yes, I think I would."

"Okay," the man released his grip, dropped a few arrows into the bucket on the ground, then turned to shout at the others, "Clear the lanes! New shooter!"

While stepping up to the line, Rosie kept plucking at the bowstring as if she was trying to play the world's most dull lute. It was a nervous habit, twanging the string back and forth while her heart kept bouncing about in her chest. As she arrived in position, she moved to raise the bow, then turned to look at the archers dispersing to watch. Wonderful, she was going to be an attraction for today. Come and watch your crowned princess fire a shaft of wood out of a stick and right onto a pile of painted straw. Clap and cheer as if it's the most marvelous achievement in thedas.

When she turned away to try and focus, a voice whispered from behind her, "You ever fire one of those things?"

She didn't hide the smile lifting up her cheeks at Anjali's seemingly honest question. "A bit," was all Rosie would say.

"Here..." Despite all the archers watching, the squires, and anyone else wandering by, Anjali wrapped her fingers over Rosamund's left hand. At the contact, her entire arm went limp, allowing this other woman to raise it easily into position.

"You want to hold it straight, like this," the assassin explained, "but keep your elbow bent." Her firm but winsome fingers trailed off of Rosie's hand, skirted down her forearm, and then tugged out the crook of her elbow. Could she feel her trembling skin below?

Anjali smiled, "Keeps you from whipping your arm flesh off."

"Right," Rosamund nodded, her voice clogged in her throat.

"Now..." Gripping back onto Rosie's left hand, Anjali slid in behind her. Rosamund's heart danced up and down in her ribcage as she felt this other woman's breasts pressing against her shoulders.

Either unaware of the panic inside the princess or hoping for it, the assassin glided her fingers across Rosie's right hand and lifted it to clutch onto the bowstring. "Oh, right," taller than her, Anjali's breath parted through Rosie's hair at the top of her head, increasing the trembling. How was she supposed to shoot like this? "Forgot the arrow part."

In bending over, Anjali's hand gripped onto Rosie's hip for support. It was a friendly move, simple, understandable to aid her reach. And making her mouth run dry. "There we go," she laughed, dropping the arrow above the bridge they made together with their fingers. "All that's left is to pull the string back."

It'd never been easier to draw a bow than having another woman's shoulder muscles tug it back with her. Rosie twisted to the side, fully perpendicular with the target at the other end. In doing do, she felt her backend bump into Anjali's...um, front part. The assassin gave no hints that she was bothered by it, her body molding around the back of Rosie's.

"Line up the shot by closing an eye and staring down the arrow," her intoxicating breath tickled over the back of Rosie's ear and she was helpless to disobey. "Okay," Anjali whispered. "All that's left is to...let go." Her hands dropped away from the princess' fingers, but she didn't step away. Instead the assassin wrapped a hand around Rosie's waist, her forearm locking in right where the princess' stomach was rippling like waves.

Let go. Closing her eyes tight, Rosamund tried to put away the sounds of the rest of the fighting, the knock of the wind, the burn rising in her arms from taking so long. Only the arrow. Her breath held tight in her chest and she was about to loose the arrow, when Anjali's hand ever so slightly caressed right over her belly button, the tip of her pinkie dipping inward.

Fingers slipped, the arrow cracking through the air. It barely burrowed the head into the target, while Rosie gasped in surprise. A round of polite clapping rose from the spectators, but her eyes were staring madly at the ground while dangerously lewd thoughts tried to take hold in her brain. Shaking them away, she glanced over her shoulder to find that Anjali had stepped back. She too was politely clapping her hands, an impressed turn to her lips.

"Not bad, your Majesty. You hit the target. A few more arrows and you..."

Sucking in a breath, Rosie yanked up an arrow, nocked it into place, and fired before she even anchored her thumb to her cheek. It struck right beside the bullseye. Another two more filled in the closest circle, before the fourth finally hit dead center. Smiling at her proper accomplishment, she dropped out of her archer's stance.

"You might manage to do what you just did," Anjali stuttered, her jaw hanging so wide open it looked as if it broke.

With a shrug, Rosie leaned towards the woman. "Thank you for the lesson," she whispered.

"Yeah," the assassin blinked a few more times, her eyes still burning through the grouping at the end of the lane. "Yeah, no problem."

Turning towards the archers who were all staring at the ground, or stirring a foot in the sand, Rosamund put on a big smile. "Thank you for the opportunity, gentlemen," she said, handing back the bow.

"You're welcome," a different boy dashed forward, he skin red from so much sun. "You can, you can come back and do that anytime you want."

"You both can!" another voice shouted from the back, which caused all the other boys to spin around and tell him to shut up.

Feeling proud of her minor accomplishment, Rosamund nodded her head at Gavin who was glaring at his feet, then at Anjali. Her pearly teeth were nibbling upon her juicy bottom lip while she seemed to be staring at Rosie with new eyes. Unable to hide the skip in her step, the crowned princess began to march towards the oncoming advisor storm. A long, meandering tour would do her good. She needed to cool down immensely after that.

"If I require your assistance again," she turned over her shoulder to speak to Anjali, "I hope you are available."

The assassin smiled wide, "For you, always."

## Chapter Twenty-Seven

### The Closet

Barely any light flickered over the crispy vellum in Rosie's fingers. She tried to inch it closer to the candle, but the tallow dribbled lopsidedly into the saucer and the white stick was teetering close to giving up the ghost. At most she had a few more minutes before the final flames would extinguish themselves. Certainly she could rouse a servant and ask for another, but in the process would wake up her handmaidens and anyone else who would have to make it their business about what a princess was doing up at this late an hour.

Not that it mattered. She'd tried to tear through what aging documents the royal advisors would grant her, searching for a hint of what could have her father sending secret messages to the Teyrn, but there was nothing. It was like trying to build a puzzle in the dark while someone attempted to shout the directions to you through a wall. Her only hope was in stumbling purely blind into a secret room (Which never happened. She and her father once pulled on every single sconce in the palace just to see), or tricking the Teyrn into revealing his schemes in the middle of dinner.

What were they up to?

Her dad wasn't entirely without wiles, though he used them so rarely most people treated them as rare as a dragon sighting. And when he did get personally involved in a matter it meant it was something thedas changing. Even though she was very young, she remembered all too well the guarded looks and pursed lips when Tevinter buckled from some war that involved the fade itself. Officially, Ferelden had no stake in that fight, but she knew her father. He was there, guiding whoever was on the front lines as best he could.

Why couldn't he tell her?

The only messages she got from the crown were all "Have fun, keep safe. Your mom sends her love. Try to keep your brother out of too much trouble. I doubt you can pull that off with your sister. Dad." It appeared important, Rosie quick to hide away the message as if she too was privy to whatever was going on, but it only left her feeling more childish.

For the Maker's sake, she was twenty four and would one day rule this nation. She deserved to be told of such things.

And whining about it would only get her more slammed doors. No, what she needed was to be sneaky and clever. To find a way to view the Teryn's private documents locked away in his office...which required a thief. Blowing out the candle, Rosie quickly wrapped a robe around her sheer nightgown. Normally, she'd prefer something substantial in the event any manner of person came running through but the night air was sweltering, summer in its full press.

The rooms gifted to the future ruler were well furnished. In the bedroom proper Tess and another handmaiden were fast asleep, while Rosie's bed sat undisturbed and no doubt perturbed at such a slight from her majesty. Outside of the sleeping area were sitting quarters, which she hadn't moved out of in hours. Unfortunately, they also left a few bedrolls and the like under the roof of the rooms for some of her personal servants and others that couldn't handle the heat of sleeping on the ground outside. Those were the ones that had Rosie most concerned. With careful, laborious movements, she tiptoed upon the creaking floorboards, always glancing back to make certain no one roused unexpectedly.

If they heard her, they gave no hint -- the back end of the room little more than a pile of black shadows sawing through lumber. It wasn't until she slid out the door and successfully closed it that the full force of what she was planning struck her. This was madness. Go back to bed. Wait until the morning and ask the Teyrn. Be sweet. That was always her mother's approach. Charm people into doing whatever you want, which explained Cailan's hobbies well.

No. Rosie shook her head fast. She didn't need to use her mother's diplomatic skills. She needed her father's approach of doing what she wanted and apologizing if caught, and also a helping hand.

The caravan members were scattered across the palace, the princess and her entourage in the east wing, and the security based parts in the west. Somewhere the servants were left as well, but she doubted her help would be there. Tucking her robe tighter in place, Rosie hustled quickly down the winding staircases that opened onto the mezzanine. The foyer slept sullenly, shadows creeping across the fountain and shifting their Lady's angelic face into a deep scowl. Trying to shake off the fear it was personally against Rosie, she hurried up.

Arriving at the west wing she turned down the hall and then froze. Two men stood guard over the door that opened upon their suite. Damn it, why didn't she expect this? Of course there would be guards, it's nothing but guards in there. But why were they watching over the room? You'd have to be an idiot to attack guards.

With her breath hitching in her throat, the princess faded back against the wall while she eyed up the two men who seemed bored out of their minds. Their languid eyes barely managed to remain open, chins drooping from exhaustion. Maybe she could knock them out? Convince them they were needed elsewhere? No, if they saw her there'd be a lot of questions, and both Avery and Ser Daryan were getting too suspect about her decisions. This would send them over the roof.

"Hey," one of the guards suddenly called and Rosie slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from yelping. Did they see her? She could claim she was on a walk.

No, sleepwalking. That was a thing people did.

The second guard snorted and wiped a hand over his eyes. "What?"

"Time to shift," the first one said and without so much a by your leave, the pair of them wandered down the hall right towards Rosie. Barely thinking, she yanked up a pile of decorative curtains and slid her body under them. It was as wise a hiding place as a four year old would choose. Her toes stuck out of the edge, her form nowhere near as flat as the wall.

She was sleep hide and seeking? _Maker, you're an idiot._

Cringing hard, Rosie screwed up her eyes on the assumption if she couldn't see them they wouldn't see her. All she could hear through the curtain was snorting and men grumbling about the lack of sleep. _Please don't look. Don't ask any questions. Just keep..._

A shadows drew across her exposed toes, the dark line slicing against her pink white skin before it moved on. She waited a few more minutes, making certain they really did slip out of view, before Rosie emerged out of the curtains. Blessed Andraste, how did Myra do any of this?

Her heart was banging about in her chest like a bird trapped in an attic and all that she risked was a few guards raising an eyebrow at their errant princess. There were no villains with a knife in the shadows, no chasing down a fleeing suspect on horseback. Rosie wasn't certain if her half-sister was made of stone or completely mad to live the life she did, often without thought.

Certain she was alone, and no one else was about to come around the corner and order her to halt, Rosie gripped onto the door and stepped into the guards' room.

Okay. There's a lot of grey lumps scattered across the floor. Now what? She needed one lump in particular, probably kept alone but not too far out of fear of it vanishing. The air permeated with stale sweat, the heat of the day amplifying courtesy of so many bodies in once place. Luckily, extra loud snoring covered up any sounds of Rosie padding her feet across the floor.

She eased herself around a pallet holding a man fully splayed out on his back, only for her to nearly trod onto another's foot. Squeaking in surprise, she danced up onto her toes and then paddled quickly away. The move was so unexpected, her body tried to shift out from under her, Rosie hopping to compensate. Her eyes hunted over a dozen slumbering bodies, doing her best to not step on anything and ruin this.

Somehow in doing so, she bumped against the window itself where the moonlight was waning to lance upon a sliver of the floor. Curled up on a bedroll that seemed to have its own island was her answer. Okay, Rosamund. Now what?

Trying to ignore the rattling of her heart, or the shake beginning in her fingers, Rosie padded over to the black figure that looked so helpless in the arms of sleep. Lips dangled open a bit, not a snore but a gentle susurrus of wind whistling against the white teeth. Scrunching down, Rosie slipped her hand over the mouth. The trembling increased as she felt the warm breath tickle her palm.

"Hey," she barely whispered, shaking into the shoulders with her other hand.

The body tensed up below her, a hand grabbing onto her elbow as the owner realized there was a hand cupping over the mouth. "It's me," Rosie gasped out, praying she didn't wind up flipped on her back. "Rosamund."

In an instant, the knotted up muscles washed away. Anjali spun on her side to look up at the woman standing over her like a burglar in the night. "Princess?" she barely breathed, clearly hoping for an explanation.

"I need your help," Rosie tried to explain, her voice barely reaching past her lips.

The assassin's eyes darted up and down the white figure lurking over her. It was doubtful she could make out what Rosie said, the princess too scared to speak any louder, but Anjali smiled and nodded her head. Grinning in response, Rosie moved to slide back, when she realized she was still holding tight to Anjali's shoulder.

By the pale moon and washed out colors of the night, Rosie's cheeks turned a blinding red. She tried to babble something while scooting away, when Anjali popped up to her feet and placed her hand to Rosie's mouth. A lifetime of calluses born from the grip of daggers skirted against Rosie's bottom lip and she fell silent in an instant.

With a smile, Anjali held a finger to her lips to tell Rosamund to be quiet. Of course she knew that. This was her plan. Absently, Rosie mouthed her bottom lip up against the sharp callus dug into the pad of Anjali's palm. Upon realizing what she was doing, the princess staggered back, removing herself from the assassin's grip. She waved her hand towards the door all while wondering why she did that and how it could feel good.

Light on her feet, the rogue easily skipped over the sleeping piles of men before scuttling towards the door. Rosamund was more careful to close it, checking one last time to make certain no one knew she absconded with the assassin. Out in the hall, Anjali stretched her arms wide then turned to find the princess.

"You probably want an explanation of why," Rosie began, but Anjali laughed softly.

"To have a beautiful woman rouse me in the middle of the night? Not normally, but I assume you needed me for something important."

"That's..." How was she put off kilter so quickly by this woman? All it took was a single smirk by candlelight, her dark skin glistening like an ebony ribbon and Rosie felt her brains melting to slush. It was foolish. She had faced far more charming foes in her day. "I do, but we should move before the guards catch us."

Taking the lead, Rosamund led Anjali up the stairs towards the higher floors where the Teyrn managed his private affairs and such. "Guessing by the secret nature of you breaking into the room instead of stomping in and going all 'I'm the princess, do as I say' this probably isn't sanctioned," Anjali asked from behind.

"No, it's... I don't want anyone else to be made aware of my actions."

"Then you came to the right sneak thief," she said before snorting, "Even if I did tell the truth, no one would believe me. Baby Knight in particular."

Rosie nodded her head as if that had been her plan all along. Of course, she was always thinking two steps ahead. It was all logical, no...nothing else at all. "You did promise to assist me in any matters I put to you."

"So I did," Anjali smiled wider. "And I did mean _any_ matters to pop into your beautiful brain."

She wasn't a fool. Rosamund knew innuendo when it was bandied about. She grew up around a dozen cousins that were all older than her. While they were in their teenage thrush of hormone addled lust, Rosamund was a curious ten year old struggling to understand. It'd all make sense one day, they assured her with giggles. As she grew she came to understand the words but not the spirit. It seemed...complicated. Flirting was one of those skills that, much like leather working or smithing, just wasn't worth her time.

Then why did she want to say something smart back whenever the assassin messed with her? To dip her voice down into that growl whisper other women could manage while her breath twirled into Anjali's ear? Was it knowing that she was probably being used that made it all the more thrilling? What did the consequences matter if...if most likely nothing would come of it.

Not that she wanted anything to, um... Maker's sake, she needed to stop spending so much time around her brother and sister.

"I need you to break me into the Teyrn's study," Rosamund said, pitching back to all business.

"Hm," Anjali tipped her head as if she was weighing the moral costs of such a dubious suggestion. Rosie was about to explain why it was necessary, when the assassin smiled, "Okay."

"Just...you don't want to know?"

"Oh _Sapheela_ , I never want to know on a job. Merely get in, do it, and make sure I get paid."

Rosie gulped, "There won't be any monetary compensation." Whatever coin she had was in the pockets of the advisors. Maybe Myra could sneak something out, but then she'd wonder why and put things together far too quickly.

"Well," the woman leaned closer a moment, her taut and graceful body barely an inch away. The heat lancing off Anjali to Rosie's shorter form created a new tremor up her spine. "I'm certain you can think of something else much better than boring ol' gold."

Dumbstruck, Rosamund sucked in a deep breath which caused her chest to rise. With a subtle flicker, Anjali's eyes darted down to watch the swell before she stepped back. "Which way to the Teyrn's office?"

"This..." Rosie gestured absently, her hand cutting through the air, her words falling to mush as her brain went the same route.

They met no resistance while crawling about in the Teyrn's private chambers. Not even a hint of a guard's boots on the stairs or a dog padding past. It seemed as if everyone was snug in their beds and had no idea a princess and assassin might be lurking through the castle.

When they reached the door, Anjali snatched onto the latch and lifted it. Yanking back, the door stuck tight and she sighed, "Locked."

"Of course it would be," Rosie insisted, her cheeks burning bright. Why else would she get the assassin if she had no other way to get in?

The woman shrugged, "You'd be surprised how many times I go to break into something only to find it left wide open. Doors, chests, chastity belts." With that final lascivious thought, she dropped to her knees and began to prod into the lock.

Rather than sleep in her leathers, someone was kind enough to give Anjali a long sleep shirt. It was formless and genderless, the type many in the castle would pop on when bed called, but she'd had to make it her own. The front ties were barely closed, exposing the top of her cleavage which bounced too and fro as she dug into the metal door with a small pick. She knotted a scrap of fabric around her waist, giving the comfortable bag a far better form. In doing so, it also tugged the normally calf-length shirt up to her knees revealing a tendril of red ribbon tattoos snaking down the outside of her right leg.

"Her Majesty is staring," Anjali's voice laughed, causing Rosie to whip her head up towards the sputtering, single candle sconce. She patted both hands against her elbows, her body struggling to find anything to do as a distraction from being called out.

"I was only, your tattoos..." Rosie swallowed, wishing the woman would finish with the door already. Being eaten alive by the floorboards would also be preferable at this point.

Anjali turned away from her rising tumblers to look down her leg. "Ah," she smiled, "you like them?"

"They're so...elegant. Like diving off a cliff into the waters below, but leaving your body stretched out behind before you breach the surface," Rosamund babbled, her fingers drifting nearer a moment through the air. But she yanked them away quickly and bundled both behind her back.

Humorous umber eyes met Rosie's and the assassin smiled, "Here I always thought it was a ribbon. Tell ya what," she pushed on her pick and then raised the latch on the door. As it skidded inward, she said, "We finish in here and I'll show you some of my other ones."

"There are more?" She'd heard tales of the intricate tattoos popular among the sailing class to help identify souls lost to the waves, but she never pictured them as so striking. They were always described in books as 'image drawing of galleon ship.' 'Ink drawing of man's sweetheart in portrait.' Rose assumed they were all quick doodlings done on the deck of a ship before the storm set in.

The assassin stepped away from her handy work and slid her pick back under the hair kerchief from which it emerged. "Many more," she cupped along her stomach, the ribbon fluttering with perhaps an inked flesh breeze, before lifting her fingers up to directly under her breasts. _That...  _

Rosamund gasped at the thought of there not only being ink bled into the flesh in such an intimate area but that she wished her to see. "Ah," waving a hand over her burning face, she slid around the exhibitionist assassin to enter into the Teyrn's office. Trying to dampen down the awkwardness with a cool drink of night air, all the while her heart thundered 'you want to see.'

"What are we looking for exactly?" Anjali asked, tugging back the door and letting it rest open a sliver. "Or is this more a case of breaking into the Teyrn's stuff and wrecking it all up? If so, I think I know where I can get a crowbar and..."

"No," Rosie held a hand up, emotions swelling in her stomach. This was the first person in all the lines who were devoted to her that actually cared about how the Teyrn treated her. The advisors gave a light tongue clucking, and her handmaidens all giggly ignored it. "I'm looking for a message off of a raven's leg."

"Well that'll be easy to find," Anjali laughed while extending her hand around the vast study. For whatever reason Rosie expected to find one like her father's. A small fireplace with chairs around it, a desk with most matters shuffled off to boxes labeled 'important' or 'boring' and piles of his children's knickknacks everywhere. This was a blighted library.

Books scaled up to a reach beyond even Gavin's stature, cases circling the room. There was no fireplace, no doubt due to the flammable reading material, or even comfortable chairs to recline upon. Someone hung curtains upon the far side of the room where they would flank a normal hearth. Decoration?

Anjali seemed to be curious about them as well. She drew back one of the dark brown curtains to reveal a gap into the wall. "Probably where all the servants shag when no one's looking."

This wasn't helping. Rosie needed to find her father's message. She spotted a candlestick left unattended upon the desk, a flint piece sitting near. No doubt the Teyrn had intentions to return to his messages at a dark hour, or preferred to be prepared. Striking light, a flame illuminated a bloody sea of paperwork stretched across the desktop.

"Maker's balls," Rosie groaned. The stacks were easily four or five vellum letters thick and there were dozens. It'd take forever to read it all.

Okay. She didn't need to pry into all of the Teyrn's private business, just find the note. It should be small, which would mean easier to misplace. But it's from the King so it should be considered... Damn it all! Sometimes Rosamund wished she had a tenth of her sister's skills at reading people and predicting them. Myra treated it like a parlor trick, or something as forced upon a person as lute lessons, but it would give Rosie an unmitigated edge in politics.

Trying to shake off the fear of failure in the air, Rosie shifted around the Teyrn's messages hunting for anything that may be a hint to what he was up to with her father. Beside her, Anjali slid up to the front of the desk and absently prodded into a few letters.

"I hope it's not prying more than a little old assassin should, but are you looking into the Teyrn's personal letters? Trying to dig up some blackmail? Because I know it's far easier to just bribe a few servants than..."

"No," Rosie interrupted, her fists full of vellum as her eyes kept darting back and forth over lines. "It's a message from my father, actually."

"What? Worried the King will be plotting against you?"

At that Rosamund's fists both thudded to the desk, her jaw dropping. "Never. My father he...he loves us too much. Thinks we can do no wrong, gives us every opportunity we can have, and coddles us as if we're still in nappies. It's frustrating."

"Yeah," Anjali's face fell a moment, her cheekbones seeming to slide towards her chin as she slunk back, "must be terrible."

"I know he's keeping something from me and I just..." Stupid, Rosie. You just let an assassin into the Teyrn's private chambers. Let? Blessed Andraste, you brought her here, encouraged her to break in. She doesn't need to be informed of every high security matter that could be facing Ferelden.

Trying to ignore the woman who was sliding around the room to study the books, Rosie dug back into her work. Vast swathes of paper shifted from one side to the other. She was trying to keep it in order, but it was growing maddening. There was no system here beyond utter chaos. The chance of finding one small message in the sea of words was as impossible as discovering a lost diamond ring in the belly of a dragon.

Tempted to give up and slink back to her room in disgrace, Rosie began to yank upon the drawers. It was more a distraction than anything, but in doing so she spotted a sheaf of paper. Half of it looked like a shopping list but the other began "To King Alistair."

Freeing it from the drawer, Rosie hoisted the inked words to the candle to read, "Your message was received and weighed. Yes, we are looking into the matter as are all with a vested interest in this problem. If things do not change soon we will be forced to deal with the..."

No! She flipped the sheet over, but there was nothing but blank space behind. Damn it. The Teyrn must have abandoned his letter before finishing it. Damn it all! There had to be more, another attempt, a second draft. Perhaps he was going to be more apologetic to his Majesty. Or make more references to all the large fish and game he recently caught. Never apologize for making the King's eldest daughter feel as tall as a mouse, that was for certain.

Rosie's fingers drew back and forth through the slender drawer, when a creak erupted from outside the study's door. Both women looked up, their eyes honing in on the sound. Was it her imagination that a shadow passed under the door or...? Anjali snatched up Rosie's hand, trying to tug her somewhere to hide. About to move with her, Rosamund turned back and with a quick exhale expunged the candle she'd been using.

It wasn't much of a noise, but it broke apart the still air, as did the sound of a man clearing his throat just outside the door. _Shit!_ Rosie whipped her head around, her mind tipping into a dizzy panic, when Anjali scampered silently into the back curtain dragging the crowned princess with. There was barely any room for one person to sit inside, the two women having to stand chest to chest. The curtains trembled from their mad dash, no doubt about to give away the fact they were hiding there.

Oh Maker. How much trouble would she get in with her dad? With her mom? With Avery clucking her to death? Rosie's eyes opened wider when the guard outside grunted again and the sound of the door squealing on its hinges broke the air. Anjali's hand slipped over her mouth, pushing in tight to try and stop any screams that might erupt from a tittering lady. Rosamund wished she could stare up at her, to assure her she wasn't about to bolt in panic, when Anjali's free hand wrapped around Rosie's waist. It helped to aid in their tight fit, the spines of various books jabbing into her backend and threatening to crash to the floor if she twitched.

But all Rosie could notice was that the move pulled even more of her chest, barely concealed below a thin nightie, against the confident assassin. Anjali's callus thrummed up against Rosie's lips, stinging awake the skin. She shut her eyes tight and dared to let her hand cup along Anjali's hips. For balance.

Out in the study they could both hear the guard walking around the Teyrn's work. He circled through the bookcases, opened and shut drawers. _Oh no! The candle!_ What if he noticed smoke still curling off the wick? Rosie's eyes shot open and she wanted to explain her fear, but in doing so her fingers dug into Anjali's hip. That caught the assassin so off guard, her hand tipped backwards a bit, practically skirting over the princess' royal ass.

Oh that'd be even better. Caught locked in an embrace in the Teyrn's private study with another...assassin. No way to make it look good. Blood pounded in her temples, the makings of a migraine threatening to churn her stomach contents to pulp. Don't puke. There was no chance she could live down being caught due to the stress of fearing being caught.

"Humph," the guard snorted and without a care slid back out into the hallway. He made a loud slam of the study door, footsteps vanishing in its wake.

Even still, the two women clung to each other, breaths held out of fear he'd suddenly come running back to check one last time. As the blood drained from her throbbing temples and out of her about-to-scream throat, Rosie realized she yet had her hand cupping the woman's body. "Sorry," she mumbled against Anjali's palm, letting her grip slide off to the side.

The assassin tugged her hands away as well, heat retreating in her wake as she barely stuck her head out of the curtains. "Looks like the coast is clear."

"Thank the Maker," Rosie gasped as Anjali slipped out first. The princess placed a hand to her chest, trying to slow the crescendo of her heart. For the love of Andraste, the danger was over. Calm down. As she was gripping right across her breasts, Anjali turned back and, plain as the torchlight under the door and starlight out the window, her eyes darted to Rosamund's cleavage.

It was a brief moment, her hungry eyes quick to slip back to a more respectful shoulder, but something new and cocky in Rosie arouse. With a twist to her hip, she said, "The assassin is staring."

Anjali coughed a moment, her fingers digging into her eyes as if they had a lash fall into them. "I...I guess, ya caught me. It's hard not to when..." she gestured to the state of Rosie's robe which fell apart in their mad dash. Her nightgown cut to right at the top of her thighs, and was nowhere near thick enough to hide her dark pink nipples.

Maker's breath, she chastised herself for letting herself be so exposed in front of someone, when she paused in knotting back on the robe. She should feel shame for acting so...was she being wanton? It was only in the presence of another woman, that hardly counted.

"Do you...if you don't want me to look, I can stop," Anjali said, her full bodied voice as pure as Rosie had ever heard it. By the low light, she could only see the whites of the assassin's eyes which peered over at her.

"No," she shook her head, tugging the robe up tighter and cinching it for her return to her room, "I...it's no bother to me."

"Good," Anjali nodded her head, before those never shy eyes drew back down Rosie's form, "I'm glad."

"We should leave before anymore guards return," Rosamund said. This may have been a bust on details, but at least she knew she wasn't crazy. Something was going on, something the other Arls and Banns were up in arms about.

"Lead on, my Lady," Anjali waved a hand out, allowing Rosie to step in front of her. From behind the princess could feel the assassin's bold eyes caressing her posterior. It was silly. To think of a woman caring. To care that a woman cared. To want a woman to care.

Her heart throbbing awake in her chest, Rosie lifted the latch and tugged on the door, only to find it stuck tight. _Oh no._ She pulled twice more before accepting their fate. "The guard locked it on the way out."

"Well," Anjali tugged the pick from out below her kerchief, "good thing you have a key." With a laugh, she dropped to her knees and got to work.

## Chapter Twenty-Eight

### Hate's Breeding Grounds

The whetstone slicked down the blade, the scraping noises more reminiscent to Gavin of legs running through the tall grass than the vigors of war. His weary fingers gripped tighter to the honing tool, gliding it against one of a dozen swords and daggers left in his care. That was often his duty back on the...abbey. His father would unearth all the dull blades and leave Gavin to it. The work was tedious but also soothing. Each swipe of the stone would scratch away at the blade revealing something better below. At home, he'd sometimes hum to himself or read, but here he was doing his best to not glance over at Cal and his ring of followers.

Instead of being sent off to manage any of the other chores left for the squires, they all gathered together upon the steps to the palace's courtyard and began a game of cards. Cal was in charge, as usual. He kept command of not only the play but also the conversation, steering it wherever he wanted. The only roadblock from the others nodding their heads in constant agreement was the dwarf.

Snowy sat perched upon the lap of a statue of Andraste. Whether the dwarf was aware it was blasphemous or not, Gavin knew better than to point it out. There were already curious glances given to him, as if none of the young men could understand why he'd hang back whenever they 'slipped out the gates.' Perhaps it was all for a quick drink, but he feared the alternative.

"Give me a card," Snowy said. The dwarf talked little around Cal, preferring to keep it all to arched eyebrows and pursed lips. But safe in their tent he was constantly going on about his vast family and how trying they could be. Gavin got the impression Snowy hadn't seen them in quite some time, and that he was the better off for it.

Cal chuckled at the dwarf's impertinence, "Shorty here thinks he's got a chance. Well, all right..." Yanking one out of the deck, their forced upon them leader tossed a fresh card to the dwarf. With a cavalier shrug, Cal leaned back from his pile of winnings. It wasn't much, perhaps enough to buy a new pair of shoes, but in copper form it reminded Gavin of a dragon lording over its treasure.

Doing his best to not watch, Gavin resumed the work his Knight put to him. It wasn't until one of the other squires tapped him on the shoulder that he turned back to find Lambert staring down at him. He was one of the more wiry of the squires, prone to fits of giggling when uncomfortable, and a shade or two lighter than Gavin. While he let his hair poof up around his sphere-like head, unlike Gavin who preferred it shaved down, he bore the strangest pair of eyes -- a sort of mint blue.

"You missed a spot," Lambert laughed, jabbing a finger down the same blade Gavin got to a nearly razor shaving edge. Trying to not roll his eyes at the obvious joke, Gavin gave a single harrumph and stared down.

But he assumed wrong in that the boy was just looking to knock him down a peg. "So," Lambert slid down to partially plop beside him, "how come you're not off watching that wily assassin we've got trailing us?"

"Because I was ordered to do this," Gavin said tight lipped. He wasn't certain which he preferred. Keeping an eye on Anjali was less labor intensive, but her eyes and tongue cut through him fast and he was growing tired of it.

"Yeah," Lambert didn't slip away, but stretched his thighs wide in a full sit, "knights, huh? Pain in the ass on a good day. And yours..."

Gavin paused in running the cloth down the sword to finish up polishing it and stared hard at the boy. _What did he want?_ He could ask, but he'd picked up enough social graces to know that when someone was dancing around a subject dragging it from them was rude. A far faster answer, but apparently rude.

"So..." the boy a year or maybe two younger tipped back and forth on his haunches as if he was expecting an opening to appear in the sky. "Were you there when that assassin of yours and the Princess, uh..." The blush was instant upon Lambert's cheeks while Gavin scowled. It was all anyone would speak of or ask him about.

"Maker's busted nut," Cal cursed, both hands extended behind his head as he shut his eyes, "that was glorious to watch."

"I didn't know girls could, I mean, that they would..." Lambert gasped out, his head flickering around the group. Half the boys seemed just as confused about it, while Cal kept dredging it up. He'd been there, but at best got a side view of the assassin cozying up close to their Princess. Not that that stopped him from concocting wild rumors. Some of the tamer ones had the archery lesson end in a kiss. The wilder ones grew more physically impossible with each telling. Whatever he whispered around the fire to his buddies who missed out was no doubt nothing but nonsense.

Gavin gripped a hand around the sword he'd been working on, the knuckles popping as he waited in anticipation for another one of Cal's tall tales. It was nowhere near as wild as the boy kept insisting -- there was no ripping apart bodices, no toplessness, and no other man getting in between them. He was growing tired of the whispers if only for the Princess' sake.

But it was Snowy who was eyeing up his cards with a cold inspection. "This your first time in the real world? Girls with girls, boys with boys. Sometimes girls with both..." the dwarf turned in place to catch Lambert's stricken gaze and then snickered, "if you're real lucky."

"That murderous vixen would be like sticking it into a viper's hole," Cal brayed loudly enough his cultists followed in suit. "But our dear, sweet Princess...Mmm. I talked to a servant, said he caught her naked once. Her breasts are as big as my head," he held his hands out to an enormous proportion. "Can you imagine? Tits that thick shoved in your mouth..."

A sword clattered to the ground beside Cal's flapping lips, Gavin sneering at the weapon he hurled in rage. When the boy's pathetic attempt at a story died from sudden blade intervention, all of them turned to stare at Gavin. He should probably wilt but he was growing more incensed with every damn insinuation out of their mouths.

"This is your royal charge, the woman you've sworn to protect and you treat her as if...as if she's--"

Cal plucked the sword off the ground and ran his finger down the edge. Foolish, as he winced when it drew blood. "How cute," he gasped out through the pain, "farm boy here thinks he's got a chance with her. Riding up on your steed like some conquering hero, but it's a bit hard to go all white knight when you're barely a squire."

Gavin bunched his fist up but kept it locked at his side. Not about to back down, Cal popped up to his feet. He still held the sword in his hands, but Gavin was in such a state he took a step forward while unarmed. How would he explain brawling with one of the fellow squires to his knight? It began when he dared to defame our princess... Highly unlikely that Ser Daryan would believe that or care. But he couldn't stop, Cal's nose calling for his knuckles to shatter every centimeter of bone.

The shit heel seemed to feel the same, Cal advancing through the circle of other squires that were all sliding back. No one wanted to get accidentally disemboweled in the crossfire. Swallowing down a tremor, Gavin lifted up his fist in preparation of defending himself, when Snowy suddenly reached out and grabbed onto his leg.

Pausing in surprise, Gavin glanced down but the dwarf was staring straight ahead at Cal, "You forfeiting the game?"

"What?" that shook Cal from his blood lust, those cold blue eyes darting down to the dwarf. "No."

"Getting up from the table means forfeiting," Snowy calmly explained.

"He's right," one of the others added, which earned a wrathful glare from Cal but nothing more.

For a beat Gavin and Cal's eyes met and a clear threat passed through them. I'm not backing down out of fear, but because you're not worth it...for now. Shifting the sword to his other hand, Cal plopped back onto the ground. "All right, dwarf. Make a damn move."

A sliver of a smile lifted up on Snowy's lips and he plopped his cards upon the ground. "You really should have forfeited when you had the chance." Cal's entire jaw dropped while the dwarf scooped piles and piles of the man's ill gotten coppers into his hands.

"I mean," Snowy chuckled while dropping the coins into his pouch, "for fuck's sake, who challenges a dwarf to Diamondback?" For a beat, he looked back and up to his roommate then down to the fist. Gavin slid away from Cal, his fingers unknotting, which caused Snowy to smile a bit and resume gathering up his winnings.

"Squire," the voice caused every boy to leap to their feet and try to snap to attention. Ser Daryan glanced around at all of them, no doubt spotting a bit of gambling occurring at the feet of their lady, before honing in right on Gavin. "Have you finished with the task?"

"Yes, Ser," he said. "I only need to bundle them up in the leather..."

"Then you have not finished if there is more remaining," Daryan sneered, running her fingers over her forehead. "Lying is not becoming in a knight."

"I..." he glanced down at the pile of work he'd been given. It hardly seemed fair that she'd consider that failing when there'd been no timeframe given. "I'm sorry, Ser."

Daryan snorted, always unimpressed with his accomplishments. "Get back to guarding that blighted woman. I fear our dear Princess has it in her head that we shall be moving out soon despite few resources being prepared."

Dipping his head down in a bow, Gavin accepted his next assignment. "Should I bundle up the swords and deliver them?" he asked Daryan who whipped away from the skyline.

She bent over and lifted one of the swords he'd finished with. Twisting it against the light, Daryan licked her finger and drew it down the edge, moving with it enough to avoid being cut. Gavin braced himself for being told he failed at that too, but she sighed. "No, her Highness' demands overpower anything of mine. You two," Daryan jerked her fingers at Lambert and a squire beside him, "sheathe these up and get them into storage. Now!"

"Yes, Ser," both boys called out, scampering to their feet to do as ordered.

With one last stare at Gavin, Ser Daryan marched away towards the servant's tents. No doubt there was much to prepare if they were to move again. In the five days they'd been at Highever, the entire caravan spread out like a poorly whipped cream. Stepping back from the pile of swords that had new charges, Gavin began to walk up the steps towards the palace proper.

He made it near the doors, when he heard his roommate huffing behind him, "Wait up, lanky legs." With a slow turn, Gavin glanced down at Snowy who was trying to catch a breath from the unexpected sprint. "Blighted ancestors, you move too fast."

"I should get to my duties," Gavin explained, his skin itching out of fear that he might be late. "But, you can come with if you'd like," he added on, growing tired of being the errant squire out of the pack.

"Nah," Snowy shook his head, "thinking I'll let Cal challenge me to another round to get his dignity back. Had my eye on a fancy set of combs with birds carved on 'em. See no reason to use my coin to buy them. But we should probably talk a bit."

Gavin groaned, his brain suddenly providing why, "I know I should not have been so easily riled up."

Snowy shrugged a shoulder, "Not unless you're gonna make good on punching out Cal's lights. Though, that was a bad choice there abbey boy. Least if you're trying to keep your whole...vows of chastity bit a secret."

His roommate seemed to find it both funny and slightly admirable, as if Gavin did it out of some sense of honor. Pinching into the bridge of his nose, Gavin sighed, "Then what...?"

"Your Knight, Ser Daryan. What's her problem with you?"

"Problem?" Gavin craned his higher head up, trying to find the woman that'd already marched far away. "There's no problem."

"Riight," Snowy tipped his head, "she's just got you running around like her pet bronto while we all sit fat on our asses. That don't strike you as strange?"

"She's..." Gavin blinked slowly, "I am her squire."

"Who caught an assassin and impressed her Majesty enough to be trusted to watch the walking potential gut wound. That's something most other knights would applaud in their squires. Shows initiative and gumption."

He'd never considered that. Daryan seemed to have as much love for Anjali as Gavin did, wishing the woman would have been thrown into a dungeon or sent back to her native lands. His stumbling upon her was what pulled the assassin into becoming their problem. That had to be all. She was upset that he created more issues for them, even if it was done with good intentions.

"I don't think..." Gavin began, when Snowy patted against his back.

"Just keep your wits about you," the dwarf said. He fished a copper out of his pocket and began to slide it against his knuckles. It bobbed and weaved like fish leaping out of the stream to catch flies. "You're on a much thinner blade than the rest of us."

Was that why he stopped the fight? Gavin whipped his head over at Cal who was jabbing a finger at one of the smaller boys and laughing at something. When the boy tried to wipe it away, clearly growing tired of the attack, Cal laughed harder. He was a nuisance, the type of bully in the herd they'd cull on the farm. But he was allowed to thrive here because he had connections. Why didn't the Knight hate him instead?

Shaking the thought away, Gavin smiled, "I'll be fine. I should return to her Majesty's service."

"Okay," Snowy waffled on his toes in thought. Suddenly, he popped the copper right off his undulating knuckles and it flew through the air until the coin landed into Gavin's palm. "For your thoughts. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think the beard trimming set would suit me well too."

While the dwarf sauntered back to Cal, no doubt to fleece the rich boy for all he had, Gavin swirled the copper back and forth in his palm. Why would anyone hate him? He hadn't done a thing to hurt Daryan or anyone else close to him. This world made no sense.

By the time he reached the Princess who was seated in the garden, the assassin was standing near her Majesty, her eyes closed as she whispered something. Rosamund smiled a moment, her sight darting towards the potential threat for a breath before she sighed and turned to one of the ladies in waiting beside her. With her toy distracted, Anjali rose up and stared dead center at Gavin.

He could read the 'What are you going to do now, baby Knight?' scrawled across her lips. Groaning internally, Gavin folded his arms and leaned into a slump while this makeshift court occurred around him. In truth, he had no idea what the real court was like. Books didn't go into the matter as much, preferring all the drama behind curtains and doors instead of whatever the King or Queen would do while on the throne. Judging by the times he listened in while Rosamund sat in judgment, it was a lot of talking.

The Teyrn had rolled in a few outstanding cases that intersected with Ferelden law, mostly those of his land that dared to tamper with the crown itself. If any of it surprised the Princess she gave no hint, trying to explain her decisions in a minute detail while the accused looked on from their chains. That ate up most of their time here, Rosamund always being plucked in ten different directions. Gavin only drifted into her orbit when the assassin woman did, and even then it seemed to be less and less.

Absently, Anjali's fingers skirted up to behind her shoulder. When her eyes darted over to Gavin, his body tensed up. But it wasn't the dagger she was gifted use of that she was reaching for but a scratch upon her back. She's messing with you. Myra mentioned it a few times, off handedly as if it should be obvious to all. Trying to keep him off kilter. Here he just assumed Anjali was a royal pain in the ass who delighted in the mistreatment of others. Did she do the same to the Princess, and if so, how did Rosamund deal with it?

"Tess?" the Princess sat up a moment and turned to one of her ladies. It was oddly hard for Gavin to remember which was which as they all wore the same hairstyle and generally kept their wardrobe similar too. Were they trying to confuse vengeful spirits? Was that the point of handmaidens?

"Yes, my Lady?" the woman directly to her right turned to Rosamund.

"I can't seem to find the itinerary. I swear to the Maker I just had it here and..."

"West Hills, say hello to our good friend Bann Loren, then skirt down around Lake Calenhad, arrive upon our dear great-uncle's doorstep, before finding ourselves in the New Dales." Cailan turned from a potato he'd been free carving a lion into to look to his sister.

"Thank you, dear brother," Rosamund tried to force on a smile, which caused her brother to mock it.

"Destined to be queen and she can't even remember what the lands she will rule over look like. Not without a map, at least."

The Princess didn't bristle at her brother's prodding, merely sighed. "Perhaps I have more important things on my mind than a matter I can easily view upon a scrap of parchment."

"You say that now, but..." Cailan skidded his blade across the tender white flesh of the tater, shaking the shaving to the ground, "what if you're fleeing through the woods and come to a pass. Do you go left? Do you go right? Which way is freedom? Which way is death?"

Standing up, Rosamund walked over to her brother. She looked upon his little time waster with distance. "If it were me, I'd turn around to fight, or find higher ground. But if it were you..."

Cailan snorted, "As if I'd be in the woods in the first place. Bears poop there, ya know."

The Princess laughed at her brother's nonsense. "As you say. When you're finished, give me your numbers on supplies necessary to restock before we set out. I'll need them before..."

Jamming both potato and knife into one hand, Cailan tugged out a scrap of vellum and passed it over to his sister. As she took it and sat down in her makeshift throne, he resumed his carving. Rosie read over the list a moment before handing it to Tess, "Share that with Avery, he can determine who will need to handle such matters."

"Yes, my Lady," Tess bowed deeply, scurrying away to do as her princess commanded.

Without any pressing concerns, Rosamund slid over a small table and began to hunch into her work. She never seemed to be far from a quill, her fingernails stained in ink as she kept recutting feathers to keep them sharp. It reminded him a bit of his mother. She would jot notes to herself on any scrap of paper left out. When he was older, Gavin found a forgotten picture he drew that was covered with some formulas to create a potion etched into the margins. It was hard to say which went down first, his take upon griffins who now had six legs, or his mother's need to remember her big breakthrough.

A strange aching picked up speed inside his stomach and he shifted upon his toes. He wanted this, wished to be at the heart of the action, to travel the roads and highways helping to protect Ferelden, to meet new people. Why did he keep finding himself missing what he put behind?

"You're looking rather thoughtful, baby Knight."

He snarled, his jaw clenching from Anjali darting closer to whisper to him. Naturally, she found his reaction hilarious and let her rasping chuckle loose upon the world. Not in the mood to be more fodder for her jokes, Gavin tipped his head higher to stare above nearly every eye in the garden. Only a statue could meet him, the hound challenging him with a singe look.

"Come on," Anjali shuffled even nearer, falling into position beside. Did she not have anything more important to do, like stopping an assassin that she intimately knew? Flashes of her behavior on the archery range drew a curious thought to Gavin. Just how intimately did she know this second dangerous assassin? Would the Princess care for that answer?

"Don't go all sour puss on me now, baby Knight," she continued to wheedle.

"Perhaps," Gavin spat, her lips lifting into a sneer, "I would respond more readily if you used my name."

"You're saying baby Knight isn't...?" she began when he turned his full glare upon her. "Right, fine," Anjali lifted up her hands in submission, "just seemed fair with you always calling me 'assassin.' Assassin do this, assassin rise. Assassin, finish in the bushes, I'm tried of pretending I'm not watching."

"I do not...!"

"You call me by my name, and I might afford you the same dignity."

Maker take her, but it seemed fair. He despised the fact that she saved his life. It was a minor matter, and potentially one she used to her own advantage knowing full well how it would play out, but he did owe her for it. "Very well," Gavin chewed through the gravel in his voice and dignity, "Anjali."

She laughed, "Was that so hard...baby Knight?" Whipping his hand at her, she laughed more, "I did say might. Gotta watch the fine print."

Why was he everyone's punching bag? Did he wake one morning with an invisible sign that read 'Please, take the piss out of me. I will not fight back' stuck to him? Cal, the assassin, a few of the ladies of the teyrn's court who -- upon realizing he wasn't as charming as they hoped -- turned on him. Ser Daryan. The latter stuck in Gavin's throat, his eyes blinking like mad against the burn of deception. Knights were supposed to befriend their squires, mentor them, care for them, guide them into becoming something greater. Not belittle, bash, and break them.

"You should know," Gavin whispered, his voice cold as the grave. With just the edge of his eye he looked over at the assassin, "people are talking about you."

She shrugged, "When aren't they talking about me?"

"And your undue influence upon the Princess."

At the mention of Rosamund, Anjali did the last thing he expected -- she flinched. Her cruel lips slackened and she swallowed a beat. "If they think I have any push with a princess, or prince, or duke, or whatever it is you have here in the backwaters...they're even dumber in Ferelden than I thought."

As if to cut off the thought, Anjali folded her arms tight and began to walk away from Gavin. But in doing so, her gait wobbled a bit, and her teeth grazed over her bottom lip. His words struck her deeper than anything he'd managed before. Interesting.

"My Lady," Tess' voice echoed through the garden's shrubbery, breathy from exhaustion as the girl came dashing back to her mistress. As Rosamund sat up in her chair, her head held high, her handmaid collapsed to her knees, sucking in air like she was drowning.

"Maker's sake, Tess. You didn't need to run all the way to find Avery. It's not that important," she chuckled.

"No," Tess shook her head, then turned to cast a finger back towards a man stepping into the private circle. "I met him, and..." whatever she wanted to tell the Princess was cut off by the man dressed like a more pompous messenger. Rather than wear proper trousers to make it through the backroads and brambles, he had on knee high pants and white hose that glowed like the moon.

"Your Excellency," he began, tugging off a small red cap and bowing so deeply his nose could have scrapped the ground. At that Rosamund sat up even higher, her eyes narrowed in shrewdness.

"Yes?" she asked, extending the final consonant for emphasis.

The man stepped forward and dropped a letter into her fingers. With only a slow lift of her eyebrow, she drew a finger along the seal and popped it open. Rosamund didn't even unravel the paper before the messenger spoke up, "I come on behalf of Lord Eldon."

"I see," she said, her eyes quickly tearing through the missive. For a beat, they opened up wide, before diving back to the meat of the matter. While everyone in the clearing was on pins and needles to learn what was in that note, they need not wait for their Princess to tell them.

"My Lady," the messenger dropped to one knee and bent his torso over the extended leg. "Lord Eldon, son of Bann Winthrop, humbly asks for your hand in marriage."

All sound died in an instant, breaths clutched in throats, fingers freezing from their twitching, as every eye turned to their Princess. She was not visible through the paper, her face fully obscured as she seemed to be taking her time reading through the betrothal letter. While the girls that handled dressing her Majesty seemed to be all a titter at the possibility of a betrothal, Tess looked clouded brows and nervous glances. The most curious one was Cailan; at the announcement his thumb froze, but with barely a shrug he resumed digging into the potato that was now being whittled down to a fish. This could be his brother-in-law, future family, and his king. Surely he would care.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gavin caught the assassin drifting back and forth on her feet. Her face was neutral, as if she didn't give one whit to the potential engagement. It was such an act of nonchalance, it was a wonder she didn't start whistling and kicking at dirt clods.

"Well," the Princess finished the letter, folded it up, and placed it upon her stack. "That is a most interesting development."

Poised like an icy mountain framed against the sunrise, Rosamund lifted her head higher and then waved at the messenger. "I think you can rise, there's no need to strain yourself. Tell your Lord that while I appreciate the sentiment, I cannot in good conscience make such a deal at this time."

"Your Majesty...?" the messenger stumbled up to his feet. His head twisted like a dog given a confounding command.

"The crown is not taking suggestions under advisement at the moment, but should the position open up I'll be certain to keep his..." Rosamund glanced down at the letter, "words under consideration. Thank you for your time."

It was amazing to watch, the man stumbling away in a cloud of uncertainty while the Princess calmly sat back down in her chair and resumed her work as if nothing happened. A few of the handmaidens whispered with each other, "What in the Maker's name just happened?"

"Does this mean there's not going to be a wedding?"

"Bugger it all. I love weddings."

With barely a flick of her wrist, the Princess scooped up the letter and extended it towards her brother. She didn't even lift her head as she said, "Cailan, please dispose of this as you would any trash."

Laughing, he scooped it up and seemed about to scrape the parchment clean before pausing, "You know, mother's going to be pissed."

Rosamund didn't respond, but the smile overtaking her lips said it all. With another laugh, Cailan finished drawing the flat of his dagger against the paper, erasing whatever flatteries the Bann's son ladled upon their Princess. She was far too enthralled with her work to look up at the reaction, but Gavin caught their assassin with a red tint to her cheeks and a smile in her eyes.

* * *

She stood leaning upon a balcony railing, her body appearing to be staring down at the troops shuffling through the final motions of packing up the wagons, but her eyes were elsewhere. Gavin tried to track the direction, but they seemed to be landing upon empty space. A mug sat beside her on the table, her shoulders slumped in exhaustion. He didn't want to disturb her, but...

"Ser Daryan," Gavin muttered softly. She turned on her heel and it took a moment for her eyes to focus upon him. "I've finished loading up the last of the armor for the walk."

"Organized?" she asked, "Because if we run into bandits, the last thing we need is someone fumbling through crates of wine to find a stack of arrows..."

"Yes, fully organized and in the properly labelled crates," Gavin stuck his chest out. His arms wobbled like jelly and burned of fire after the challenge of it, but he'd finished. Sleep was all he wished for now, even with the sun an hour before setting. For once he was glad that the assassin was on Rosamund's good side. It meant he wasn't expected to be at her arm's length until the woman was unconscious.

Daryan sneered a moment, a hint of her canines showing before she waved a hand at him. "Go, go to bed. Wait until dawn for the rousing call. I have no more need of you."

It was the most curt dismissal he'd received so far, the woman barely able to glance in his direction before she resumed glaring at the world instead. Snowy's voice twisted through his thoughts, always bobbing to the surface for every interaction he had with her now. He wanted to know, but he shouldn't ask. Why did she hate him? Why was she harder on him than anyone else? Gavin knew he dare not raise the issue, but he had to know.

"Ser, if I may..." he began when her hard blue eyes swung back to him. By the softening light of the sunset, red burned at the edges as if she was about to transform into a demon. Gavin's backbone faded in an instant, "Is there anything else you will require of me?"

"I already said...!" she roared before chuckling mirthlessly. Her shoulders shook the pauldrons upon them, a rosette of the distinguished order bouncing from it. "You never tire, do you? Never talk back? Never groan or whine? Wheedle to escape even the most inane of order." Her cold eyes bit into him before Daryan fully swung back to the skyline. "What in the Maker's great sky is wrong with you?"

Gavin stuck his chin out at the assumption he was built wrong, "I do grow tired, but..." His knight tensed, her fingers digging into the railing. At the sight of her bones practically prodding through the thin skin, he backed down into a soft voice, "But wish to do my best."

"Your best?" Daryan scoffed. "He's here to do his best, give 100% of himself to the cause." She seemed to be speaking to something else beside her, not caring that he overheard. "Go! Go and get out of my sight!" The Knight chopped her hand through the air, trying to rid it of anything Gavin related.

Unable to wipe the scowl from his face, he turned on his heel and prepared to find a bed, when the woman's cold lips began to snigger. It was such a disharmonious laugh, Gavin's blood ran cold. Daryan wiped a palm against her eyes as she muttered, "Do you know why I let this farce play out? Why I'd allow the King to dictate slotting some unknown, unwanted, untested squire into my service?"

He froze in place, fearing she'd turn over to look at him and he'd find a demon lurking inside her eyes. But the woman was still as human as before, and she remained gazing out at the horizon. With a laugh, she said, "I wanted you to fail."

"What?" escaped out of Gavin's mouth, the man wanting to rush forward and shake her for the nonsense she was speaking.

Daryan snorted and shrugged, "The only son of our great Commander Rutherford. It was so... I could see it all. You'd come in all soft hands and softer heart, skin as thin as parchment. Whining about the cold, or the heat, or the fact you had to do real work. You'd come under my care expecting coddling and receive the lash of reality instead."

Her head swiveled around, but to the empty bottle upon the table and not Gavin. With another snort, she laughed, "Jokes on me. You can't even fail properly. You're so...it's like trying to wear down a mountain! Drop the impossible in your lap, you smile and grit through it. Add even more to that and there you are, sweating and grunting but pulling it off. I'm tired of your face."

"Why?" he asked, the world tilting away from below him. Why would someone, someone who could have easily turned him down, behave so cruelly? She'd never even met him before and she already hated him?

Daryan picked up her empty bottle and sniffed the lip. Seeming to not find whatever she was looking for, she placed it back down hard and poorly. The bottle tipped over and rolled in a circle which the Knight only scoffed at. "Your father," were the first two words out of her mouth as she watched her mistake roll close to the edge of the table and stop.

Sneering, she turned over to Gavin, her eyes washed in hard tears. "I was there, during the war. I'd spot him, the great Commander Cullen in his blighted bear furred coat and armor of the Inquisition." Daryan's fingers ran up and down the balcony railing, her eyes boiling hard into nothing. "We'd fought, faced down a Maker damn dragon in the Wilds. Watched as our friends, our closest allies, people we'd trained with for a year or even more..."

With a laugh, Daryan smacked her hand hard into the table, causing the weak support to buckle. It flipped over, the bottle tumbling to the ground but not breaking as it came to rest beside the upended table. "You can't know what it is to stand in battle and watch fire burn through the person to your left, the person on your right, and then skip right over you."

He had no idea what to say. It was rather obvious that Gavin hadn't been in that war, nor any other. He was only 17 and trying to learn how to prepare himself for such an eventuality. This woman seemed to be blaming him for things from long before he was ever born.

She snorted, her head tipped back to the sky while wine filled tears burbled out of her eyes. "And your father, that...sycophant Commander stood upon the hill watching, never caring. The fire never touched him." Daryan whipped her head over at Gavin and spat out, "He has no idea what war can cost a person. No idea the pain that never leaves."

Gavin stumbled back a step at her look, while his mind traipsed back through a dozen or more memories. The first took hold when he couldn't have been more than four, a young child knocking on his parent's bedroom door asking his father to come play. All he caught was a burn of his father's eyes through the slit before the man vanished back into the shadows behind the locked door, cutting his son off.

"Mummy," he cried, the tears never ending at the rejection, "daddy's being mean! He won't play."

She'd curled him up into her arms, his mom smoothing down the massive hair Gavin used to have while she whispered, "Sweetheart, your dad has...bad days. He still loves you, he will always love you, but he has to be alone for awhile."

"Why?"

"Because it's..." He'd watched his mother extensively explain things to every inane question a young child could imagine, but for this she stumbled, a hand cupping her cheek upward to catch any errant tears. "He's, Daddy's not feeling good."

"Kiss him and make it all better."

"I wish that I could," her soothing, healing hands cupped against Gavin's forehead before she tucked him tight into a hug. "But your dad needs to rest. In time, he'll come out. He'll be better."

With his mother's cooling kiss upon his forehead, a young Gavin leaped off the chair and nodded in satisfaction, "M'kay!"

"Why don't you go find Honor and play with her for awhile," his mother always tried to usher him away so she could tend to his snarling father. It wasn't until a few years later that he began to understand and could even predict when his father's moods would turn foul. There was an increase in sneering, but the man never struck anyone, never yelled. He would simply vanish behind a door for a day, sometimes two or three. The only one who could see him was his wife, but every once in awhile, late at night Gavin would hear the most gut wrenching sobs drifting through the air.

Snapping up higher, Gavin took in a deep breath. How dare she question his father's integrity, his decisions made to...to end a bad man. How dare she assume that he never suffered when there was hardly a month that passed without a dark day lost. It never vanished from his father, was never expunged fully, but Gavin would always be there -- wooden sword in hand, waiting for his Dad to emerge and play with him.

"With all due respect, Ser," Gavin spat out, "you don't know a damn thing about my father." With trembling shoulders and clenched fists, Gavin dashed away from the drunk woman left to her bitter falsehoods.

## Chapter Twenty-Nine

### Can't Win

Forest to the left, river to the right, and here she was stuck in the middle with...her damn brother. Cailan somehow conned Myra into one of his marble games. He had three boards with various holes cut into them and was always grabbing people, promising to teach them the rules, the promptly trouncing whoever agreed to it. When she was younger she used to try and pocket the marbles when he wasn't looking.

Older, wiser, and with far defter hands, Myra managed to sneak nearly half of Cailan's pieces into her pocket before he glanced up to find his math didn't add up. Sighing, he tipped back from the board perched upon the grass. "Give them up."

He extended his palm leaving her with two options, either pretend she had no idea what he was talking about, or hand them over and face even more of suffering her brother's clobbering tactics. There was a third choice: hurl the entire wad of marbles into the trees and let him find them. With a sigh, Myra dug the marbles out of her pocket and began to place each one inside Cailan's hand. For a laugh, she started to count them aloud, rather proud of how many she snuck away before he noticed. Jorel sure would be.

"You know," he sighed, "if you didn't want to play you could have said so."

"Pretty sure I did. 'No, Cailan, no one wants to play with you because you cheat.'"

"I do not cheat," his blue eyes blazed with indignity while he carefully returned each marble to its special place in the hierarchy.

"Maybe not by breaking the rules, but your brain's all shoving beads on strings around and adding up numbers while the rest of us are struggling to remember which way the horsey moves."

"There is no horsey..." He groaned, running a hand over his forehead. Funny enough, all of the Theirin children were well versed in chess. Rosie, because they thought it would assist in her princessly duties of sucking up to weird old guys that have to involve everyone in their hobbies before talking business. Cailan, because he was scary smart when left alone too long and people wanted to find something to distract him. Myra got into it because her other siblings did and she refused to be left behind. She wasn't very good, but she preferred it to this maths problem disguised as a game.

When Cailan began to reset the board, Myra groaned, her fingers tugging on her cheeks to emphasize how much she did not want to be there. "If it is such a bother," he sighed, "why remain?"

"Because there's nothing else to do either..." she waved a hand around at the dull scenery broken up only by dull diplomats wandering around the dull road. The highlight of their day was a couple of knights trying to chase a rabbit down on foot. Then Gavin got it with an arrow. Fun over. She wasn't certain if he didn't know that he was taking away their game, or if he did it on purpose. He was hard to read.

Cailan snickered, his lips pursed as he tented his fingers together in thought. "I attempted to hide a small roach down the cleric's robe."

"Really?" Myra sat up higher, far more interested in that, "What'd he do?"

"Nothing. I said attempted because Rosamund caught me and gave me that 'I will send you back home' glare."

Groaning, Myra slumped her head up to the sky. Rather than stare into the sun, she wrapped a hand over her eyes, "When did Rossie become such a killjoy?"

"The way I remember, she always was, unless you were into stabbing and sword fighting."

"Better than being all 'Now Myra, we must respect the beliefs of the people clearly fucking with us, for we are of noble blood.'"

Her brother laughed at the impression, then slapped a hand into her arm before he too raised his voice higher. It climbed into such a nasal shattering range, it far surpassed Rosie's. "Dear brother, it is in your best interests to pay heed to the historical significance of....snooze! Like I said, eternal destroyer of fun. Maybe when she's been on the throne for a few decades or so she'll calm down."

He threw the line away as if it was nothing, but Myra pursed her lips. Rosie was gunning hard to take that crown, not that either of them wanted it. The only person she had any competition with, aside from herself, was their dad... Trying to shake away the pain burning in the back of her head, Myra shot up to her legs.

"Where are you going?" Cailan raised a hand to her. "We have a game to finish."

"Find someone else," Myra sighed, "I need to stretch." Casting an eye up and down their little city of tents, she began to walk towards the center of it all.

Behind her she heard her brother call out, "Ah, Lady Bryn. Would you care for a game?"

She snickered a moment, wondering if she should rescue her friend, but it'd give Bryn something to do beyond washing socks. Without any real work ahead of her, Myra began to wander through the stand of tents. It was a bit funny to spot in the distance, piles of canvas wafting in the breeze as people scampered in and out around them. A few preferred the solitude of hiding away in their tiny sleeping quarters, but most wisely chose the open air before they finally moved on to the next stop.

Ahead on the road was some other Bann, after they left another behind. Apparently the schedule was based upon who was more important, some Banns only getting a quick wave from the road before Rosie hightailed it out of there. When the rains kicked up for a half day and everyone was grateful to have free time to massage away their bunions and corns, only her sister had her face pressed to the glass, worried about the itinerary. Cailan was right, something massive crawled up her ass. Or maybe it was the incessant buzzing of the advisors in her ear. That was likely to drive anyone to the orderly and/or murderous side.

While all the sleeping tents could comfortably hold two, and were usually jammed with three or four, Rosie's was vast. Fancy princess and all, it made sense. Plus she had all those drooling sycophants to provide for. There were more left behind in Denerim, leaving Myra to wonder just what they did without their princess they supposedly assisted. Then again, she wasn't certain they did anything when Rosie was around either. Her sister was far from an invalid, and there seemed to be an awful lot of cousins that needed pointless jobs.

Shaking off the snarl in her lips as she thought back on far too many of the handmaidens, Myra turned to try and flag down Rossie. It was doubtful she'd have anything fun to do, but Myra might get a sense of when they were going to head out. A change of scenery would be nice, at least.

The Princess' tent was flanked by two guards standing haphazardly outside, though it was hard to call anything outside. The side panels that made up walls of the tent were all rolled up to give the illusion that the thing was even greater than its small foyer size. Peering in, Myra spotted her sister reclining upon one of the traveling chairs while three of her handmaidens sat around. There was another one, a girl they picked up from one Bann to take to another, that Myra didn't know. But if she was hovering around the princess, she was probably a pain in the ass too.

"Afternoon," Myra waved a hand at the guards whose eyes slid over to her before focusing back upon nothing. "Seen anything?" They remained clinging to their pikes, sweat percolating upon their brows but neither about to waver. "Right, well," Myra slapped both on the back, "if you spot a werewolf come and get me. I know how to handle them."

As she stepped under Rosie's roof, she felt both guards whip their heads at her. She was mostly joking; she did know how to deal with werewolves, but they were unlikely to find any this far north. They weren't into the ancient forests yet. Walking carefully, Myra had to practically get down on her knees to make it under the low hang. Lucky Rossie was the perfect height for her tent, her hand wafting a fan back and forth before her face. There must have been a deal at the last merchant stall, as all the girls were waving the same.

Myra was about to speak up and say hello, announce her presence as they fancily put it, when one of the handmaidens suddenly squealed. It sounded like a pig sitting on a stickpin, but the girl didn't leap to her feet in pain nor suddenly transform into pork. She did it again, then sighed, "A proposal?"

"I know," Rosie rolled her eyes.

"An honest to the Maker proposal, in front of everyone no less."

Her sister groaned, the fan picking up speed, "It is quite the..."

"Honor!" the instigator squealed anew. Myra leaned out and spotted that despicable pile of auburn hair. Evie. Should have named her Evile. Evily? Cursed one that delights in the torture of those below her. Whenever Rosie, Cailan, or their dad was out of earshot, she'd be the one to start dropping the word bastard or knife-ear with only a cold glance at Myra to tell her she knew she was there.

Rosie seemed to delight in Evie the way she did the rest of her cousins, a small sigh and forced smile because they were family and her mom made her. But she was pissed about that Lord Dumbdumb's proposal, and bringing it up like this might just get Evie kicked out of the circle once and for all. Sliding squarely into place, Myra prepared herself for the oncoming show.

"To receive your first proposal and only at age..." Evie paused and tapped a finger to her lips, "twenty four. That is a bit longer in the tooth for some, mind you. I think I was gifted mine when I was but fifteen by an older gentleman that found my fingers dainty as a statue's."

Pervert. Probably wanted to chop her hands off and hang them on his wall. Myra paused in the thought, wondering if life with her mother had warped her in any way. Nah.

"Fifteen?" that new girl gasped, Bann something. It started with an L, or was it a G? LG worked for her too.

Evie lifted her chinless head and smiled, "Men were often confusing me for a full blooded woman, loving to tell me how well my body filled out." While Evie seemed to find it a fun anecdote, Myra shivered at the thought. Then her eyes darted down to her still waiting to fill in body. No way anyone would think she was a grown woman at 15, or now. Probably not even when she was 25.

"Why did you turn him down?" Tess took up the talk. Myra didn't mind Tess. She was Rosie's friend -- the child of a noble from out west, and almost slathering in her loyalty to the princess. But she didn't make a thing out of her being a bastard the way the cousins would.

Evie rolled her eyes, "His family was so uncouth, and land poor. I can do much better. Which, I assume, is why you turned down Lord Eldon."

Snapping out of her thoughts, Rosie focused on her friends giggling about boys. "Yes, it... He does not have the right temperament to sit upon the throne."

"Temperament?" Evie chortled, "Who cares about temperament? The only real question to ponder is if he has the right..." she folded her fingers into a fist and then slipped the middle one between a gap to form a part of the male anatomy she kept swinging around.

"Maker's breath, Evie," Rosie sneered, "put that away. There are other matters to weigh beyond the breadth or scale of his..." Her sister's cheeks lit up bright red, the poised princess who could curse like a pirate when she was pissed finding the word penis impossible.

With a cold chuckle, Evie folded her rude fingers back together and she cupped her chin upon them. "Words spoken by the uninitiated. That's all that matters in the end." Three women rolled their eyes, while Evie continued to try to impress upon them that she knew all there was to sex. After a lifetime of growing up with Lunet, Myra had to shove a fist in her mouth to keep from laughing.

"If we could refrain from talking about..." Rosie began, when the LG girl spoke up.

"I saw a boy once with a todger the size of a parsnip. Same color too. Thing was huge, like..." she held her fingers up to form a circle as wide around as Myra's forearm. "Screamed when I spotted it and ran away."

Finding that hilarious, Evie began to delight in her tales of various sized penises she had thrust upon her, as if anyone wanted to hear about it. Tess, sensing her friend's annoyance at the topic did her best to break it apart. "Rosie can't choose without her father's say. She needs someone that can handle all the duties of supporting the crown."

Her sister tipped her head in thanks to Tess, who less than subtly stuck her tongue out at Evie. Completely unaware of the people trying to twist it away from her, Evie grabbed onto the newest topic with aplomb. "Yes, yes, must be able to greet people. Must not shit his pants at fancy dinners. Must be capable of speaking more than just his name."

"It's not as simple as choosing a man off the street that I fancy," Rosie said, her eyes narrowing. The fact she hated talking about her impending shackle in holy matrimony was practically written in ten foot high letters, which Evie was doing her damnedest to avoid.

"I don't know how I'd handle the idea of being forced into a marriage," LG whispered, her fingers worrying her hair over her eyes.

Rosie shrugged, "Cailan seems perfectly content with the concept."

"Because your brother expects about as much loyalty as he plans to give," Tess responded, nodding her head with Rosie.

That caused Evie to pivot her head a bit, "If it were me in your lofted position, Rosamund, I'd do everything in my power to keep my husband from stepping out on me."

Rosie sighed, the fan waving through Evie's blustering words, when it suddenly stopped. She closed it up and focused on the woman. "What do you mean?"

"You'd be Queen, or about to be. Threaten to have his balls chopped off, or head stuck in a vice, or ship him off to war or something if you ever catch him cheating. Only way, right at the beginning. Trust is foolish in this game. Otherwise it's all dipping into the first whore one stumbles across in the back alley. I mean, look at your father."

Myra grabbed onto the dirt below her, her nails gouging deep into the earth while she pictured them puncturing Evie's skin. Seeming to be as incensed, Rosie sat up higher and glared at Evie, "What about my father? Your king?"

"A fine man, but still a man under it all. And they have all the loyalty of a dog that just smelled its next meal. How your poor mother puts up with such an atrocity is beyond me."

"My mother is quite capable on her own," Rosie backed off and didn't hurl Evie out of the tent. No, instead she began to slide into her chair and opened the fan. "Believe me."

"Of course, of course," the woman wouldn't stop, "but I don't understand how she doesn't send the guards after your father's knife-ear whor-."

Screaming at the top of her lungs, Myra dug a handful of dirt out of the ground, scrunched it tight into her fist, and launched it right at Evie. Most of the clumps broke off, falling helplessly to the ground, but some of it struck. Crying at the indignity while she deserved so much worse, the cursed woman turned to find Myra red faced and about to do so much worse.

"How dare you?! You want to call my mother a whore? Huh?"

"Myra!" Rosie's voice rose, trying to chastise her, but Myra stomped towards the woman who was shrinking into her collar.

"Think you can get away with it behind a titter and a fan? Fuck you!" she cursed, reaching her hand back in preparation of punching the woman flat out.

"Myra Sayer!" Rosamund shouted, her voice ringing through the tent and scattering towards the small city of people around them. Every eye turned to their princess standing up as high as she could and glaring upon her sister. "Put your fist down."

Shaking her head no, Myra held it up while Evie's eyes darted around the room. She expected one of the others to leap up to her defenses, to drag the wild half-blood away, but no one liked her. No one would care. "I should kill you," she hissed at Evie who visibly gulped. "A duel! You threaten my mom, you make it...you sit there and act as if... What the fuck do you know?!" Tears burning in her eyes, she screamed at Evie a feral roar that would send most criminals in Denerim fleeing the other direction.

She wanted fire, wanted to watch the whole place burn with the same raging shame in her gut, but Myra was so angry the magic wouldn't come. Her attempts to pierce the veil only caused it to rebound back upon her. Even it was avoiding the bastard forced upon this world.

"Myra, I am ordering you..." Rosie began again, her sister whipping her head up at her.

"Order? You...you'd rush to defend her? After the shit she said? I..." Myra let her fingers fall flat as she raised both hands up in a sign of disgust with everything. With as dignified a bend to her body as she could manage, she dashed towards the front of the tent. Before reaching her escape, she spat out, "Dad would fucking skin her alive if he knew."

Her turncoat of a sister's mouth dropped open, but Myra spun on her heel and ran for it. The guards tried to reach over and stop her, no doubt figuring the princess intended to discipline her sister for acting un-orderly, but Myra easily dodged their clumsy attempt. Even with tears burning in her eyes, and her body shaking with frustration beyond understanding, Myra managed to run from the people. Bodies staggered out of the their tents, away from small fires or card games, all to gawk at the bastard. To jeer, maybe throw small rocks. Tell her the truth of what she was.

Of what she deserved.

Fuck them all.

Reaching the tree line, Myra stared deep into the dark forest ahead. She wanted to run into it without thought, but her legs wobbled and she crumbled to a knee. Damn it. Every Maker damn time she thinks that she had something, a place, a reason to be let into the group, they turn around and strip it off her. Never let her forget, those bumps on her ears are courtesy of a knife-eared whore. Didn't matter if her father loved her mother, or that she had fuck all do with any of it. Nope, pin it all on the bastard. Her fault for existing.

"Myra, for the Maker's sake..." her sister's voice gasped from behind her and she sneered. Wiping a hand over her eyes, Myra got back to her feet and began to step into the forest.

"Will you stop?" Rosie shouted, both hands striking into her thighs.

"Will you let me fight Evie?"

"You'd bloody eviscerate her," Rosamund sighed.

"So?" Myra saw no downside.

"Come back here, we can talk it through..." Her damn naive sister was going to paper it all over with fake handshakes and faker smiles. As if anything would change. Evie wouldn't be punished, she wouldn't care. She'd keep doing it over, and over, and over.

Spinning on her heel, Myra marched right up to her sister. She waved a finger threateningly at the princess and expected for a few swords to come at her for it, but there was no one else around. Did she keep them back? "No," Myra began, "no, there will be no talking it through. There will be no playing nice. There will be none of me sitting there forcing myself to nod along while she plays contrite for an audience, then gets back to stabbing behind the curtain. I'm fucking sick of it."

"Myra, you're overrea--"

"She said my mother should be killed!" Myra screamed. "Tortured. Mutilated! All because our dad...because he..."

It was the worst Maker damn day of her life. All of seven and she was left clinging to a ratty stuffed toy while the dwarf twins tried to convince her her mother wasn't missing. Her father wasn't hunting for her. Like Myra was too stupid to know everyone who ever knew Reiss feared the worst. With every heartbeat Myra wondered when they'd come back through that door. With every passing one and no Mom, she knew she'd never see her again.

When her Mom did appear, blood oozed off of the side of her head because some fuckhead, some racist, hate-filled shitheel tried to kill her. Hurt her. Took her and... They chopped off the greatest sign of her being elven, tossed it on the floor, fed it to a dog. Myra made up a dozen scenarios while she watched her white faced dad try to tend to her shaken mom. Reiss was in shock for a week, bandages suctioned so tight around her face all her daughter could see were the greens of her eyes. Even facing down a mutilated Mom, Myra didn't flinch, just wrapped her hands around her and promised it would never happen again.

And she damn well meant it.

"You have no idea what it feels like to wake up one morning without your mother where she should be, never knowing if you'll ever see her again. Only to have her returned to you mutilated," Myra spat out, "with just a flap of loose skin dangling where her ear used to be."

Her sister stumbled back a step, a hand pressed to her mouth. "No, I..." She knew, they had to know, they saw her Mom often enough. But they didn't want to know. They didn't want to look at her really. To acknowledge that she dared to exist around and outside their world. "Myra, that's terrible," Rosie reached forward to try and pull her into a hug, "but you can't..."

Batting the offered embrace away, Myra skittered further from her half-sister. "No, you can't. You can't understand. You can't know what it's like to lie in bed listening to every creak in the floorboards, every howl of the dogs, every whistle of the wind and think 'they're coming for her.' You don't know shit, Rosie, and you have no right to lecture me."

Myra sucked in a breath, staring her sister down. "Your mother still has both of her ears." With her final words, she spun on her heels and made for the forest. Pain pounded in her head and her throat ran dry. She wanted to scream and never stop, to fall to her knees and beat the ground apart. But that wouldn't help, that wouldn't fix anything.

" _My_ ," her sister shouted one last pathetic attempt. "What are you doing?"

Breaking into a run, Myra shouted before she vanished into the trees, "I'm going home!"

## Chapter Thirty

### Meadow Flower

The trail was easy to follow. Even without the downed branches and twigs snapping from above, the continual cursing that rocked the trees guided Gavin through the underbrush of the forest. This land was wild, trees scattered wherever they fell, forcing him to have to slide over an ancient log coated in moss. As he did so, his sword nearly tumbled out of the scabbard, the end snagging against a branch and catching him tight.

Whipping above him like a bird traversing the sky, a shadow blanketed out the measly sun as she leapt to a new branch and kept going. "Myra," he shouted, legs astride in his attempt to get over the log while he struggled to fish the stuck scabbard out of a rotted knot.

Her shadow in the leaves paused a moment, the first sign she'd heard him following her. "Go away," was all she said before resuming her dash through the treetops.

Maker's sake. Gavin finished sliding over the log, his foot submerging into bog water that was quick to leech up his ankles. And today was already off to such a smashing success already. "Myra, wait..." he called, shaking a leg to try and disperse the muddy water while pursuing her. It was like trying to catch a butterfly, the girl only pausing a moment before leaping to the next branch as if she was born with wings.

"Did my sister send you?" The shadow in the trees turned and Gavin could spot her fingers gripping tight to a branch to keep herself upright. "She did, didn't she? 'Go and fetch her, squire. She's being unreasonable again.'"

"The Princess didn't ask me to find you," Gavin called. Technically correct. She was standing in a blustering agony while staring at the direction Myra vanished in. He took it upon himself to enter, though Rosamund did hope he'd keep an eye on her sister. It didn't really count as her sending him.

Which Myra seemed to sense. She rolled her eyes, her feet easing along the branches while her hands kept a tight grip to the balancing ones. "Yeah, right," she snorted. "I know exactly what Rosie wants. Me to go sidling back with my tail between my legs and apologize. Shake hands. Play nice. Well...screw that. And screw her too!"

The path split apart, one a more distinct deer trail, and the other seeming to have been abandoned by the animals years ago. Saplings that'd whip apart anyone who passed, stinging weeds covered in thorns, an obvious puddle that could be Maker knew how deep and full of leeches: all that and more awaited him down the untraveled path. And guess which one Myra chose to leap above.

Groaning, Gavin stomped down it, having to pull in a breath to slide sideways through two trees that when he glanced up looked as if their trunks grew together. Myra had an easier time up above, easily walking from one kissing tree to the next. Suddenly, she paused, legs astride the two trees, and stared down at the boy following her.

_Was she going to finally talk to him? At least slow down enough?_

Myra snorted, "If you're trying to look up my skirt, it won't work, cause I ain't wearing one."

"For the love of..." Gavin grumbled to himself before shouting, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Yes," echoed through the trees, "I clearly want to talk about it, which is why I'm running and jumping as far from you as I can..."

Her voice froze, the branches that'd been bowing with her weight holding still. "Myra?" Gavin called, whipping his head around to see if there was any danger. Through a gap in the foliage he spotted a hint of her shirt. She moved forward, the entire branch under her bending.

Myra took another step, when a great crack broke from below her. "Shiiit!" she cried, the entire forest canopy shattering apart as branch and girl came racing towards the ground.

Bending his head down, Gavin ran full bore towards the falling branch, his hands extended. Leaves slapped into his face, sapling branches whipping thin lines against his shoulders and arms, but he wouldn't slow. His eyes were trained on the leaves puncturing apart as if a massive hand was trying to claw apart the forest.

"Myra!" he shouted, giving it one last push. Her body was a blur, streaking through the lack of anything to grab onto with a branch right below her. Tipping his foot up, Gavin slid forward, his stomach slapping into the boggy ground as he extended his reach to catch the girl only seconds from shattering to the forest floor.

His heart beat, Gavin's eyes shut to prepare for her weight. Another two seconds passed and he lifted his eye to find nothing but air in his hands. Oh Maker, did he miss? He whipped his head around, but there was nothing on the ground.

"What in Andraste's bunions are you doing?"

The voice asked from above him and he craned his head back to find Myra hovering a good six feet in the air. Her hands were splayed out with the magic, while her feet remained perched upon the branch she broke.

Sucking in a breath, Gavin's lips sputtered, "I was...trying to help, um..."

"You were gonna get smooshed by this thing," she said, emphasizing the fact by stomping her foot down on the branch and causing it to wiggle. He hadn't considered the falling tree as well, just thought to...be the hero. "Could you get out of the way so I can drop it?"

Nodding his head, Gavin scrunched back off the ground, suddenly aware of how cold, wet, and muddy his stomach felt. With a groan he looked down to find brown muck smeared all along the front of himself. It looked like someone grabbed a knife and tried to butter him but used mud instead. Even worse, the dampness was seeping in against his skin, making him feel more unclean with every breath.

A loud whumph shattered the air as the branch finally collapsed to the ground. His eyes widened at the size of the thing, easily as far around as his thigh. If it'd hit him at that height... Myra descended much more gracefully, her toe touching upon the ground before she let the rest of her reach.

Her hair was a mess, leaves and branches stuck in the braid that the forest tried to unravel in her descent, or maybe while she was fleeing. It was hard to tell. Gavin staggered up to his feet, the mud thickening as he moved, but his eyes were on Myra's face. "Your cheek," he reached out a finger to skirt against the pile of freckles that were ripped open from a cut.

Myra touched it instead, then winced. After inspecting the blood on her fingers she jerked her chin at him, "You're not looking so good yourself."

"Yes," Gavin sighed, well aware that he'd have to wash all of his clothes before anyone would let him near. "I appear to have made a colossal mess and fool out of myself."

"No," Myra half smiled a moment, her cheeks lighting up, "I meant you have..." She reached over haphazardly towards him. Gavin froze, his lips barely parting when her fingers that felt as warm as the summer sun skirted against his cheek and back towards his jaw. Beating more erratically than when he slid across the ground in a foolish rescue, Gavin's heart was doing its best to burn the skin under Myra's fingers, but she'd moved backwards towards his neck. _Oh Maker..._

"Owe!" he hissed, pain radiating up his neck.

With a shrug, Myra leaned back to reveal a one inch thorn in her fingers. "This was stuck in your neck. I don't know what it is."

"Dart trees," Gavin sneered, his fingers pawing at the centimeter sized hole the damn thing left in his skin. "Nuisance things that pop up like mushrooms after a rainstorm. Only way to kill them is with fire."

"Is it poisonous?" her great green eyes widened, reminding him even more of the fields from home. Winds dancing through the alfalfa, Gavin hiding in the middle while reading so no one would find him.

Shaking himself awake, he sighed, "No, not poisonous just very, very poky."

Myra laughed at that, tossing the wooden dart thorn over her shoulder, "Sorry, I don't mean to laugh at you. More the dart thing being...it seemed like one of those things that would be highly deadly, you know. And then there's a race against time to save you because there's only one known cure across..." She clicked her teeth together and bounced her hands, "It's probably not so funny when you'd be the one stuck in a coma. Forget I said anything."

Her hands dropped back down to her sides, but they kept nervously twitching to grab onto her pants as if she wanted to fiddle with them but knew better. Wiping a hand over his forehead, Gavin snorted a moment and tipped his head back. It was a long walk back to the campsite, and he could already feel his clothes hardening to pottery courtesy of the mud slapped on them.

"Actually," he lifted a shoulder and smiled at her, "it is kinda funny."

For a moment she smiled back before Myra whipped her head away and stared around at the trees. "Damn it, it's gonna take me forever to find another way up."

"Myra," he reached over, grabbing onto one of her hands. Her eyes followed the trail from their tether up to his eyes and she sneered. "Can you walk with me for a bit? Talk?"

"Why? You got some big, important issue weighing on your chest you just have to get out?"

Gavin pressed his free hand into the mud on his torso, the palm sinking deep enough to leave an imprint and he sighed, "Yes, I do."

Her lips parted in surprise, no doubt she expected him to only want her to reveal whatever was eating her alive -- aside from the multitude of insects in the forest. At least the mud was good for providing a slight barrier. Gavin swung their conjoined hands around a bit, struggling to think of what to say next.

Sadly, Myra's willingness to extend him a courtesy only reached so far. "Well," she wave her free hand at him, "what is it?" She sounded peeved, but she didn't tug her hand from his grasp. If anything she shifted her fingers to fit perfectly with his.

Gavin nodded his head, trying to tell her that there was something and it would come. Staring down the boggy ground, he began to walk forward, needing to move while doing it. Still keeping tethered to his hand, Myra started to follow beside. "It's about--"

"Don't tell me it's a girl," Myra interrupted, "because right now..."

"No," Gavin smiled, then frowned, "well, she is a woman, but..." Myra frowned deep at that. "It's my Knight."

"Oh," her glare lifted, the girl scrabbling through the mud to walk beside him. "Did she order you to move a mountain rock by rock?"

"She...she hates me," Gavin gasped out, the words burning up his throat as they came.

"Come on," Myra laughed, "no one hates you. You're like uncut niceness distilled down into pure gallantry. If anyone wanted to do a portrait of a vision of perfect chivalry it'd be you. Kind, prone to feats of stupid bravery, a body that's...um," her words faded as she glared down at her shoes.

Gavin felt his entire skin blushing from her thoughts, most of which he could easily combat if he was in the mood. He was far from everything she seemed to consider him, but he had other issues weighing upon his head. "It's true, she hates me. She hates me because...she hates my father."

"Oh, that one. I know that one all too well," Myra brayed out a laugh, her head whipping back in the direction where they came from.

"I don't understand. She's formed this opinion of my dad, of her old commander, that is nowhere close to reality. And because of that, she's..."

"She hated you because she wanted to. Or your father, or the Snow Fairy, or anyone else. They start with the hate, then they make up an excuse for the why later, like a really bad story with lots of plot holes or whatever."

At the end of her words, Myra squeezed his hand tighter. Gavin wanted to respond, but he felt broken, as if his bones were liquified inside his body. All his life everyone adored his father, they'd send gifts constantly, people'd flock him on the street. But did the great Commander act conceited? Oh no, he'd ask that not such a great fuss be made about it so he could return to his family's side.

"I want to be like him," Gavin breathed, his eyes shut tight, "and I think he resents the idea."

He felt Myra peering hard at him, both of them falling to a stop in the forest. Above, the sun managed to peek through a few leaves, casting light against Gavin's face. "A great hero! Fights for those who can't. Protects people. Keeps others safe. I thought..." Gavin's eyes opened and he focused on Myra, "How can anyone hate that?"

Myra snorted a bit, "My mom catches bad guys, solves murders, nails rapists to the wall. Not literally, okay, except for one time but it was..." The explanation faded and she tipped her head back to the sun. Dappled light kissed her cheeks, shadows lining up along her freckles as if they marked a secret map. "People hate her. I mean _hate_ hate. That eye popping hate that seems outlandish until you're staring down mad frothing lips spouting gibberish because they ran out of real words two paragraphs back."

"Because she punishes criminals?" Gavin twisted in confusion.

Her eyes parted and she stared right at him, "Because of...of things she can't change. I can't change. It doesn't matter. It's not fair, but it... It never ends, ya know. Over and over and over. Someone, somewhere, is mad about Maker damn anything. Could be the price of bread, or that his shoes are on too tight. But he needs someone to blame. Someone to look down upon. Someone to make feel worse so he can feel better."

"That's what Ser Daryan is doing to me?"

"Hm?" Myra darted up from her glaring at the ground and bit into her lip. It wasn't a soft nibble that could throw Gavin fully for a loop; she was biting down hard as if to keep a million thoughts from tumbling free.

"Do you..." he reached over with his hand and tried to lightly pat her on the upper arm. "Do you want to talk about anything?"

Myra pivoted her head, the braid whipping at the end like an angry snake. Her lips kept mouthing 'No' before she paused and her eyes drifted to the ground. In a voice so whisper quiet Gavin could barely hear it, she asked, "Why are you so nice?"

Something in the tone caused him to balk, Gavin's body leaning away from Myra while he stared at the forest sun. Through the gaps was a sliver of light, almost like a lance from the sky itself, trying to pierce apart the leaves. "I'm not that nice," he whispered.

Myra snorted and stuck a hand on her hip. "Please. If you got any nicer rabbits would whip that shirt off you and wash it in the river. Probably while singing a song. Can you sing?"

"A little," he stuttered, sinking in deeper on himself. The way she said nice made it sound bad. Not like he was kind but simple minded, easily led, bamboozled into foolish situations. "But you're not...it's not like that."

He expected her to scoff and launch into more explanations but Myra reared back a moment and her face fell. "Don't you want to be nice? People are always yelling at me to be nice. Act nicer. Speak nicer. Be nicer. Stand there and smile, make people feel welcome. I'm terrible at it."

"Nu uh," he tugged on their clasped hands and Myra slid closer to him, "I've seen you."

"My mom calls me a caustic wind. That's Myra, can't get her to shut up. Speaks her mind to the detriment of everyone around her." A great sigh rattled through her chest and she closed her eyes tight. "I wish..." While her words faded away, the sunbeam dipped across her freckles, light highlighting each dot the Maker kissed upon her cheeks and nose. Gavin absently licked his lips while watching.

Unaware that the boy was staring, Myra smiled forlornly, "I wish sometimes that I could be nice, be diplomatic, but...then arseholes like that Cal would walk all over me and I get so mad at the thought of them getting away with it."

"I hate him too," Gavin said, his eyes boring into the ground. From the back of his mind, Anjali's cryptic words returned. _That's exactly the ones young girls go for. Even if they know better. Especially if they know better._ Damn her for putting this fear in his stomach, which knotted each time he'd spot Myra anywhere near the other squire. Could she fall for Cal? Would she out of boredom, or a way to strike back, or...?

Her hand cupped against his upper arm, fingers softly trailing around his bicep, "Look at you, barely out of the abbey and you're already at the hate stage with someone. I take it back, you're not singing rabbits nice."

Wrapping his fingers overtop of hers, Gavin lightly pushed them tighter against his skin. His arm was flexed, the muscle prodding up higher than usual, and when Myra's fingers met it her eyes flared open a moment. "Thank you," he whispered, "now, we should probably head back to camp before night falls."

Myra stepped back from him, both of her hands slipping away as a chill of the shadowed forest world filled in her wake. "You go on back, I'm heading home."

"Why?" he shook his head, growing exhausted with her stubbornness. What in the Maker's name was bothering her?

"Just..." she was up on her toes, looking as if she wanted to bolt back into the trees or scamper away like a startled deer. "I can't, I can't go back there because..." Wrapping a hand around the nape of her neck, Myra seemed to be trying to wring all the fear out of herself. "Because then I'll have to apologize to her. Let her win. Have her sit there smug. Or worse, do nothing and just wait for them all to do it again. Laugh as if it's nothing, make snide remarks because they think they're so Maker damn hilarious."

Fully lost, Gavin could only shake his head in confusion. He wanted to help but... Leaning towards her without shifting his feet, he said, "Then ignore them."

Myra glared her full wrath upon him, the anger so raw it was a wonder he didn't combust, "Because that helps. Oh no, the dam's sprung a leak. Ignore it, it'll fix itself eventually. And I hope you all know how to swim."

"Don't talk to them, avoid them, whoever them is. I assume you can," Gavin didn't know much about her schedule but she seemed to make it at whim.

Dropping her hands, Myra began to pace about in a circle, "I guess..." She stopped and a smirk lifted her lips, "Bet I can sneak some ink into her powder pot too. Leave her cheeks stained black as tar." The Myra he knew was in there, her eyes sparkling with the thought of getting even. Gavin wished he could be that cutting, the anger sometimes building to such a point his stomach would churn for days. But he never did a thing about it, just left it to fester.

"But..." Myra turned away from her evil scheming, her chin dropping to her chest. "There's still Rosie. Pretty, perfect princess." Each P spat through the air like the snap of a crossbow drawstring. Suddenly she paused in her agitated pacing and hurt eyes lifted from the dropped brow to stare at Gavin. "Beautiful Rosie."

She was aiming it at him, putting it on him, but he had no idea why. Trying to not look back as if it was meant for someone behind, Gavin lifted a shoulder and half his face in a shrug.

"I heard you," she didn't raise her finger at him in accusation, the fire quenched by a confounding darkness upon her brow, "heard you and the other squires talking about Rosie, about how she's so beautiful."

Gavin's nostrils flared, his brain trying to scamper away as he remembered only a sliver of the disgusting conversations the squires would strike up about any woman to cross their path. "Myra, it isn't..."

"I heard you, they asked you what you thought of Rosie. Princess Rosamund, with hair as black as midnight and lips red as a rose. Skin of some kind of fruit, I forget what exactly. Apple maybe? Point being, you said it." Tears rose in her meadow green eyes, Myra wrapping her arms around herself as she gasped out, "You said she's beautiful."

"I did," he admitted. There seemed little point in denying it.

"And why not?" Myra slapped her hand into her elbow, "Huh? Who wouldn't want her? I mean, she's smart, she's going to be Queen, she's rich, she's...beautiful." The agitated girl stopped rocking back and forth on her feet, her entire body screeching to a halt as her head snapped down. He couldn't see but he heard tears in her voice, "You better move quick though."

"What?" Gavin shook his head. He was getting tired of being completely lost in these discussions.

"She's already got one marriage proposal under her skirt. There's likely to be a ton more now that the gate's opened up," Myra drew a finger against her nose, trying to mop up the mess of tears and snot.

Reaching out, Gavin cupped his hands against her arms. "Myra..." he began, but she wouldn't lift her head. "I have no interest in your sister."

"What?" her face whipped up. The eyes were red stained, but the look etched in them was all cross. If he dared lie to her, she'd smite him on the spot. "But you said..."

"That she's beautiful, yes," Gavin was wincing at his choice of words. "Like a porcelain vase you keep stashed away in a cupboard, or a ship out across the ocean. I...I've always thought beautiful referred to something meant for viewing at a distance. Striking in appearance but never for," his palms soothed up and down her arms, "for touch."

Her eyes narrowed tight, "You expect me to believe you don't understand what beautiful means? Especially when describing a girl?"

"I've...I've read a lot of books, but haven't, um..." Maker's breath, how much had his haphazard schooling gotten him into trouble this time? Okay, so don't go calling women beautiful. It just leads to a huge problem down the line. What was he supposed to use? Attractive? Or was that one even worse.

Myra's tears stalled, her tongue dancing over her lips in thought while the forest breeze ruffled between them. "What...?" she spoke up, "What'd you say about me? If you had to because the guys made you talk about it." She tacked on the last sentence fast, her eyes hunting through the underbrush, too scared to land upon his.

"That," Gavin's heart slowed, a thousand paths erupting from outside of him. Each one he feared would end in disaster. "You're pretty."

"Pretty?" she practically spat as if the word burned.

"Pretty as a meadow flower. You turn towards the heat of the sun because you always face everything head on with a vengeance. You bloom after the rains, sorrow and pain never clinging except to invigorate you. And your smile...it's a cooling breeze tinted with jasmine and lavender swiping away a long day of work off my brow. I..."

Oh Andraste, she was staring at him and he couldn't tell why. How badly did he just mess that up? "And you can see why I never talk to anyone, have never really talked to anyone. I'm, I'm a fool and simple farm boy."

Myra smiled, her eyes lighting up as she unfolded her arms and drew one up his arm, "You're not a fool, you're far from simple." She leaned closer to him until he was lost in the depths of her field-by-sunrise eyes. Laughing a moment, she wet her lips and whispered, "But you are really nice."

Tugging her forward, Gavin pressed his trembling mouth to hers. Her smile melted as she softened her lips to pucker against his, unwinding memories of his youth when everything was simple and pure. Myra's hand wrapped around his cheek, her fingers pulsing along his jaw as she raised up on her toes to lengthen the kiss. It was better than he remembered, a sense of belonging rising up from his stomach as she tilted her head to the right and lightly opened her mouth.

Gavin lapped his hot tongue with hers only for a beat, moving the two young lovers further along than they ever managed when they were thirteen. A noise rumbled in Myra's throat, her moaning causing his body to react and beg for more. With a regretful pop, he pulled back, but his fingers never left her, and she didn't release him.

Her lips were pinker than a strawberry, the bottom one slightly parted as if she had no idea what to make of this. "So," Myra began, waffling back and forth on her toes even as her fingers climbed up to rub against his hair. Maker, the way she softly drew her palm back and forth over his scalp was mesmerizing. He couldn't think, could barely remember to breathe at the contact.

"You started it this time," she said, a laugh in her voice but the concern was evident in her eyes.

"I did," he admitted, tipping his head down.

"Do you..." Her hand drifted off his head to land squarely upon a shoulder, "Are you already thinking it was a bad idea?"

Yes. You promised. You swore that you'd never put yourself into this situation again.

But it's Myra. She's not...she's safe. She's sweet. She's... Gavin cupped his palm against her cheek and pushed some of her freed hair behind her ear. She's a meadow flower.

"No," he said, nearly all of him certain of it.

Myra gasped out a laugh and bonked her pointy nose into the end of his. Giggling at the foolish move, she pressed another kiss to his lips while her fingers moved to cup down to his biceps. In the middle of her filling his body with heat, she gave a quick squeeze. Whatever she enjoyed out of it made her back tremble. Breaking off the kiss, Myra locked her hands around behind his neck, her chest pressed to his.

"Was this just a one or two time thing? Needing to relive the past or...?"

He always liked her more than he knew he should. She was the daughter to the King, she lived on the other side of the country. The mere idea of him being with her seemed to set his father's teeth on edge. And yet, she was often on his mind. He'd press his mother for information about what Myra got up to, then have to feign indifference when she wondered why they weren't writing to each other anymore.

Swallowing deep, Gavin stared into the eyes that sparkled through his thoughts, "No. I don't think it is."

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, a smile stretching wide until those sheer cliff of cheekbones softened. "Good," Myra said loudly, then coughed and tried to drag her voice down, "I mean, should be fun. Right? It was always lots of fun."

"Yeah," he nodded, his heart beating faster, the noise deafening against his ears, when he remembered her chest was yet pressed up against his. Was it trying to communicate through his ribs to hers?

Foolish. Don't act like a country rube, Gavin.

"Does this mean you're going to stay with the caravan?" he asked.

Myra rolled her eyes and stepped back from him, but her fingers threaded through both of his hands to maintain contact, "I was never going to run away back home, and Rosie knew it too."

"That's probably why she didn't send me," Gavin said, one of his goofy smiles lifting his lips. Myra giggled at the sight and tried to match it in kind. "Also," he dropped one of her hands to point towards the east, "you were heading in the wrong direction."

"Ah." She rolled her head around on her shoulders then shrugged, "City girl, through and through. I hope you know how to get us out of these woods."

"I have some idea, and if we get lost I think I know someone who can climb up the trees to look around," he said, butting his face against her cheek and pressing a silly kiss to it. Inside his heart was singing with joy, finally happy to admit to the world that yes he really did want this. But his brain sulked in the corner pointing to his promise and his wish to be a knight. This was going to be a problem, unless he was very very careful.

Myra began to tug them back the way they came, their hands clasped together. Trying to shake off the doom and gloom, Gavin let the last ray of the sun land upon his face before he trailed after into the forest's shadows. Suddenly, Myra froze and she gasped.

Gavin whipped around to see if there was a pack of wolves or a bear nearby but she snickered, "I just realized every single girl at every single stop here on out is going to haaate me." He had no idea how to respond, but Myra laughed, "Good thing I don't give a shit."

By the time they emerged out of the forest, they'd dropped their hands and walked staggered apart -- though they stopped about a dozen times to kiss, savoring in the old found thrill. Gavin looked up surprised to find Rosamund standing right where she was left behind what had to be over an hour ago, but Myra seemed to expect it.

"Hey sis!" she called, waving her hand madly through the air.

"Sweet merciful Maker, Myra. I was a damn mess fretting about you and..." the Princess' lashing tongue froze as she stared down at Myra's chest, "What in Andraste's blessing happened to your clothes?"

"Uh..." Myra glanced over at the far muddier Gavin, who sort of transferred that dirt to her when they were kissing. A lot. Which was the last thing either of them wanted to tell the princess. "Fell," Myra said instead. "I was running through the trees like an idiot and missed the landing. Took down the squire here too, flat onto his stomach to save me. Sorry about that, squire," she reached over to slap him on the back and laughed.

"It's...it's quite alright," Gavin could feel his cheeks lightening up from the lie and also the secret.

"Go get changed, the launders will need to work on that as soon as possible," Rosamund was in full tongue clucking mode, "And...give them the helpful Squire's clothing as well."

Myra paused in her steps and turned to eyeball up Gavin. "What? Like, right now? Strip him clean off?"

The Princess groaned, a hand placed to her forehead, "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah," Myra laughed, already breaking into a run to get to her tent and change.

Gavin was about to follow when the Princess placed her dainty hand upon his forearm, freezing him in his tracks. Her eyes were focused upon her sister as she said, "Thank you, for bringing her back. I know Myra can be a handful but...I worry about her."

"Do you ever tell her that?" It slipped out of Gavin's mouth before he realized who he was talking to.

Rather than admonish him, Rosamund's brow clouded and her eyes drifted to the ground. "No," she whispered before snickering, "because I imagine Myra would turn it into a joke somehow."

That was fair, and probably true. Bowing his head, Gavin turned towards his tent where there was a fresh non-muddied shirt and trousers waiting for him. Also a roommate he'd have to be swearing to secrecy. The last thing he needed was the rest of the squires finding out he was involved with the king's daughter. He'd either never hear the end of it from Cal, or receive even more harassment from Ser Daryan.

_Maker's breath. What did he just walk into?_

## Chapter Thirty-One

### Comfy

With her one hand in the air, Myra's head bobbed like a ship on the river when Gavin took a deeper breath. Her eyes darted from where she'd been staring at her fingers to look up his nose. Honestly, it wasn't a bad view. It should be, staring up a boy's nose, but... Her toes curled down where they mixed with his at the thought. She could stare up her boy's nose. Also he was so damn cute he made it work, his elongated nostrils reminding her of one of those fancy caves that'd be home to some ancient chantry relic.

"Neat, huh?" she said, instead of her cave thought. Purple light danced from one finger to the next, Myra doing her party trick for the boy she curled up beside. The bedroll was barely big enough for him, never mind the pair, so she was partially on the ground. With her leg hooked around his and her body turned fully on the side, it almost worked.

Gavin's warm fingers slid up from her wrist to circle her palm. With serious focus, Myra lifted the magic fire higher so not to touch him while he so very wonderfully touched her. Purple light burst off her fingertips as if her nails could spew glittery death. "You're still practicing?" the boy below her whispered, his voice dangerously deep. If he dropped it any lower, she'd have to devour him. It was tent law.

"When I can," she dipped her fingers up and down as if she was playing an invisible lute, the fire dancing with her. Shaking her hand to douse the flame, Myra stared at the puffs of smoke, the only proof she'd conjured anything into this world. "There's not a lot of time..."

Gavin chuckled as he cupped a palm against her cheek and slowly pushed back the hair, "My mother would be happy to hear that."

"Oh?" Without the fire to keep her distracted, Myra lay her head upon his chest, losing herself to the slow tug of his gentle tips drawing from the apple of her cheek back towards her ear. At that, he'd trace all around the edge, before thumbing her longer earlobes and then returning to start again. It was hypnotizing bliss.

"I think she enjoyed teaching you, having someone to share her magic secrets with. My dad, he...he worries about it. A lot."

"That she'll suddenly go power mad and try to take over the world?"

She meant it lighthearted but Gavin winced, "That others would find out the truth and come for her."

Those templars. Hunted mages. Did things to them. Could do things to stop them. Myra read about the bad old days in a few books the moment her magic appeared. But that was ages ago, all the mage prisons long since abolished. It was silly to think people'd care now.

"But, there's mages all over the place. Like food on a stick guy, and I know another who runs a nursery...for plants, not babies. Though if anyone could grow a baby in say a rutabaga patch it'd be a mage."

Gavin shrugged, his amber eyes staring at the roof of his tent, "I'm not certain if logic has any place within my father's fears."

"Sounds like my mom," Myra huffed, but she didn't want to think about Reiss, or her dad. The former would get all smug if she learned about her daughter and the Rutherford boy, but her dad... Could castles catch on fire from one man cursing up a storm? Cause that was likely to happen. He only caught them once, and all but forbid her to even glance over at the gangly boy she was sharing a summer or two with. Myra obeyed his orders for about two hours, after that she didn't tell him.

She suspected her mother knew, because her mother knew blighted damn near everything. But she never told on her daughter. They had their own secrets they'd keep for each other.

"Maker's breath," Myra moaned, stretching her free arm across Gavin's chest. It was hard as a taut drum skin, but she could bury her head into his pec and find the perfect cushion.

"Something wrong?" his fingers froze, rising off of her hair.

"This is so comfy," she mumbled, her lips skirting over his less than clean shirt. "Can I fall asleep here?"

"Middle of the day, no one's looking for us, we're well camped, your sister is busy with exploring the latest sinkholes," Gavin quickly recapped all the things Myra knew. Brushing back her hair, his hands drew to land upon her back and tug her closer. "I don't see why not."

They hadn't worked out anything sophisticated for their little kissing interludes. Myra often drifted in and out of his wake, trying to find a time when he wasn't knee deep in squire duties, before yanking him into the forest to suck his lips off. If the others caught on, they didn't give any hint. Cal looked like he wanted to say something smart the last time Myra walked into a gathering of all the squires, but one withering look from her and he shut up. Or it was the ant colony she dumped into his bedroll. Hard to say, really.

This was nice. He was nice. There'd been a few other boys over the years Myra tried to steal a kiss or two from, but they were often like a suckerfish with lips. Their approach was to latch onto her mouth with theirs and slobber all over the place. Gavin was sweet, a bit shy, but he was always holding her while doing it. Hands against her cheeks, threading through her hair, rubbing her knee. How a boy barely capable of dancing managed to be that certain in kissing a girl she'd never get.

But she'd sure try to get it every chance she could.

"What do you think Rosie's doing right now?" Myra mused.

"Here I thought you'd fallen asleep."

She twisted her heavy head around to plant her chin into him, "Afraid you'd have to carry me out?"

Gavin smiled, "I think I could manage."

"I dunno, I may look tiny but there's a lot of muscle on these bones," she lifted up her arm, made a fist, and drew it back to try and emphasize her bicep. He skirted his fingers over the nowhere near as jaw dropping ones he had.

"Maybe you'll have to carry me," he whispered, his touch drawing from her arm to her cheek. With barely a whisper, his fingers guided her face up to his lips. Greedy for a never ending supply, Myra dove into the kiss. A warmth tumbled in her stomach that competed with the pile of hatching butterflies. Each flutter gargled up to her throat as she had to keep reminding herself this was real. She was really kissing him.

Her body taking control, Myra slid up to drape her leg over Gavin until she was straddling him. At the pressure, his eyes opened a moment, lips dipping back from hers. Sliding up higher, Myra placed both her hands beside his head and moved to kiss him again. Like the genteel man he was, Gavin drew his hands along the small of her back, not even making a pretend play for anything lower.

With a silly laugh she dropped her lips lower, about to taste him again, when the flap to the tent popped open and his dwarven roommate waltzed in without a second thought. He must have had his sight focused on something in his hands, because it took a moment before the dwarf glanced over and smiled slyly.

"So..." Snowy chuckled while Myra felt a blush burning through her entire skin. She tried to slide off of Gavin, while he was all but shoving her away to try and hide her from the roommate. "This is what you do while the rest of us are working."

"I..."

"Say no more," Snowy held a hand up, a smile permanently stuck to his lips, "Can't blame you, but a little warning might be nice."

"We weren't doing anything," Gavin's brow clouded, his voice crackling like thin ice.

The dwarf yanked off one glove, then the other, and quietly laid both upon a pile of clothing. For a beat, his eyes darted over to Myra who wished she knew a spell to melt herself into the ground. Then Snowy focused on Gavin, "Sure you weren't. You were both looking for treasure together...in your mouth."

Gavin groaned, his head flopping back hard into the ground. He kept digging the heels of his palms into his eyes as if to expunge the fact they got caught. Should she leave? Scamper away and try to pretend she was elsewhere? Myra stared around the messy tent wishing for any kind of help.

"Are you going to tell anyone?" she asked, her head tipped to the side. She wanted to seem imposing, but it was hard to pull off while half of her was eclipsed by Gavin.

After closing up his kit, Snowy turned over and really focused on her. "You're the king's kid, right? The not going to be a ruler one."

"Yeah," she gulped. Would he tell her father? Or worse. Would he blackmail them to keep from telling her dad, and then tell him anyway?

"That position's a pain in the ass," Snowy tipped his head to her in a strange understanding. "Not important but too important to be normal." Turning away from them, he finished whatever he needed to get, "No, far as I know I came into my tent and found my roomie fast asleep. Which is what I thought I'd find, in truth. Aren't you due for the night shift?"

"I'll get to it," Gavin said.

"Don't know what you said to Ol 12 Bottles, but she's really got it out for you now. Dropping you into the death hour where she ain't need to see nor hear from you. What did you do?"

Myra felt Gavin's body stiffen tight, his eyes gazing around the room, "I told her the truth."

"Ah shit, farm boy. That's the worst of them all," Snowy shook his head at the foolish move before yanking up the overfilled bag with whatever he needed to get. "Welp, you two have fun. But not on my bed." At that he waggled a finger at the pair of them as if they ever thought to.

The dwarf began to walk to the door, when Gavin twisted onto his knees and tried to chase after. "You're not bothered at all?"

"What? That you found yourself someone?" Snowy smirked, "I'm just surprised it took this long. Gonna put a crimp in my style, though I assume you'll keep being your blubbering self around strange women that I can swoop in and charm away."

The back of Gavin's entire neck flushed, no doubt even more circling his cheeks, but Myra couldn't see them. "Most likely," he admitted.

"And now you have something to come back to when you utterly fail," the dwarf's hand gestured back to Myra who was beginning to feel more like a scrap of meat dogs kept fighting over. "But, if you're going to...ya know, leave a sock outside the door. I'll get the message and find somewhere else to sleep."

"What?" Gavin gasped, his head craning in shock from the implications. "No, that's..."

"Bye," Snowy waved cheerfully before vanishing outside.

Gavin remained perched upon his knees staring at his fingers as if they were covered in filth. Sliding up to her hip while twisted on her side, a fist cushioning her head, Myra stared hard at him. "So...you and the dwarf team up together to pick up women?"

Whatever had Gavin ensnared shattered and he turned to look at Myra. His eyes were stretched so wide she could probably fit a copper into both and have room to spare. "No, no, I swear. I have no idea what he's talking..."

Myra snorted at the sincerity radiating off of him like the sun. "I know. There's no way you'd think of such a plan or go along with it." Gavin's panicked look faded and he nodded to emphasize that she was right. He was far too sweet for something so nefarious.

Tapping her chin in thought, Myra added, "Though I bet he is using you."

"What?"

"Finding the handsomest squire in the bunch, propping him up to pull the women in like honey to flies. Then snatching one or two away because even the biggest honeypot can't take them all on."

That goofy, cheesy grin returned, Gavin's head dropping down as he watched his fingers interlocking. Carefully, he inched closer to her, each hand padding across the ground before he stopped right above her. Myra lay back, stretching to claim his bed for her own.

"You think I'm handsome?"

"We are not playing this game again," Myra snorted, shutting her eyes.

"Handsomer than the others? Handsomer than...Cal?"

At that she gagged, "Ugh, maggots growing out of dead carrion on the side of the road are more handsome than Cal."

Gavin scrunched up his face, clearly not believing her. Sitting up fast, Myra drew her fingers up and down his sides. It took a few passes before a laugh erupted from him. Two more, then a dozen, two dozen, he was gasping for air as she tickled both taut, muscle strewn areas of his chest. The fact that his eyes would bug a bit, and he'd grin with all those white teeth made Myra feel better. She liked this Gavin a lot. She didn't know what to make of the stern, handsome one yet.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed onto her one wrist, then the other. Easily lifting both away from their ticklish assault, Gavin leaned down until he was but a breath away from her lips. "You're cute too," he whispered before kissing her. Lost in the touch of his lips softening as they drifted into hers, Myra felt her hands flop out of his grip.

One locked around his cheek, tugging him deeper into the kiss. The other however...

Fingertips danced up and down her sides, darting like minnows leaping in a creek through the gaps in her ribs and back down. "Damn it," Myra struggled, her lips pursing to keep the giggles in, but Gavin wouldn't stop kissing her. Even as he had to be meeting nothing but lipless skin he refused to stop. "Damn you!" Myra shouted, the laughter escaping in a final blow. Her body twisted back and forth on his pallet, both trying to escape and languishing in the attention.

"I like it when you laugh," Gavin stated the obvious, finally pulling his treacherous tickling fingers from her side.

Trying to cling back to some semblance of civility, Myra smoothed her hands back over her face. Tendrils of long blonde hair whipped around it, all of which refused to return to her braid. "So...you can either take a nap before your shift," she said, her fingers slowly spidering up the arm keeping him aloft. "Or, we could make out some more."

He answered by dipping down and kissing her.

## Chapter Thirty-Two

### Sinking

It was a great sinkhole, another chunk in the ground that opened up to reveal tattered deep roads below. They'd been happening on and off for a decade now, the first few little cause for concern. Sometimes crumbling occurred. But as they began to mount not only in Ferelden but Nevarra, Antiva, the Free Marches, Orlais -- all of thedas was starting to wonder just what was happening and did it have anything to do with the dwarves fleeing to the surface?

For now, all Rosie could see was a big, black hole that led to nothing. The mayor kept pointing at it as if she should have some easy answer or explanation, but aside from putting up a warning sign there didn't seem to be much. They couldn't very well fill the hole with dirt, it stretched practically three hundred feet down. Maker, how did the dwarves saddle them with so many problems? Which they were doing their best to obfuscate solving in favor of tradition. Her father hadn't formed an official stance yet as King, but she often heard him shouting, "Maker damn dwarves. If it's not siccing golems on us, or that corpse building creature, it's blowing up their own damn homes out from underneath us. What do they want, a hug?"

"Well," the mayor waved again, but all Rosamund could do was grimace. They wouldn't let her anywhere close to the hole, their Princess kept a good twenty feet back for safety, but she could see a sliver of the red runs still glowing deep below.

"I shall," she turned to him and in doing so her eyes cast across the vista behind. A few of her guards paced the grounds, as did the local militia who were mostly there as a show of force, but what caught her eyes was the dark woman leaning up against a tree. She had her arms crossed tight into her pits, her head tipped down in thought. When she felt Rosie's curious eyes, Anjali lifted her face and winked.

Trying to shake off the thought, Rosie said, "I shall inform my father of this newest occurrence the moment I return to Denerim."

"Occurrence? It's a blighted bleedin' hole to the undercroft right below our fields. Last thing we need is some damn druffalo breaking a leg or falling down it."

"I..." she began, wanting to tell the man that there was nothing she could do, when Avery inserted himself. He was often at her heel, only giving Rosamund a few free moments before bed where she could be truly alone with herself.

When you take that crown, you'll never know them again.

But that was years down the line. Decades, most likely.

While the advisor promised the mayor the moon without making anything tangible, Rosie wandered off towards her people. She nodded her head at the guards who had a hand upon the hilt of their sword but boredom in their eyes. They gazed at nothing but a darkening horizon. The sun would remain up for a few more hours, but it was falling behind the high hills of Redcliffe. After a long day of listening to the plight of the small town man, all Rosie wanted to do was slip out of her tight dress and curl up to sleep. Maybe savor a warm mug of tea spiked with Tess' special lemon juice.

She felt the dark umber eyes upon her, and Rosie turned towards the assassin who didn't need to be here. No one told her she couldn't be, but it was rather obvious the advisors all considered her a nuisance at best, a danger at worst. Strange for her to remain hovering around them like this.

"What do you make of the holes emerging across thedas?" Rosamund began as a conversation starter.

Anjali drew her thumb across her lips. It was a languid swipe as if she was going to color it but had no pigment in place. "Don't know. Never worried about them before. Haven't seen one either, until now. It's very...holey."

Rosie's smile strained at the pun; she'd been smiling through Maker awful jokes for what had to be weeks now. "You have no opinion, no thoughts on what could be forming them?"

Snorting, Anjali leaned a touch closer, "If it ain't my problem, I don't concern myself with it."

"Must be an easy life," she sighed, thinking of every problem weighed upon her.

Anjali shrugged, "Not really, but it's all I've got."

"If you don't mind my asking," Rosie began, turning to face her fully.

She snorted, "Oh Maker, anyone starts with that and you know you're going to mind. But...you're nice to look at, especially with the red sun dancing through your black hair like that."

Tipping her head down, Rosie tried to fight back the blush she felt. Maybe that could be blamed on the red sun as well. After getting control of herself, she honed in on Anjali's eyes. "Why did you become an assassin?"

A snort broke through Anjali's nose, her lips lifting in a protective smile as she ran her fingertips over the back of her nails. "Right to that one, huh? Don't want to ask me when my birthday is? My favorite color?" Her eyes smoldered and her voice dipped down into a growl, "What I like in bed?"

Glaring, Rosamund folded her arms. She'd been trying to be respectful of the woman, but her inability to say who this supposed attacking assassin was or give any hints was wearing greatly upon her.

"Right," Anjali held her hands up, "fine. Don't want to piss off a Princess, got it. By the by, if you're going to execute me, sharpen the headsman's axe. I may have a thin neck, but it's strong."

The never unnerved assassin began to pace back and forth through the grass left untended beside a shade tree. She seemed to be speaking something in her native tongue, her hands rolling with the words to get them all right before turning to Rosie, "Tell me something. Why did you become a princess?"

"I was born into it," she blinked in confusion at the obvious, "I don't really have a choice."

"They like to make us think we don't have choices, but we all do. You could run away. Walk up to your father and tell him, King Sir, I do not wish to be Queen. Then book it to Antiva, or maybe Tevinter." Anjali suddenly tipped her head to the side, "Those diaphanous robes they wear up in Tevinter would practically kiss your body."

"Anjali..." Rosie prompted, wanting an answer.

"I didn't have a choice either, not really. What skills I had lent me out to this line of work. Everyone's got to eat and...I suppose I didn't want to do anything else."

"Nothing? What about something honest?"

She snorted, "This is honest work. You tell me to kill someone, I kill them, you give me money. Sounds no less honest than the dock worker, or the tax collector, or the prostitute."

It sounded cruel to her. To view life so cheaply that one can easily decide to cut it away in exchange for a few coins.

"There it is, that judging look. Knew it'd pop up eventually," she jabbed a finger at Rosie who tried to shake it away but was too late. "Tell me Princess, what about your hole problem?"

"What about it?"

The assassin shrugged, "What are you going to do to fix it?"

"I'm not..." she hung her head down and sighed, "I don't know."

"And in the meantime, while all the politicians are arguing out in their high towers if the problem's even worth fixing, some hapless farmer could fall down it and break his neck. Does that seem like honest work to you? Man's got to eat. Fields got to be plowed. Crops planted. Be down right stupid to give up all this land just because there's a hole in it."

Rosie glared at the hole. It seemed such a minor nuisance all things considered. Stay away from it. Easy. Problem solved. But Anjali was right. People wouldn't keep away, people never kept away. Gulping, her eyes turned back to the assassin. Even if you told them that it was dangerous, even if they knew in their heart it was. Some people couldn't stay away.

"At least in my dishonest work, I get paid for it and can travel to exotic locations like a dirt field," she raised her hands to encompass the area and shouted so loud a few of the townsfolk looked over and glared. "What say you to that, Princess?"

She took in a slow breath, listening to the beat of her heart, "That there is some validity in your words."

That caught the woman fully off balance, Anjali stumbling back a moment. "You...you're a crafty one," she said, gesticulating at Rosie. "I'll have to keep my eye on you."

"I haven't stopped you yet," Rosie responded, the words slipping free from every constraint she kept in place. Her body froze in place at the easy nature she shared with this woman -- the banter, the...foolish words. Implications hammered upon her mind like icicles tumbling off the eaves of the castle archways. If anyone knew...

Anjali didn't smarm back. She slipped her luscious bottom lip into her mouth and her white teeth bit down onto it. "Good to, ahem, hear."

Her cheeks fully burning and her gut churning, Rosie moved to head back to her fellow advisors, when she glanced over at Anjali. "But if you could, would you give up being an assassin?"

"If a better offer came along, sure," her smile raised higher, "I just haven't gotten it yet."

"My Lady!" Avery's petulant whine broke through the heady air, Rosie twisting to see what he wanted when darkness erupted from out of the hole. It looked like a nest of bats escaping to do their nightly hunting, or a deadly fog leeching from a hole in a swamp. But both of those would have been preferable to what she spotted rising from the exposed deep roads.

"Holy shit!" someone screamed, "Darkspawn!"

Avery turned to glance over his shoulder, no doubt about to crack a laugh at the idea, when his jaw fell slack. A white face, the skin cracked like dying dirt so black oozed where normal blood would be, lashed its tongue near Avery's face before it drew back a sword and stabbed it right through the man's reedy chest.

"No!" Rosamund cried, about to run forward when she felt an arm upon her. They were trying to keep her safe as the ground erupted. A dozen genlocks, ten hurlocks, and what she could only assume was a shriek all leapt out of the hole. Fingers dug into spines, feet into hips as they all climbed over top of each other to get free of the hole.

"Mayor," one of the archers along the side shouted, trying to wave the man back. An arrow flitted through the air, sticking right into the throat of a genlock rising from the earth. Digging his heels in, the mayor ran back towards the trees and the safety of the archery line.

Snarling, the darkspawn grabbed onto Avery's dead shoulder and shoved the body forward off of his sword. Caring not a whit for the man it murdered, the creature turned to eye up the rest of the militia trying to unsheathe their swords and prepare for battle. Rosie's heart beat rapidly in her chest. She'd heard tales of darkspawn her whole life. How her father fought them off and saved Ferelden. They were as real to her as the bogeyman was, a dangerous creature that flitted through an excited girl's closet or under her bed. An excuse to keep her busy father with her for a few more minutes while he pretended to kill them. This wasn't right. This shouldn't be happening.

"Protect the Princess," a guard ordered and she caught the gritted jawline of the male Knight sent with her. Where was the female one? Where was everyone?

"Someone needs to send for help, for reinforcements!" Rosie shouted, trying to look back to where the campsite was.

"We have to protect the village!" one of the militia shouted, her hands waving the sword as menacingly as she could.

The darkspawn took stock of their new surroundings, each one hobbling like their spine didn't fit inside their body. As a pack, they fanned out, the one that killed Avery the closest to a leader as they came. It launched forward, snarling to sink its rotted teeth into Rosamund, but the knight met its attack first.

Instinctively, Rosie stepped forward, but the hand tugged her back harder. "Damn it," she tried to shake it away and turned to find it wasn't a guard, a squire, or even the militia pinning her in place but Anjali. The woman had one hand sliding along the hilt of her dagger, but every time she tried to yank it free, it'd collapse back into the sheathe.

Shit, the ties!

As the darkspawn shattered into the humans like a wave beating into the shore, Rosie tried to shrink back into the tree line, her fingers gripping onto Anjali's. The assassin's eyes were stark white and widening as she watched the utter contempt darkspawn showed on the field. It was like trying to fight an armed weasel. No finesse, no sportsmanlike conduct, just brutal killing at all costs.

A man's scream erupted through the air, churning Rosie's guts along with the stench of blight, poisoned flesh, and blood. There seemed to be no goodness left in the world as the battle and fetid smells of darkspawn encompassed them. "You," Rosie dashed over to one of the militia archers. He turned at the sight of her, but didn't put down the bow. "I need a knife, dagger, something."

"Your Majesty, this is not a fight you should enter," he ordered, launching an arrow towards a hurlock. It bounced off the metal backplate the creature slapped on. The twisted monster found it hilarious, throwing its head back and shrieking in laughter.

"It's not for me, it's for..." Rosie glanced over to spot Anjali watching a line about to buckle. The militia weren't trained for this, no one was, not in decades. No one fought darkspawn anymore! Sensing its inevitable doom, the assassin gave up on yanking free her blades and dropped her hands into position as if she could hope to punch a hurlock to death.

"Blighted hell," Rosie cursed. Not caring how improper it was, she reached inside of the archer's vest, her hand skimming over his chest. The bow wobbled in his fingers as his eyes darted over to her, but she didn't give a shit. It took her a few random grabs at thin air before she felt it. A leather grip sticking out of something. Wrapping her palm around it, Rosie drew forth a small knife. It wouldn't work for a defense, but it was all she needed.

"Princess!" the archer shouted as Rosie turned on her heel and ran after Anjali. The assassin was eyeing up a genlock that in turn stared her down. Its red eyes darted to her empty hands and it grinned, the dagger point teeth chittering in a laugh. Hurling its sword back against its shoulder, it made a run for Anjali.

No! Rosie didn't close her eyes, but she felt her heart drop out of her chest as the armed creature's blight-coated sword drew right near Anjali's chest. At the last second, the assassin darted backwards, avoiding the blade. She pivoted in place, punching her fist into the back of the darkspawn's head, but the creature barely blinked, turning around to take her on another time.

Cursing at herself for watching, Rosie dashed across the field, her damn dress whipping against her legs. Anjali looked over at her, her lips mouthing that the Princess was out of her mind, while the genlock too stared. It was a glare of utter contempt and hunger, all it wanted was death to feed its rotten soul. Extending the dagger, Rosie jammed a hand onto Anjali's back and swiped off the first thread.

Catching on quickly, the assassin drew her weapon while Rosie freed the second. With the tables turned, the genlock was being careful. This was the bastard that killed Avery. Anjali slid around, her body trying to block Rosamund from the attack while she cooed at the darkspawn, "Let's see what's in that white skull of yours."

With its sword held high, the genlock rushed towards her -- its throat shrieking nonsense. Its blade swung left, but Anjali countered it with the dagger in her right hand. She threw the monster's sword to the side and with her left dagger, crushed the blade straight down into its skull.

The darkspawn froze in its tracks, its hands dropping to the ground. When its sword struck the grass, the eyes rolled back and it too crumpled to its knees. With a sneer, Anjali yanked her dagger free, black blood burbling out of the hole like a fountain. "Ugh," she groaned, "that smell. It will never escape me."

After trying to whip away the worst of it, she turned around to spot Rosie, her eyes wide, "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she assured her. She did nothing more than cut a piece of twine. It was foolish to worry about her state, but the assassin ran her fingers still clinging to the dagger over top of Rosie's. She wanted to return the sentiment, when she spotted the darkspawn converging upon the militia archer.

Anjali fought her way through them, but when they reached the man he was clutching his arm in agony. "Cut right through me. Can't use it. Get back to safety, warn the others."

His princess nodded. If she roused her people, they could easily take care of these few stragglers. But in the meantime some might slip through and harm the innocents down in the village. What should she do? Rosie's eyes whipped back from the campsite to the village in consternation, when they landed upon Anjali's. This was her honest work.

"You," Rosie ordered to the archer, "can you stand?"

"I think so..." he stumbled to a knee and groaned loudly. Anjali tried to prop him up while Rosie relieved him of his quiver.

"Go back to the village, warn them," Rosamund ordered.

"My Lady," the archer's eyes widened as she plucked up his bow and spun it into place. "What are you doing?"

"What I was born to do. Now go. That's an order from the Princess." The archer stood dumbstruck, his crimson blood splashing into the black ichor strewn upon the ground. Rosie nocked an arrow, her eye sighting down it to find a shriek about to unleash its debilitating scream.

Releasing her hold, the arrow flitted through the air and struck right into the meat of the creature. It screamed all right, but a new kind as its clawed fingers scraped against the shaft of wood sticking out of its throat.

Rosie glanced back over her shoulder to find the archer standing dumbstruck, "Go already."

"Yes, Ser," he saluted and hobbled towards his people.

"'What I was born to do?'" Anjali repeated as she spun her daggers into place.

After firing off another two arrows, both sticking but not fatal, Rosie sighed, "Too much?"

"No, it was...memorable. You're good at this." She wasn't dashing into the fray, but remained by Rosie's side. When a hurlock broke off from the pack to try and attack this new archer, Anjali met him with a knife to the gut.

It wasn't going to be easy, but they were gaining the upper hand. Rosie kept her barrage up, her aim growing truer as she found the bow's favor. Arrows sunk deep into eyes and chests, real ones instead of dots painted onto the side of straw. They had this, they could win. She made the right call after all.

Reaching behind her, Rosie's fingers flitted through the air to find an arrow but knocked around nothing until she could snag only one. With weary eyes, she sighted it against the last darkspawn, when the knight's shield bashed so hard into his jaw, the head tipped backwards and something internal must have snapped. When the creature fell, the head landed at a disgusting angle, its entire body collapsing and not getting up.

They did it. They won. Rosie reached over to try and pat Anjali on the back, her final arrow saved, when a rumbling rose out of the ground. Gritting her teeth, Rosie nocked the final arrow and waited. When the mass rose up, all the blood drained from her face.

Twice as many darkspawn as before, all armed and ready for death, clambered out of the deep roads. She guessed wrong. A final foolish chuckle rolled in Rosie's throat as she pulled the bowstring back. There would be no help, no one to stop them but this final pathetic line.

She wasn't going to go down without trying.

Releasing the bowstring, the last arrow stuck right into the lead hurlock's eye. Its head snapped back and it crumbled to its knees.

"Charge!" was probably the last order the Princess of Ferelden would ever give.

## Chapter Thirty-Three

### Fire and Steel

Shadows flitting over the tent walls was the first thing to draw Gavin's attention. He sat up, dragging Myra's mumbling, half-awake state with. Somehow she'd managed to fall asleep while he was left wide awake. Her fingers patted through her hair, trying to draw the braid back around as she wondered aloud what was going on.

A scream answered her.

It sounded of one formed from terror not pain, but both of them scrabbled outside in shock and turned to find people running madly through the maze of tents. "What's going on?" Gavin shouted, trying to see if there was fire or something worse invading the caravan.

Myra grabbed onto his arm and pointed towards the south end of the tents. A mass of pitch black armor was swarming like insects through the crowd. "Is that...?" she stuttered, a hand clamped to her mouth.

Darkspawn.

Ducking into the tent, Gavin quickly snatched up his sword leaving the scabbard where it fell. With the worn leather of the grip conforming to fit with the calluses eroded into his pads, a strange calm washed over him. He could do this. He was trained. He was prepared.

He had to.

Gavin took a step towards the mass, only to have Myra suddenly scream, "Darkspawn." He didn't think, simply threw his sword arm up and met with the wide swing of the hurlock's blade. The grating sound of metal slicing through itself ripped up Gavin's brain, but he held on. Up close these creatures were horrifying beyond anything a morality play could conjure. Skin, white as death, was peeling and flapping in layers off of a body that was nothing but bones. The remaining flesh receded even further from its latch upon the muscles, revealing deep black gums while the snarling lips dripped ichor coated saliva against sharp teeth.

He struggled to maintain a hold, when the stench of a rotting strip of flesh left in the summer sun struck him. It was so overpowering, he had to turn his head to gasp in a breath of proper air before being able to attack. The hurlock seemed to sense that, jabbering forward and stabbing at random with the sword it must have stolen.

"Myra," Gavin reached back blindly with his free arm trying to snag her, "stay behind me."

"What?" she gasped, watching as another two of the smaller darkspawn came lopping down the alley. They extended their swords and kept stabbing haphazardly at tents in the off chance there might be someone hiding inside.

"It's my job to protect you," Gavin explained. His sword bounced off another attack, twisting the hurlock's blade around until it bit into the ground. With a quick thrust forward, Gavin sliced into the creature's throat, the black bile inside spilling out into the grass. It sizzled where it struck, burning the bright greens of summer to a lifeless grey that would never grow again.

Panting, Gavin lifted his sword and eyed up the two oncoming genlocks. Behind him, Myra shouted, "Fine, but is there anything in that job description of yours that says I can't protect you?"

"No," he laughed, "I don't believe so."

"Good," she pressed right against his back, both hands extended above his shoulders. Fire hotter than a lava field erupted off of her fingertips, the spurting flames driving right into the two genlock bodies. They shrieked in agony, Myra's magic burning their skin to a charred black below the burst of red and yellow. Both of the monsters screamed more, dropping to their knees in agony, when Gavin stepped forward, drew back his blade, and beheaded them both.

When she pulled her hands back, the fire sputtered out, both of them staring down at the three dead darkspawn in total confusion.

"Have you ever...?"

"No."

"What are they doing...?"

"I don't know."

Gavin kicked a foot into a charred genlock, but the skin poofed to ash and drifted on the breeze. Okay. So there are darkspawn attacking the camp. What should they do? What would anyone do? "We need to...to get to the other knights. They'll have a plan." It was all Gavin could think of but Myra nodded with it.

"Grab people along the way too," she added, pointing to the tents the darkspawn shredded without thought.

"Right, good point." He kept tossing his sword from one hand to the other, trying to dredge up everything his mother told him about fighting darkspawn. They're inhuman. They never stop, never tire, never need to eat. Your only hope is killing as many as possible.

"Don't!" Gavin suddenly shouted, turning back to the girl who was standing back from the corpses, "Don't drink the blood."

Myra pursed her lips and glared at the stupidity of that statement. His cheeks burned from telling her something probably everyone knew, but Gavin could already hear his parents shrieking at him if he caused Myra to catch the blight. Never mind what her father would do. Gavin wasn't creative enough to dream that punishment up.

Wandering to the side, Myra wrapped her hands around one of the flag poles embedded into the ground. Above them whipped the emblem of Ferelden through the blood stained sky. "Here," she called, sliding both her hands together and dropping them to around five feet off the ground. "Cut this," she ordered.

"Why?" Gavin asked even while doing as she asked. He was in such a state, it took two swings before the bifurcated flagpole tipped over. The flag tumbled to the ground. Was that her plan? To create a rallying banner and raise the troops to fight for their side.

Myra didn't even glance over at her family's crest laying in the dirt. She grabbed onto the pole and with gritted teeth yanked the shorter stick out of the ground. Rolling it off her arms a moment, the flagpole-turned-into-a-staff whipped through the air. "That ought to work," she nodded.

Another scream broke above the rising din of fear, causing both of them to rush towards it. Feet trampled down the grass, people running for their lives. _Maker, please let them make it to safety._ Out of the corner of his eye, Gavin watched the girl he was supposed to be protecting. "You know you can't cast any magic down that," he explained.

"No shit," Myra snorted. Her braid practically extended back off her head as she ran.

"Then what's it for?"

She lifted her head, her entire form locking into place. Snarling, Myra planted a foot and spun faster than any twirling he'd ever seen on a dance floor. The staff in her arms whacked into the hurlock's skull. It tried to counter with its sword but it was both at too great a reach and too slow. Myra smashed into the creature's skull twice more, then used all her upper body strength to crack into a knee. When the hurlock struck the ground, she huffed, "That."

Stepping quickly forward, Gavin finished the creature off with his sword. "Don't you want a blade or...?"

"Shit with blades," Myra said, rotating the staff back to a fighting stance across her shoulders. Suddenly, the girl whipped over at Gavin and gasped, "But don't tell my mom, she thinks it means I hate her."

They made it closer to where the servant tents were supposed to be but the entire clearing erupted with broken cargo and stark white bodies. A mass of darkspawn were converging upon a pile of crates. The sounds of terrified people whimpering in fear as they cowered behind the cargo broke over the creature's snarling. "Oh fuck, Bryn!" Myra tried to hop onto her toes, but she couldn't see anyone. The darkspawn were surging through like a mass of wasps attacking a single creature, but something ahead of them was providing resistance.

So focused on their target, the monsters didn't notice fire bursting from their backs, or a man's sword chopping through spines until Myra and Gavin took down half of the horde. There were no tactics the darkspawn were using, no one leading their fight, just a mass of bodies trying to kill anything in their way. They were more animal than any animal Gavin ever knew.

One turned around, its chittering noise drawing a few others as they moved towards Myra. While casting spells she was unprotected, her fingers raised out to spout fire. And one of them was going to sneak up to the side and flank her while she was so exposed. Gavin screamed, extending his sword above his head as if he went mad, and ran full out towards the flanking darkspawn. Myra whipped her head over at the boy, her hands still feeding the flames that were incinerating most of the horde.

Dropping to a knee, Gavin slid across the blood soaked ground so he could glide right under Myra's arms. He had to tip his head back, the fire burning bright right against his eyes, his cheeks flushed from the power of the flames leaping off her skin. Reaching the end of the slide, he stuck a leg out for balance and swung his sword right into the darkspawn's knees. His move buckled the sneaky one; the monster screaming in rage from the attack, before Gavin silenced it permanently.

Myra's fingers dropped, her body waffling from so much magic spent so quickly. He scrabbled to catch her, the slick ground making it nearly impossible for him to rise, when her eyes lit up. The staff swung through the air and a great crack erupted from behind him.

Gavin turned to find her flagpole embedded into the skull of a genlock that was trying to sneak up on him. Black blood oozed out of the hole she made in the paper thin skull, but what nearly caused him to wretch were the brains the color of a sickly fog clinging to the sawed off end. _Blessed be the Maker..._ Gavin prayed to himself while he finally managed to get to his feet.

She wrapped a comforting arm around his waist, then ripped her staff free from the genlock's cranium. "You okay?" Myra whispered and all he could do was nod dumbly. "Didn't drink any blood on mistake or purpose?" At that he pursed his lips and sneered which caused her to laugh.

Both of them looked at the mass of bodies left dead upon the field. A single hurlock remained, taller than most. It easily met Gavin's height as it stared at the pair of them. With a snigger, it turned on its toes, lifted a giant war hammer, and turned to smash apart the terrified people of the caravan huddling behind their weak barricade.

"No!" Myra screamed, about to unleash her firepower, when a great blade swiped across the hurlock's midsection. Even with armor in the way, the creature was practically bifurcated. Gavin watched in horror as the hurlock's torso tipped to the side following the blade's swing. Intestines tumbled free, all the organs dangling off the front like royal bunting. The great war axe swung back and finished the job.

As the dead darkspawn collapsed to the ground in a pile of exposed viscera, a dwarf with white blonde hair stood as the only bastion against the sea of death. "Snowy!" Gavin cried to his roommate.

The dwarf wiped his hand against his forehead and looked up, "Well, I see you skipped your nap after all." Snowy was forcing on a smile, but he seemed no worse for the wear.

Gavin grabbed onto Myra's hand, trying to help her over the piles of bodies festooned upon the ground, but she had other ideas. Barely caring where or what internal organ her feet struck, Myra dashed towards the pile of terrified servants who were beginning to rise to their feet. "Bryn?!" she shouted, her eyes hunting through them all.

"Here," a trembling hand rose from the mass.

Leaping over the barricade without a thought, Myra moved to wrap her hands around her sort-of sister but the elf balked at all the darkspawn blood. "Sorry," Myra mumbled, "been a little busy getting to you. Are you okay?"

While the two girls caught up, Gavin leaned over to his roommate, "How in the name of the Maker did you manage to kill so many?"

Snowy snickered, "Hardly the Maker's doing. I'm a dwarf. We fight darkspawn."

"But..." he waved a hand out at the easily dozen Snowy had to cut down without anyone watching his back or flank.

"We fight a lot of darkspawn, abbey." He kicked a boot into the top hurlock in the pile and groaned. Turning back to the pile of terrified people, he shouted, "Anyone got a shield?"

A few grumbled uncertainly, their eyes wide and skin paler than moonlight. How many survived because the dwarf grabbed each and herded them? Looking towards the back, Gavin spotted the Prince with his head between his legs. Some of the cooks snatched up kitchen knives and sat around him like a troop of guards to protect their Majesty. Thank the Maker they didn't have to try and use them.

"Here," a voice shouted from the back and a simple wooden shield with the slats barely hammered together slid from trembling hand to trembling hand. When Snowy plucked it up, he turned to Gavin and passed it over.

At the boy's confused look, the dwarf said, "You're gonna need it." He spat upon his hands and yanked up his dropped war axe, "Cause right now all those bastards are swarming upon the weapons cache. And if they get it, well..."

"What about these people?" Gavin pointed at the horde all staring in terror as their only savior was about to abandon them.

Snowy looked over at the ones he just protected and shrugged, "Dunno. Look, this is a raiding party. They burst out of the ground, smash apart a campsite, and loot everything they need. You think they have smith darkspawn? How else do they get all that ordnance they carry about? We don't stop 'em now, they could kill countless others with the shit they swipe."

He made sense, and more than likely the other squires were there as well fighting to protect their stash of arms and armor. Nodding his head, Gavin agreed, "Right. Myra?" Her head whipped away from her friend but her wide eyes narrowed. "Remain with the group, protect them."

"Uh, no," she said, already stepping away from Bryn and sliding over the barricade.

"What do you mean no? I gave you an..." Gavin began before paling at her glare.

Rolling the flagpole in her arms, she stared right at him, "You need me."

_For the love of the Maker._ Gavin groaned, trying to rub away the years of discipline that formed his very soul. "But the Prince is..."

"Hey, Cailan," Myra shouted out of the side of her mouth.

"Ye...yes?" the man stumbled to his feet, wiping away all the mud as best he could.

"Think you can lead all these people down the forest path and towards the village...where they'll be safer than staying here?" She finished the thought by glaring right at Gavin.

"Um," the man swiped a hand through his hair before shrugging, "probably."

"Good, because I'm going to keep our 'protector' from dying."

"Okay then..." Cailan answered, uncertain if this had anything to do with him. He turned to the pile of noncombatants surrounding him and gently clapped his hands. "So, I guess we're off to find this village." A few heads bobbed in agreement, people staggering to their feet.

Myra suddenly whipped over to focus on her brother, "And you better keep Bryn safe too."

Her friend was obviously peeved with being singled out, but Cailan bowed his head and swore, "On my life."

Which was what it could cost him, cost them all if they were found. Blessed Andraste, this was a stupid plan. While the survivors all fanned out, Myra waved her stick in the general direction of the armory, "Well.."

With a shrug, Snowy bounced into his jog to stay ahead, the war axe balanced across his shoulders. Myra followed suit, Gavin taking up beside her. "It's not that I didn't think you capable of this..." he began.

"Save it," she glared around the mass of destroyed tents. At this point they'd all have to huddle under the princess' canvas to escape any rain.

"I only feared for the others, and what they could face--"

"I said, save it," Myra sneered. "I'd rather be at fault for one life than a few dozen, if it's all the same." For a breath, her eyes darted over to his and a storm rolled under them. Far too often he forgot just how much experience Myra had in these matters. Nodding his head slowly, Gavin tried to slide the borrowed shield higher up his arm to reach over and skirt his fingers over hers. She didn't release the grip to her makeshift staff, but she smiled a bit.

"Hey, lovebirds, while we're young and not perforated," Snowy shouted, jerking his head in the direction of the oncoming horde.

It didn't take long to reach the first circle of the encampment, a vast wasteland surrounding their lone wagon loaded down with all the weapons at their disposal. "Huh," Snowy paused in his running and came to a stop, "I was expecting something. This is...eerie."

"Where is everyone?" Gavin glanced around. There should be a pile of squires rushing to defend this place, or the Knights. Where was Ser Daryan?

Snowy shrugged, jammed the end of his war axe into the ground so it stood straight up, then dashed off to one of the wagons on the side. "Hey, abbey, help me with this..." he jerked his head to the side to get Gavin's attention while climbing up and grabbing onto cargo. The first box he shoved off the side, leaving Gavin to stare at it.

"Set up a perimeter," the dwarf circled his fingers around the obvious target and Gavin nodded. Right. He should have known that. Abandoning his weapons, Gavin hauled up the first crate and pulled it into place. Snowy worked fast, shoving more boxes down for Gavin to drag into place.

When the dwarf paused a moment to wipe his brow off, he smiled, "Good, you got it. Make a maze, make it hard for them to get through. You, girly..." he jabbed at Myra who'd been keeping lookout.

She glared at the name, but turned to listen.

"Can you do any magic barrier stuff to protect us?" the dwarf waved his fingers through the air as if it should sparkle, but both Myra and Gavin glared at him. "Or...should I not know she's a mage? Cause ya nearly set Cal on fire and it was damn funny."

"You...?" Gavin whipped back to her and she grimaced.

"Not the time, and no, I can't make a barrier. I never learned."

"Welp, just means more work for you, abbey, and more boxes for me to scrounge up. Anyone need... 'Antique literature from the reign of King Lister'? Didn't think so," Snowy ended with as he hurled the crate off the wagon.

By the time Gavin had three rings with staggered passes circling the main wagon, he finally thought to wonder, "What if the darkspawn aren't coming for our arms?"

"Then we just wasted a lot of time and energy," Snowy chuckled, but Gavin sneered. Somewhere out there people could be in danger and they were here messing around with freight.

"Gavin!" Myra called, extending her staff into the distance. Both dwarf and human leapt off the last wagon of goods to stare where she pointed. Something was moving through the trees. Where did it come from, the forest itself? Was there a hole to the deep roads out there as well?

"I suggest we get behind our crates and fill up on arrows," Snowy said, yanking upon his war axe and slotting it into his arms. Gavin acknowledged it, arming himself as best he could while watching the shadows through the trees. Beside him, Myra took a deep breath, her fingers clenched so tightly to the flagpole the knuckles were nearly paper white. He fumbled to reach over and comfort her.

"What in the hell are you doing?" a voice shouted from behind. All three armed and amped people twisted on their toes, about to cleave the head off of whoever threatened them. Cal raised his blonde eyebrow in nonchalance and glanced at them. "Chucking cargo around. If Ol' Twelve Bottles finds out she'll eat us all alive."

Gavin lowered his weapon, and Snowy did the same, only Myra kept her staff in striking range even as Gavin tried to get her to stop. "Where is Ser Daryan?" he asked, spotting a rash of squires trailing behind Cal. Two of the girls came armed, but another was empty handed, as were the other boys.

"Why should I know?" Cal laughed. "Probably knees up by now. It's nearing nightfall after all." He continued to chortle at his joke and glanced at the others, but they were all too spooked by the obvious signs of battle covering the three who tried to wall themselves off behind a barricade.

"Gavin," one of the female squires asked, "what's going on?"

He took a breath to steady himself, and in an imposing voice answered, "Darkspawn."

Every squire freaked, hands flew to mouths, eyes widened in fear. They were facing darkspawn without a knight, without anyone to give them orders, and without most of them having fought a thing save a few terrible bandits in trees. Cal was the only one unmoved, glancing at his fellow squires with disdain.

"Come on, he's full of shit. Darkspawn? Now. Here? He probably saw his own shadow and leapt to the first conclusion to fool all you idiots."

"But," Lambert jabbed a finger at Gavin's chest coated in ichor, "they're covered in blood. Black blood. Only darkspawn bleed black."

"Ink," Cal kept assuring them. "Dumbass farm boy spilled ink all over himself trying to figure out how to write."

"What is your problem?" Gavin thundered, striding right up into Cal's face.

"You are," the shit responded, attempting to puff himself out to try and match Gavin's stature. It wasn't working.

"There are people in danger, people who could be dying right now."

"Gavin..." Myra tried to reach over to snag him back before he clocked Cal out, but he shook her off. He didn't care if it was beyond the pale for a squire to punch out another one. Cal deserved it.

"Or you're so hung up on being the next big hero, you're making shit up and dragging us along."

Gavin sneered, his hands trembling as his fingers sunk so deep into a fist it felt like they'd pop out the other side. He wanted to rearrange Cal's face until he was as ugly on the outside as he was inside. It wouldn't take much.

"You're a fool," he spat.

"That's rich coming from a shit farmer," Cal fell back to his usual, but it didn't get the same response from the others. They didn't all rush to his side to defend him. For once, Cal was on his own and Gavin intended to take advantage of it.

"For fuck's sake, Gavin!" Myra cursed, causing both boys to break away and glare at her. She didn't back down at the look, but crossed her arms.

"What?"

Snowy spoke up in a plain voice, "The darkspawn have reached the tree line."

As a mass, all the squires scrabbled around the wagon to peer into the forest where a gigantic line of the creatures stood eyeing up their prize. "Oh Blessed Maker," one squire called.

Another bleated, "What do we do? What do we do?"

Beside him, Gavin watched Cal's jaw drop open, his eyes wide in terror. Good. Slotting the shield back in place, Gavin turned to them. "We fight. We protect this wagon to keep the darkspawn from stealing our supplies. Everyone arm yourselves. Archers, please tell me we have archers."

A couple of hands lifted in the air, which he nodded at. It wasn't much, but you know what they said about the army you had. With a grim set, they all dove under the canvas passing every weapon they could find back to hungry fingers. By the time the squires were as armed at they could be, they began to fan out in a line, people plucking at their weapons uncertainly.

"Ser," Lambert turned to Gavin, his eyes brimming with fear, but he held it in check. "What now?"

He'd been operating on assumptions at this point. They needed weapons to fight, get weapons. Fan out. Form a line. Now what? Gavin glanced over at Myra who was fiddling with her stick while she eyed up the horde. It felt like every darkspawn in the deep roads stood outside there waiting to kill them.

You can do this. You know how to do this. Screwing up his eyes and slowing his heart, Gavin turned to the archers, "You'll be the first volley, try to pick off the front of the line. Form a mass of darkspawn bodies for the others behind to trip and climb over. Everyone else..." The heads swiveled to the boy making it all up on the fly, "Listen to Snowy, he knows how to fight darkspawn."

"Thanks," the dwarf chuckled under his breath before stepping forward a bit. "Look, they're ugly as sin up close, and smell twice as bad, but these shits can die. Can die real good. What you want to do is focus on the limbs and the spine. Get a darkspawn in the spine and they go down fast. Forget fighting fair, cause they won't. Go for the eyes, the crotch, anything that will Take. Them. Down. Ya hear me?"

A few of the squires lifted their swords in the air, while a couple more gave a half hearted, "Yeah." The rest stood in terror.

"Come on, I said 'Ya hear me?'"

"Yes, Ser!" everyone shouted together, even Gavin giving his voice.

"Right," Snowy marched down the line sending the squires to their positions. Some were to hide back closer to the horde, others saved for the last push should the inevitable happen. "But, and I can't stress this enough, if you think you're outnumbered, get yer hairy ass back here!" the dwarf paused and glanced over at the girls, "Even if you don't have a hairy ass. We fight as a united front."

Gavin let his eyes wander over to the girl that looked as breakable as a piece of straw, her limbs willowier than reeds plucked off a lakeside. He wanted to hide her behind him, but Myra was swinging her staff around and glaring murder at the creatures. "Is there any chance you'll stay back?" he whispered in her ear.

Myra snickered, "What do you think?"

"Here they come!" Snowy shouted, every body hitting the dirt. They slammed their backs up against the boxes, taking turns peeking over top to watch as the darkspawn began to run full bore at their prize.

"When?" Gavin whispered to Snowy, who kept weaving up and down to watch.

"Not yet." The horde erupted from a divot in the hill to begin to rise up towards them. Even at a good two hundred feet distance Gavin's stomach turned as if he could smell them. They moved like deadly ants about to spread poison into all they touched, the blacks of their armor bobbing in the run.

"Now," Snowy touched Gavin's arm.

Reaching up with his shield, Gavin shouted in his thunderous voice, "Do it!"

Arrows flitted through the air, a seeming multitude as squires shared in nocking duties. They didn't have many, but they were sticking hard into the horde. A genlock fell, then two hurlocks. Soon the bodies were tumbling off the hill and right into the darkspawn trying to scramble behind them.

"Second wave!" Gavin shouted before Snowy needed to tell him.

The second archers popped up from the other side, firing into the darkspawn struggling to rise. More bodies meant more obstacles, but some were making it over. The first hurlock to reach the grassy hill jabbered in joy and began to run for it, when a sword slid out from a box and cut off its knees. It collapsed, shrieking in pain, when the second squire bashed in its brains with a mace. Their first line tried to hack as many as they could, getting another three, but it wasn't air tight by any means.

A shriek lopped overhead, its long limbs clambering over the grounds like a wolf's, when it paused and tipped its head back. "Cover your ears!" Gavin tried to warn them, but it was too late. The blighted thing released its agonizing scream. Right beside it hid two squires who tumbled backwards in pain and partial paralysis. _Damn it, there was no one near to stop the creature!  _

With another howl, the shriek stood up on its back legs. Gavin moved to rise up out of his cover just as the creature was about to dive forward and rip their throats out. A bolt of lightning zipped right over Gavin's ear, striking into the creature's chest. The energy dissipated fast, but the shriek turned away from its easy prey and began to stalk towards the mage that winged it. Myra snarled, launching two more energy blasts, but they didn't seem to be strong enough to do anything more than piss it off.

Gavin gripped onto her shoulder, moving to hide her behind him if the creature broke through. Shifting his shield into place, he faced the creature dead on, when an arrow zipped through the air and stuck right into the back of the shriek's spine. It howled in agony this time, hands scrabbling behind to rip it free, when another squire burst out from behind the cargo to slit its throat. As the creature fell, Gavin spotted it was one of the archers that first fell from its scream who shot it. He nodded his thanks and they returned it.

Taking a peek at their handiwork, Snowy chuckled, "Shit, we might just pull this off. Shall we clear the board?"

Gavin didn't feel as giddy about the prospect as the dwarf did, but he nodded and rose to his feet. Already scampering up the front line, Snowy stood dead center to carve apart a few genlocks that were weeping blood. The ground sizzled from so much of the black ichor coating it. This entire area would be desolate for centuries or more.

Reaching over to Myra, Gavin squeezed her shoulder and she smiled. Both stood up to take on the last few hurlocks, when a massive blast blew apart the first ring of cargo. He whipped his head down to find another darkspawn stepping out of the trees. It was as tall as a hurlock, with a weird head almost shaped like a toe. "Snowy!" Gavin shouted, "What is that?"

"Oh fuck!" the dwarf lowered his war axe, "An Emissary. Everyone run!" He moved to dash away, when another blast rocketed up the line. Crates exploded and the dwarf was blown back on his feet. Snowy's body tumbled with the force of a hurricane, the dwarf crashing into a chest crammed with towels.

"Get out of the way!" Gavin called, waving his hands to the squires left positioned ahead. They didn't need any encouragement, all of them scrambling to escape. A few stopped to lift up Snowy, who picked up his head and groaned but seemed to be alive at least.

"What is that thing?" Gavin cursed to himself.

"Magic." Myra whispered beside him, her eyes wide. "I can sense it. It's throwing magic around."

"Can you...dispel it? Disarm it? Counter it?"

She shook her head back and forth rapidly, "No. I don't know what it's doing! I've never seen anything like it."

With a groan, he glanced back at the wagon. They'd been so close to saving it, but... "Forget it, we need to retreat," Gavin said even as his heart sank. Myra nodded, her lips thin in concentration, her face blotchy. He'd almost think she was crying except there were no tears streaking down her cheeks.

Grabbing onto her hand, Gavin leapt to his feet shouting for everyone to retreat back to the tents. The cause was lost. In scrabbling to make it over the crates, Gavin all but tripped over Cal. The boy hadn't moved for the entire fight, his back to the wall while he gripped tight to a sheathed sword. "What are you doing?" Gavin shouted at him, "Get up!"

The boy shook his head negative slowly, his throat struggling to swallow.

"Come on," Gavin dropped to a knee and grabbed onto Cal's shoulder to shake him out of it, but the squire was like moving stone. Cal dropped back against the wooden crate, his head bouncing, but he wouldn't break from his terror. "We have to go," Gavin shouted, "If we don't, you'll die."

"For Andraste's sake," Myra shouted, "it's coming!"

He stared out at the Emissary that was holding back its magic now that nothing fought it. The creature seemed to hover over the ground rather than walk, its very shadow blighting the ground. Was there nothing natural about it? Closing his eyes, Gavin gripped onto his sword.

"You can't be..." Myra tugged harder on his arm, but he wouldn't budge. "It's Cal!"

"I know," Gavin turned to her, feeling a sting in his eyes, "I know, but..."

"Fuck," she grabbed onto his face and pulled him to her for what felt like one part head butt to one part kiss. "You are too damn nice."

"Go," he ordered her, but Myra dug in her feet.

"By the void, I am."

He feared that'd be her answer, but he was grateful to not have to die alone. Staggering up to his full stature, Gavin unsheathed his sword, slotted the shield into place and stared into the twisted visage that was the Emissary. The creature seemed amused by the sudden appearance of two humans, its jaws flapping in a laugh.

"Yeah, real funny," Myra mumbled. Lifting her hands up, she shot fireballs at the creature. It hissed, spinning in place, but somehow dissipating each one before it could burn. "Damn it all!"

The creature cocked its head and lashed a hand out at Gavin. Instinctively, he tipped his shield up, sending a wave of acid bounding off the polished wood and straight into whatever those dresses were. Well, if he survived this, he could count on some half naked girl murdering him. Progress.

"Myra...?" Gavin asked, both of them trying to slide in front of Cal to shield him from any spray.

"I can try and burn it more," she threw out. "Or maybe bounce it?"

"Bounce?" he turned back, when Myra grabbed onto his shoulder and yanked down.

The same force that threw Snowy flying through the air passed a hair's breadth above their heads, the power knocking both back off their feet. Gavin smashed into Myra, the poor girl gasping in a breath from both attacks. At that moment, the Emissary drifted right beside them, delighting in its downed prey.

He stared upward into its soulless eyes, dark as an unending nightmare, the lips rotted to reveal a rictus of horrors. Sneering at the creature, Gavin hopped forward onto his knees and began to rise to his feet. The Emissary paused, its hands folding together.

"It's casting something!" Myra gasped out behind him, "Something big!"

With one eye upon her, and the other watching the creature no doubt about to break every bone in his body, Gavin slammed down to a knee. He prayed with everything inside of him that this would work. Dipping deep into the pools that his father revealed, things beyond the veil that even mages didn't understand, Gavin tugged upon the nothingness inside it all and then directed it out into the waking world.

He felt the wave erupt off his body and circle fully around him. Most of it struck the Emissary, its body flailing backwards, but some must have hit Myra as she gasped in pain. Stepping forward, Gavin eyed up the creature facing a world with no mana and no spells at its disposal. With his arm, he extended his sword backwards. The Emissary shrieked, its claws scrabbling to disembowel Gavin, but he met those with the shield. Jamming his arm forward, he slammed the blade right through its rotted robes and spilled the filthy intestines upon the ground. Without a care, the Emissary flopped backwards, its final shriek of death wailing through the air.

Struggling in a breath, Gavin turned back to Myra who was hobbling up to her knees and eyeing him up as if he was a stranger. "What...what did you do?"

He moved to explain, when all the squires came rushing out of the woodwork shrieking their congratulations. A dozen voices cried out in shock, fingers prodding at the Emissary corpse bleeding all over the ground. Only Snowy nodded his head, hands perched upon the grounded war axe. Gavin braced himself for a "ya did good, kid" from the dwarf that was nearly the same age. Mercifully, he didn't have to suffer it as Snowy wiped off his brow and then jabbed the end of his axe into the Emissary's body.

"Best we burn these things, then find whatever hole they crawled out of and bury that."

_Shit!_ Gavin whipped his head towards the east where the mayor took Rosamund and her entourage to view the great sinkhole. His lips opened, about to ask Snowy if darkspawn could attack from two sides, when Myra beat him to it.

She leapt up, fully forgetting his anti-magic attack, and jabbed her flagpole where her sister went. "Rossie's over there!" Her great green eyes turned to Gavin and a plea sat unspoken upon her lips.

Even with his legs weary and arm waning, he nodded his head. Of course he'd help. She bit into her lip, glancing back at the pile of people all moaning from where the darkspawn cut into them. It could have been a lot worse, they got lucky, and that party with the Princess were barely armed.

"Snowy," Gavin reached over to plop a weary hand upon the dwarf's shoulders. "Do what you think is right, I've got to go check on the Princess."

"I'll follow," Lambert sprung up, suddenly offering himself.

He welcomed the assist, prepared to scoop up any armed hand willing, when Myra leapt in, "No, no, they should go follow Cailan and the rest. Keep them safe."

"You're right," he nodded at the girl who could think more steps ahead. "She's right, the Prince and other innocents all fled towards the village. Follow them, make certain no darkspawn are on their trail."

"Yes, Ser!" Lambert saluted. He expected it to be a laugh at the absurdity of Gavin giving so many orders, but as he watched Lambert select half the squires he realized there was no sarcasm in there. They meant it.

Snowy kept the rest, already directing them to haul up the bodies and keep from touching anything covered in blood. The dwarf turned from his roommate and glanced down at Cal still sitting with his hands enveloping the sword. With a sigh, Snowy walked away from the spooked squire that made their lives hell. He had other problems to deal with.

So did Gavin.

Myra took the lead, running headlong through the flattened campsite. Even if there were any darkspawn lurking along the sides, ready to take them out, she'd have easily blown past each one before they could blink. Which would have left Gavin to deal with them all, if there'd been any. Whatever force was sent to take out the camp must have all been focused upon getting the weapons. While beating feet against the battered ground, they caught the occasional head popping out of a tent and questions of what was going on, but neither of them were going to take the time to stop.

They had a princess to save.

"Damn it," Myra groaned, her head lolling back as she sucked in more air. "Why did we have to camp so far away?" They made it into the first of a dozen fields circling the small village. Nearly a mile and a half away was the big hole, where hopefully Rosamund and the rest were having a good look-see down and nothing more.

"It's..." Gavin gasped in more air, his body built as more of a sprinter than a marathoner. "It's not so bad."

She glared to the side and then snickered, her braid bouncing in the run, "Don't you say it." Myra tried to wave her stick at him, but she needed her arms to pump her body through the ankle high plants they were doing their best to not trod upon.

"Wh...what?"

"That it could be raining. It's a terrible joke, and I will think much lesser of you for using it," she spat out. He expected to hear a laugh in her voice, but her eyes were hooded and she kept darting her sight to the side. It was almost as if she feared to turn her head away, then back to find Gavin transformed into a demon.

"My..." He wanted to explain, when she skidded in her tracks and her eyes practically bugged out.

"Is that...smoke? Right where Rosie is!" Doubling their heads down, Myra and Gavin dashed for the clearing. A windbreak circled the field, piles of trees cutting them off from whatever was going on beyond, but the sounds of battle were breaking through. Cries of pain, metal slapping into metal -- and even more terrifying, meat -- all of it burned the air along with the stench of smoke.

Myra was babbling as she ran forward, "So help me, she better be fine. Dad's gonna kill me if she's not. Mom too. Maker, I don't even want to think of what Mom would do if I got my sister hurt."

It was foolish. No one would blame Myra. She wasn't supposed to protect the Princess. The much younger sister being tossed onto the pyre for Rosie being injured seemed... Tears were burning in her eyes, trailing backwards at the speeds she was reaching to splatter against the trees.

"She'll be okay," Gavin said so certainly Myra whipped her head over at him.

"She damn well better be. No one wants Cailan in charge." Swiping a hand over her eyes, Myra and Gavin both dashed through the last of the trees and emerged into the war zone.

Darkspawn littered the field, piles of corpses stuffed with arrows, but just as many were rushing through the grassy area. Gavin spotted a few of the local militia hiding behind a makeshift barricade, but the darkspawn were buckling it, their teeth gnashing over top. Smoke roiled from within the hole, as if the gates to the void itself opened up below them. Both of them watched as another arrow coated in fire arced through the air and planted right into the eye of a genlock attempting to scrabble up the hole.

It shrieked in pain, the grip slipping until it fell onto what had to be a pile of burning corpses, their liquifying fat feeding the flames that sickened the air. Myra cupped a hand over her eyes and followed the arrow's course. "There's Rosie!" she gasped, a hand digging into Gavin's shoulder and she leapt up higher.

Behind the male Knight stood the Princess, bow in hand. She was covered in soot and darkspawn ichorm but seemed unharmed. Beside her whirled the assassin woman, her blades dicing up genlock arms, before she kicked her feet into one, flipped over, and  landed behind a hurlock. With a quick whip of her dagger, she slit its throat. Even with the impressive show, her limbs were slowing, and she was clearly favoring the right arm. Something got to her, but she wouldn't slip away from the Princess who was jabbing at a mound of darkspawn advancing on the tree line.

Had they been trying to protect the camp the whole time?

"Myra..." Gavin said, pointing at the same attack, but she rolled her eyes and stepped forward.

"Yeah, yeah," the girl lifted her hands and screwed her eyes tight. He spent his life with a mage, rarely even noticing when his mom would bring magic into the world, but standing beside Myra it was as if the fade itself flooded into reality. His stomach pitched to the side, Gavin having to grab onto a tree to keep from falling over.

Myra popped open an eye to check on him, but he waved it away. He was fine as long as she took them out. Nodding her head, she opened her hands and fire rained from the sky. The first ball landed behind the darkspawn who were so ravenous they missed it, but the next struck hard into their line. Shrieking, they broke apart, their heads and armor aflame as each one dashed through the open field. Fire trailed them like wings of a red death, which was now being scattered near the humans fighting to survive.

"Uh..." Gavin tried to shake Myra to get her to lance ice next but she was gasping in a breath. He felt eyes hunting through the thicket to see whoever launched the spell, but Gavin was focused on the girl doubling over in pain. "Myra?" She coughed out a breath, her hand shoving into the dirt as she kept crumpling deeper.

Hot flames danced near Gavin and he whipped his head up to watch a flaming darkspawn fleeing right towards them. Slotting the sword into place, he stepped ahead of Myra to protect her. The creature jabbered, nearing the end of its putrid life, but it intended to take them down with. Smoke burned the air, the skin of the creatures turning to a caustic charcoal that exploded into the sky. He shied away, but tried to keep a bleary eyed focus on it. Lifting the shield up, Gavin sucked in a breath and held it.

Second time in a day when he was staring death in the face. Except he didn't have any great secret move to protect him this time. The burning hurlock bashed a fist into the shield, the fire so hot it burned the leather keeping it strapped to Gavin. He screamed to fight through the pain but held on. It was his only hope.

Twisting his arm, he tried to jam the edge of his sword into the creature's burning skull, but the smoke wadded up in his nose and he gasped out to take a foolish breath. Everything burned, his arm searing from the pain. No. He couldn't buckle. He couldn't break. He had to...

A hand grabbed onto his ankle and, like stepping into a freezing cold bath, ice began to lance up his body. When it reached his arm, the pain from the fire stopped reaching him. It cooled the very air reaching into his lungs, seeming to purify the acrid smoke. But it wasn't done yet, the ice lashing off of his hand to coat his shield and then shoot out and stick like a massive spiderweb onto the darkspawn.

Some of the flames dampened down, not enough to put it out, but it gave him an opening. Swinging wide, Gavin slashed his sword right into the hurlock's charred neck. The head snapped back, burnt flesh splattering as the muscle and sinew ripped, and the entire burning creature tumbled to the ground. Without the fire in his face, Gavin's entire body turned ice cold. He began to tremble to keep himself alive, but there was nothing to stop the power of...

Myra removed her hand and the ice stopped in an instant. Two beats of his heart shook away the threat of death, Gavin screwing his eyes up tight to hide the fear she put into him. As he bent down to scoop up Myra, her eyes opened wide and she shouted, "Rosie!"

Without a mage, the princess was having a harder time taking down the flaming darkspawn. A pair of them were advancing quickly, Rosie reaching the end of a pile of bloody arrows they must have yanked from a corpse to reuse. Gavin hefted up his sword and moved to slot on the shield. The burn along his arm cried out in pain, but he'd have to worry about that later. Taking a step forward, he shouted to get the creature's attentions, when a barrage of arrows launched from the sky.

Instinctively, he moved to cover up, but the attack wasn't coming for them. The arrows struck into every shoulder, head, and limb available on the remaining darkspawn. As they all crumbled to the ground and the final flames of the mage attack petered out with no one to feed them, the survivors glanced around.

A massive line of mounted soldiers came riding towards them from the south, and at the head was a man with striking red hair. Gavin stepped closer, a hand covering his eyes as the leader pulled back on the reins and stared around at the mess of dead darkspawn. Myra slid into him, a hand wrapped around his side as much to keep herself up as it seemed to cling tight in case this wasn't over. But he recognized that face, the armor, and the livery decorating the mounts.

Rosamund tossed her bow over her shoulder and shouted, "Henry!"

The Arl of Redcliffe's son smiled grimly at the sight of her survival and tipped his head at the mess, "I see we came just in the nick of time. Father's not going to be very happy about this."

"Either of them," Myra mumbled into the side of Gavin's neck. He wanted to throw both his arms around her and hold her tight, but he could feel the assassin eyeing him up. She wiped her bloody arm against her forehead and very obviously slotted her daggers back in their sheathes.

After today, Gavin didn't have it in him to make a fuss.

## Chapter Thirty-Four

### A Lie's End

She cast a quick look over her shoulder, watching as hands lifted Avery's still body onto the pyre. There should be a proper funeral for him, he was of the crown and with noble blood, but...they had hundreds of darkspawn bodies to clean up as well, and their campsite was a disaster. Rosamund heaved a sigh and tried to run a hand over her hair.

"My Lady," one of the scattered, then discovered, handmaidens grabbed onto her ichor coated arms and pulled them down. "Please, not until we've had a chance to wash you."

Her head nodded dumbly, but she kept staring at the dead flocked by the living. They didn't lose many, thank the Maker, but each loss stung. In twisting, she spotted the squires piled together -- all of them seemed to be slapping Gavin and the dwarf on the back. The former had his arm wrapped in a tight bandage, which Myra assisted with. Though, once the battle was over and the day finished by Henry and his men, her stalwart, caustic tongued sister wrapped her arms around Rosie and babbled something she could barely understand.

It was funny. She'd been solid through it all. Didn't scream or cry at Avery's demise, kept up the barrage of arrows even while the darkspawn swarmed over people about to rend them limb from limb, but watching Myra break down did her in. Strong, never wavering Myra, shattered her resolve. By the time the sisters glanced up, wiping tears from their eyes, Rosie caught Anjali's look. The assassin shrugged a shoulder, then winced in pain. Crimson blood dribbled from her shoulder, a tear in her leathers evident. Rosie wanted to rush over and tend to it, to thank her for shielding her from so many attacks, but Henry returned.

Cousin Henry, sort of-cousin, was tall but elegant. He didn't swagger but seemed to glide even while in armor, a hand always gripping to the sword at his side, a helmet of the realm clutched in the crook of his arm. He bore an easy smile, which he'd share to any and all, and a softness of the heart much like his father's that was known throughout Ferelden.

"We've done what we could to cut the throats and pile the darkspawn up for burning. I suggest soon before their rot infects further than it needs to," Henry slid closer to Rosie and placed a foot upon a barrel.

She nodded her head, "That's the order I gave. A lucky thing you were here to help or..." Deep inside she didn't want to weigh how close it could have been, even as they all fought tooth and nail for their lives.

"Luck nothing," Henry sighed, brushing a weary hand up his face and knotting back the red hair. "We'd been hunting these darkspawn for weeks. Chasing them all up and down the cursed Hinterlands. I hoped to catch the creatures when they emerged out of their holes but never imagined your caravan would be here or trapped in the middle."

"I doubt the darkspawn did either," Rosamund said. She caught her brother standing a bit off to the side, a hand wrapped around his upper arm. He said he wasn't injured, but he refused to remove it. Worried about blight, Rosie asked around and her people said that no one attacked them after the squires and mage rescue. Cailan just needed to hold himself for a bit.

Squires and mage. She knew all too well who that group was. Myra was orbiting near Gavin but not quite walking near him. The pair must have taken it upon themselves, and another, to rise to defend the caravan. Even Henry was impressed when he was told they managed to fend off the attack upon the arms. When the body gathering group drug an emissary onto the pile, he whistled and his eyes grew wider.

A voice cut through the stench of charred flesh and souls leaving across the veil. Rosie turned to find Ser Daryan standing as tall as she could, the woman looking little worse for the wear given how coated in ichor everyone else was. "Ser Daryan," Rosamund called, waving the woman over.

Cold blue eyes churned through the much younger face, but Daryan did as commanded. "Yes, your highness?"

"I'd like an explanation of what exactly occurred," Rosie said, her hands patting into her stomach. She could feel Henry staring from his short cousin over to the towering woman in armor. Barely dinged or dirtied armor.

"Ma'am?" Daryan tipped her head in confusion, but her red rimmed eyes darted around the area. "Darkspawn attacked."

"Yes, they did. And yet I find myself curious where you were..."

"She was ordering us from behind the barricades." The new voice skipped up a moment, causing both Rosie and Daryan to whip over at Squire Gavin with a flushed face. He'd been across the field and must have broken into a run to make it over so quickly.

"That's..." Daryan began, but Rosamund lifted a hand up to silence her.

"After, your Majesty..." he pulled in a breath to steady himself.

"Take your time," Rosie smiled, well aware of how close he came to death. If she understood the reports correctly, a few times. "It's been a long day for us all."

"After Snowy and I rescued the Prince and the others, we stumbled upon Ser Daryan taking out a pack of hurlocks." He stood so tall, his chin stuck out while he locked his hands behind his back. Turning around, he stared at the dwarf, "Right, Snowy?"

For his part, the dwarven squire shrugged, sighed, then stuck his thumb up in agreement.

It was obvious Gavin was glaring at the man even with his face turned away from Rosie, but when he looked back it reset to neutral. "Ser Daryan was the one to instruct us to build up the barricade. To prepare a wave of combat to take down the darkspawn, and..."

"And to order my sister to take them head on, including an emissary?" Rosie interrupted. She watched Ser Daryan's jaw drop, the woman's rosy cheeks turning to blinding red rage as if she was about to shout at her squire for such a thing.

"No, your highness, Myra chose to fight on her own."

Rosamund snorted at the first truth he'd told. "After you finished Ser Daryan's brilliant strategy to protect the wagon of armor and arms, what then? What happened to her?"

"She chose to remain behind, afraid there might be another wave, while we were sent off to scout out your location and procure you to safety."

It was a good lie, it put all the squires under it and no one else. None of them would be stupid enough to risk their Knight's wrath at revealing the truth of her vanishing during an attack. Stretching her neck, Rosamund sighed. She could call him on it, but he saved her life. Saved countless lives from the sound of real events. Whatever his reasons for covering for the Knight were, she'd let him have them.

"Thank you, Squire Gavin. And thank you for...for keeping my sister safe."

His lips slipped up into a wide smile, the eyes misting over as he bobbed his head, "Always."

"Ser Daryan, it seems your plans and tactics were successful," Rosie turned to her, not hiding the scowl.

The Knight blinked a moment. She expected to be all but hamstringed or hanged as a traitor. Daryan's liquid ice eyes trailed Gavin as he scampered back to the squires that all went deathly quiet. "Of course, my Lady. Is that not why I am here?"

"I am beginning to wonder," Rosie whispered to herself. "Regardless," she shook her hands, "please assist in the clean up, counting the heads, assessing any injuries. It is a wonder how you escaped so unscathed."

"Skill," Daryan spat out, "your Majesty." She glared at Gavin who was staring at the ground, her eyes never leaving the boy as she stomped off towards the first darkspawn pyre needing a light. Attempting to appear important, Daryan grabbed the flint off the man struggling to get the wet wood aflame. She struck it twice, barely a spark breaking free, when the entire stack erupted into giant flames.

Rosamund glanced away from the startled Knight to find Myra waving her hands and sneering. Her sister was torturing the woman more, but given the circumstances, Rosie couldn't entirely blame her.

She wished she could tumble into a bed. No, a cool bath to scrub the muck of the fight off, but she had so many other matters to attend -- like finding housing for all her people and protection. At least on that matter, she had help.

"Rosie," Henry reached over with his gloved hand to catch hers, his crystal eyes burning with sympathy, "we'll guide your group to Redcliffe. Keep you all safe."

With a grateful smile, Rosie wrapped her arm around his shoulders in a half hug, "Thank you. I hoped you'd offer because we're..." In turning to encompass the mass of her people in pain, she caught sight of umber eyes burning into the ground in barely repressed agony. How badly was the wound hurting her? Rosie's heart leapt into her throat at the idea of this woman she barely knew, this woman that was trained to kill and could still be here to kill her, perishing.

She moved towards Anjali, wanting to properly check for blight, when a man dashed through the camp. His eyes hunted over the various faces before he slapped his cheeks and shouted, "There she is!" It wasn't until he was practically on top of her that Rosie recognized the archer she sent back to warn his people. "Miss, you saved me. Saved us all. If them monsters got into our town..."

Turning away from Rosie, he revealed a small child with a pile of golden curls clinging tight to a woman's hand. The man's voice caught as he sucked in a snot filled breath, "Or they took my baby. I... Please, please stay, let us help you anyway we can."

Smiling, she patted his worn hands, "We'd be delighted." The townsfolk appeared from behind the archer, fanning out to assist in anyway they could. Rosie leaned closer and whispered, "Incidentally, do you think there's a chance to arrange a bath?"

* * *

Redcliffe was exactly how she remembered, the palace surprisingly inviting for one that was so easily fortified. Having half of your walls end in a cliffside overlooking the lake would do that. But the doors were thrown wide open, people from the local village lining up the sides to welcome back their beloved Arl's son. Henry waved from his horse, Rosie perched in front of him. She'd offered to walk, but he wouldn't hear it. She was -- after all -- to be queen, and queen's rode.

Dozens of roses littered the ground, people suddenly pointing towards the girl positioned before the saddle horn who was wishing she put riding pants on instead of being stuck sidesaddle. She brightened her smile while internally screaming, "Yes, it's your princess. Doing her best to keep her ass from sliding right off this poor horse. If you're wondering, it's not going so well."

Every now and then Henry had to reach over to keep her steady, but he did it so smoothly it was barely noticeable. As they reached the front doors, the horse coming to a standstill in the courtyard, Rosie was finally free to slide off. She didn't wait for the gallant Henry to dismount, the woman needing to revive her asscheeks before they lost all feeling permanently. A few of the watchers jabbed and laughed when she glanced back at the Arl's son with his hand extended towards her.

Putting on the same stupid smile, she gripped onto her cousin's hand and helped him out of the saddle. "Well," Henry chuckled having landed close to Rosie, "we appear to have arrived."

"And in one piece, all thanks to you."

"I'd say your retinue had a hand in that," he extended his gallant arm back to the squires who stood in their finest all lining in pairs behind them. While Ser Daryan and Ser Michael led the pack, the latter requiring a cane while his leg healed, Gavin stood close in deference of his service. Beside him was Anjali, her eyes hooded as she stared around the strange courtyard. Whenever they landed upon Henry, she'd stand up a bit taller and shift her neck as if she was sizing him up. The first time Rosie saw it she assumed she was imagining things, but their entire trip to Redcliffe while the old cousins caught up, she never stopped. Rosie didn't understand. Unless Henry reminded her of someone else she hated, it made no sense.

Hopping off his horse, the legs bowed a bit from lack of use, came her brother. Cailan swiped a hand along his wilted hair and groaned, "Thank the Maker we're here. I thought my...crown jewels were going to rattle right off."

Rosie pursed her lips at the crassness, but Myra -- leaping up fast from behind -- added on. "That's nothing. Boys balls are tiny. Try having breasts." She mimed a pair on her chest and waved the palms up and down erratically, then laughed as did Cailan. "No idea how Rosie survives it with hers."

Snarling at anyone pointing to her chest, Rosamund tried to somehow cover herself with her dress further. "Would you both stop being so...could you behave?"

Cailan and Myra both met eye to eye then snickered. "Doubt it."

Before Henry had a chance to hop up the stairs, the door opened to reveal his father standing there. Arl Teagan beamed at his son first, then turned to find the other three standing near. "You found them," he gasped in surprise and joy, the older man hobbling down the few stairs while Henry rose up to meet him. "Without complication?"

"Not precisely," Henry didn't break out of his open stance, but he slid a hand around his father's arm to steady him.

"The darkspawn?"

"Were destroyed, father."

Teagan smiled at his son, the pair sharing the same never darkening eyes. "Good," he patted Henry on the cheek as if the boy recited all his letters right in one go. "Good, and you three..." The Arl turned his never-ending smile upon the three Theirin children all clustered together. "I'm gladdened to see you unharmed."

They all glanced at each other, uncertain just how unharmed they were after that, but none of them wanted to break Teagan's spirit with it either. Rosie moved to step forward to offer the official greetings of the crown, when her not-uncle smiled. "There's someone else here who's be far more excited to see you."

All three heads tipped back to follow the Arl's gaze through the doors. A few more of Teagan's retinue flocked out including his wife, all recognizable to Rosie but none she'd put as more important than the Arl. Suddenly a voice, despite its tendency to wobble through the octaves, rose above the crowds, "Let me see!"

Hands pried through advisor robes or shoulders and a face worn by three days or more of white stubble prodded through the gap. His always quick brown eyes darted past Henry right to the three children whose jaws all dropped at the sight.

"Dad?" Myra mouthed.

Their father smiled wider, his cheeks straining from the force when Rosie gathered her skirts and dashed up the stairs. She didn't care if every important member of the gentry was watching and clucking. She'd stared down death, could have gotten everyone in her care killed. She needed her father. Launching forward, Rosie wrapped her hands around him in a giant hug. Her father was quick to return it, his body bowing backwards from the force, but he supported her.

"Well, that's quite the welcome," he chuckled, patting into Rosie's back as she mashed her weary face into his chest. "Cailan?" Alistair extended a hand wider to his son, but the boy shook his head.

"I'm good, thanks," the aloof young man stated, even as his eyes refused to leave their father.

Myra stirred her foot in the dirt, seeming to want to launch forward but she followed her brother's stance as well. Only Rosie buried herself into her father, wishing he could erase all the faults, the memories, the pains of the last week. The deaths.

"Father," she yanked her face back to look up at him and the happy smile crumbled as he recognized tears in her eyes.

"What in the Maker's name happened?" Alistair gasped, staring from eldest to youngest, but neither wanted to speak.

Mercifully, it was Henry who stepped forward to fill in the gaps, "Darkspawn. They had struck the camp prior to our arrival."

"Andraste's blood," the man cursed. Forgetting his son's and younger daughter's stance, Alistair stumbled forward and wrapped his hands at least partially around both. Cailan gave up the most fuss, while Myra melted into it. "Are you hurt? You don't look hurt." His eyes darted past them to the caravan wandering behind. That was where the true damage lay. For the most part, the king's glance was brief, having to take in much, but he stopped at Gavin and honed in on the bandaged arm.

"She's gonna have my hide for that," their dad whistled a moment before turning to Rosie. "Where's Avery? That gloomy bastard should have..."

Turning deeper into herself, Rosie tried to bite through the wobble in her lips. Announcing deaths was another part of the future Queen's duties. People passed the veil all the time, and it was her job to be impartial, to show strength where others faltered. But Rosie wasn't the queen; she was barely a princess anymore. All she was, was a scared young woman who wanted anyone else to take this off of her.

"Spud?" her father whispered the childhood nickname, a hand rubbing up and down her shoulder.

"He's dead," Rosie gasped out through the tears.

"Dead?" Alistair tipped back his head and a breath whistled through his teeth. She could see a curse bobbing in his throat, which he was surprisingly good at containing. "Maker's sake, I mean, I thought he'd outlive me. The money pinching ones always make it to a hundred, but..."

"The darkspawn," Rosie mumbled, trying to wipe away the foolish tears. She staggered out of her father's grip and attempted to find the spine she let scatter to the ground. "They cut him down without thought while we watched. We didn't...there wasn't time to...save him."

"Rosie," he folded in on himself, the giant in her life -- in everyone's life -- humbling to an old man who'd stumbled in and out of more battles than she could remember. "It's not..." he began before shaking it off. The pair stared at each other in silence a moment, no words needed to be said. She knew it wasn't her fault, but it was. She was in charge and he died. That was how it worked.

"They fought valiantly," Henry spoke, attempting to cover over the blanketing silence. "All of them proved to be brave and nearly had the horde subdued when we came upon the darkspawn. In particular, our dear Princess here."

She felt her cheeks burn at the compliment, Rosie attempting to wave it away. Her dad smiled, well aware that she had some combat training if not much to any experience. "Glad to see all those sword lessons paid off. Maybe we can finally talk your mom into okaying a war axe, or a mace."

"That's..." Rosie began to melt at the overbearing proudness leeching off him.

Tipping his chin up, he glanced over at Myra who despite being the tallest in the family seemed to have shrunk below them all. "I imagine you put on quite a show as well?"

Myra opened her mouth, but whatever snide comment she had faded and she simply nodded her head.

"Your mom would be proud."

"Is she here?" Myra inched up a bit taller, her head peering around at the assembly.

"No, she's back in Denerim. Some big todo involving that double murder case," their dad shared in a life with his second daughter the first two children knew almost nothing about.

Myra nodded in an instant understanding, then sighed in relief. "Good, cause after the week I had last thing I need is mom critiquing my technique with a flagpole."

"Flagpole?" their father was intrigued, sliding a step closer to Myra, before turning to his legitimate children. "Ah, your mom's not here either. Just me."

Neither Cailan nor Rosie expected anything different. While Myra's mother, Reiss, would often travel with their father for trips, their mom never thought it her place. She preferred the solitude of Denerim, or to holiday at her parent's old estate by the sea. The children would take the trip with while their father remained behind to work...or be with his other family.

"So," Alistair slapped his hands together, "after that ordeal I think we could all use some cake. There's cake, right Teagan?"

"There's always cake, your Majesty," their uncle chuckled.

"You better not be lying," Alistair said, dangling a finger near the Arl as if there was a threat hidden in there, but Teagan laughed it away. "Oh, Gavin my boy, get up here. Don't worry, I won't make you hug me."

The squire's eyes darted over to Rosamund a moment before he stepped away from the rest of his fellows. Rosie watched Ser Daryan staring straight ahead, not speaking a word of the young man under her charge being favored by a King that ignored her. Good.

"What happened to your arm?" Alistair shouted, reaching for Gavin's injured hand as if he could heal it.

"There was a fight..." the boy began, his eyes darting around out of fear.

"Okay, better than 'Late at night I was walking to the bushes and fell down a big hole.'" The King's eyes shined as he laughed with the stoic boy who dared to let himself smile a bit at the silliness. "But the down and gritty, come on, I can take it. Is it bad?"

"No, it's healing better than I..." he took in a deep breath, and for a long beat his eyes darted over to Myra, "Fire burned into it."

"Darkspawn are using fire attacks? Don't tell me they can breathe the stuff like dragons. Just what we'd need, dragon born darkspawn."

"No, Sire, they were simply on fire."

Alistair paused in his laugh, his eyes darting over to Myra who was turning brighter red at the scrutiny. "Ahh...say no more. Someone better take a look at that," their father stepped towards Gavin and he leaned closer. His voice didn't entirely dip to a whisper, but he added, "Someone very special."

Rosie had no idea what her dad meant, but Gavin's eyes opened wide and he began to whip his head through the palace windows as if he expected to see someone hiding amongst the bricks. Turning from Gavin, Alistair moved to ascend the stairs and make good on the offer of cake, when he paused and turned to a form standing just a bit behind the squire.

"Forgive me, I don't know if we've ever been introduced," her dad slipped down and...stuck his hand out right to Anjali. For a moment the woman stared at it in a laugh before shrugging from the inanity and gripping back. "Who are you, exactly?"

Rosie's eyes shot open wide, her throat trying to swallow down the panic, while her brain attempted to come up with an answer. She's a consultant. She's a hired hand. She's the woman that kept me alive.

Unfortunately, in the internal chaos, Cailan stepped in. With a shrug, he said, "She's the assassin."

Their dad's eyebrows crumpled, confusion dampening his sunny exterior to one of dark rainclouds. He whipped his head from Cailan, back to Anjali -- who still held his hand -- before landing on Rosie trying to calm the rapid beat of her heart.

"You know..." Cailan continued to their dad before he too glared at his sister. "The assassin that we found. Well, he found," he tipped his head at Gavin, "the one that Rosie _supposedly_ told you about."

Dropping Anjali's hand, Alistair turned away to glare at his first born. "You let an _assassin_ travel with you?!"

"Father, it's..."

"You didn't blighted tell him?!" Myra shrieked as she interrupted. "Of course, I knew it was weird he didn't come out. Send us back. Shit, scoop you up on horseback and make you return to Denerim. I mean, we catch some strange woman who belongs to the Scarlet Ribbons..."

"For the love of the Maker, she's a Ribbon?" Alistair jabbed a hand back at Anjali who wisely hadn't moved an inch. Realizing he turned his back on a woman known for stabbing them, the king suddenly flipped and kept one eye on her while trying to turn the other upon his errant daughter. "Do you have any idea how dangerous they are? They're assassins. They murder people. Murder, death, all that killing stuff. What...what in the Maker's vast oceans were you thinking?"

"She saved my life, multiple times..." Rosie insisted, now waving her hand to Anjali as if the woman was a cursed vase or something.

"That's what they do. Wily little assassins, first they show up and try to kill you, then they say they'll watch you, then they try to kill you again. Need I remind you how damn many assassins I've had after me!" he was shrieking almost incoherently now, tears springing from his eyes. "She could have killed you!"

"She didn't! She never intended to kill me. She's with us to stop the real assassin..." Rosie clamped her mouth shut, her eyes opening wide at the slip. Sadly, despite playing the fool, her father wasn't.

"The real assassin?" he honed in on her like a shark trying to sniff out the ribbon of blood in the water. "What real assassin? You knew, you were told assassins...blighted Rivaini assassins were coming for you, and you didn't tell me a Maker damn thing?! What in the void were you thinking?"

"That you'd overreact! That you'd drag me back to Denerim kicking and screaming because you think I can't handle it. I can. I have. I am!"

He took a deep breath, his soft brown eyes with all the easy-going smile lines furrowed down into frowns focusing on her trembling shoulders. "You got Avery killed."

The blow struck hard, Rosie scattering back from his verbal reminder of her failure. But she was stubborn, maybe not the same as Myra. There was a spirit in Rosie that wasn't about to back down to her father's whims. "That was darkspawn, a darkspawn attack you didn't think it worthy of mentioning to me either. All your messages have been nothing but platitudes. You never tell me anything important, never let me know that...!"

A hand landed upon Alistair's shoulder, Teagan's eyes catching Rosie's bluster as the Arl hissed, "This is hardly the place for the two of you to be having this private of a conversation."

Both father and daughter, king and princess, glanced around at the gathered people who fell deadly quite. The miniature flags they'd been waving at the joy of seeing their royals all drooped from having to suffer their row. Alistair swallowed hard and pinched into his forehead, "Teagan's right. Just...get inside. Get cleaned up. We'll talk about this later. Maker, how much more do I have to deal with today?" he aimed the latter part at one of the red robed advisors standing beside the door.

The woman glanced up at her king and grimaced.

"That's what I feared. Come on," Alistair groaned then lifted his voice, "All of you. I bet you're hoping for some of that thedas famous Redcliffe hospitality Arl Teagan's known for." He rubbed his hands together greedily, then shot a glance at Teagan who was rolling his eyes and sighing.

"Please, step this way so we can find lodgings for the weary travelers."

Henry fell into step with Cailan, both men looking over quickly at Rosamund who was still fuming so hard she felt as if her feet were on fire. Behind them dashed Myra who grimaced and whispered, "Sorry, Rosie."

When Gavin rose up the stairs, Alistair grabbed onto his hand and whispered, "Second story, third door on the left." The boy turned in confusion but the king had already moved on to greet others, a smile plastered on his face. Rosie knew it was the fake one by the way his jaw kept twitching. He intended to browbeat her into heading home, to giving up on her duties, to return to being the meek mouse that had fancy tea parties and never touched politics.

She intended to fight him every step of the way. Falling in beside the doors, Rosie too began to wave to her people and offer them greetings as if she hadn't seen them before. For a breath, her father glanced back and she thought she caught a shared moment. Out of everyone in Ferelden, only Rosie could know how exhausting the life of answering to every citizen before yourself could be. They wouldn't be able to begin their proper fight until they'd secured sleeping quarters for everyone, arranged food, eaten it, met with the castle's top staff, and made a show of solidarity. It was certain to be after sundown before the real gaatlock could explode.

"Rosie," Alistair said, his head lolling back towards her, "gather up your assassin, please. She seems lost." Anjali turned away from the king staring daggers at her, before tipping down her head and rushing towards the door.

Maker have mercy on them all.

## Chapter Thirty-Five

### Tea Kettle

Even suspecting he knew what to find, Gavin's heart gave a small leap when he opened the door the King told him of to discover a dark skinned woman sitting on the bed. "Mom?" he gasped out, surprised to find his legs melting under him.

His mother turned from staring out the window to smile wide. She opened her arms and he fell into them as if he was a child scared of the thunderstorms rattling the roof. "Whoa," Lana rocked from the force of her much larger son all but barreling her over.

"Sorry," he tried to ease back, all the scoldings about how fragile his mother was snapping into his mind, but she laughed and wrapped her hands tighter around his back.

"It's okay, sweetheart. I just didn't expect that warm of a welcome." She patted into him, making Gavin feel more self conscious for coming so undone so quickly.

"Is dad here, too?" he leaned back from her, allowing his mother to place her hands in her lap.

She tipped her head to the side and laughed, "Do you really think I could get more than a few steps outside the abbey without him?"

It was as much a reference to her legs as the fact her husband would never leave her side. It seemed like something that would chafe Gavin but somehow she never minded. Placing an elbow into her palm she sighed, "He's out somewhere, probably got stopped by one of the Arl's men who wished to talk shop."

"Mom..." Gavin ran his fingers over the back of his hair, savoring the scrubbing feel of it buffing away the dead skin. "Why are you here? Are you..." The pit of his stomach opened and he gulped hard, "are you following me?"

"Maker's sake. Can't I catch up with an old friend?"

Gavin glared, his eyes narrowed to pinpricks of amber. While most anyone else would squirm his mother merely sighed.

"Put that away, young man. It hardly works on me. And take a seat, I feel like my head's going to fall off if I keep staring up at you."

Unable to escape the tongue lashing from his mother, Gavin slunk down a bit and turned to find a chair. Dragging it over the old floor, he sat rigidly in it while waiting for an explanation. Lana was taking her time smoothing out the wrinkles in her lap before glancing up.

"Better. Now what were we talking about?"

"Mother..."

"Very well," she rolled her eyes, "I swear to the Maker, you're worse than your father when clamping your teeth down into a problem and worrying it to death. No, we are not here trying to follow you, or check up on you. We didn't even realize you'd be here, especially so soon."

Gavin twisted his hands around, his eyes darting to the bandage on his arm. She had to have noticed. She was always the first to spot cuts and bruises on his body as he grew up, quick to heal them away with a kiss to the forehead.

Falling quiet, his mother prodded a finger into her lap and sighed, "I was helping to track the darkspawn."

His head sat up fast, Gavin gasping, "Can you sense them again?"

"No," she held up her hands, already cutting off his line of questions. No doubt his father asked the same, probably a few dozen times. "No, I can't. But I do know how to fight them. How to track them. Teagan's boy's turning into quite the warrior. Rather surprising considering how I first met his father."

Gavin turned a question at her, but Lana sidestepped it. She did that often on matters the Hero considered beyond him. "What of you?" Now she very clearly eyed up the bandage and waited.

With a sigh, he began to unravel the knot of fabric, slowly revealing the blistering skin below. To her credit, Lana didn't gasp at the sight. She'd seen far worse in her days, Gavin knew, because he'd had to help on occasion, but she did blink her eyes rapidly. "A burn?"

"Yes," he nodded, extending his arm towards her.

His mother always had a cool touch, not ice cold or unfeeling, but crisp and clean. She smelled clean too, like laundry linens hanging off the line. He was never certain if that was her magic or the ointments from healing. Probably the latter as Myra smelled more of... Gavin blinked to hide away a blush at his trying to think of what a girl smelled like.

Barely running her fingers overtop, Gavin watched as the blister that bubbled up the skin on most of his forearm began to retract. Lana hummed an old song under her breath while healing her son.

"You're not mad?" he asked, his lips stuttering as she had to cure him of a mistake of his own making.

Lifting her eyes up, she smiled painfully at him, "You know I worry about you. I always have. But mad...? Sweetie, even if you got this from falling into a campfire, how can I be mad? Accidents happens. But I'm guessing this was no accident. Fire that strong has to be from magic."

"It, it was..." Gavin nodded his head, then glanced up into her soulful eyes. "Magic fire burning off of darkspawn." While his mother stitched back up the burned flesh, he told her about the attack, and tried to relay all of his tactics when she asked. The great fighter of darkspawn didn't make any comments, just asked for a few clarifications here and there. Then Gavin reached back to every other fight he fell into in what felt like years since he left home. The bandits caused her to groan, but at Anjali his mother sat up higher.

"An assassin?"

"So she claims. I assumed. There is a chance she's lying about it all."

"Does Alistair know?"

Gavin chewed on his lip. Maker was that disturbing to watch. He feared the King and Princess might come to blows for how loudly they were screaming at each other. In truth, he sided with the King. Anjali was a danger, a danger not worth keeping around. Except she saved his life. That was never going to stop stinging.

"He does now."

A breath blew through his mom's lips and she sighed, "Blighted hell is that a mess."

"What do you think he'll do?"

"Who? Ali?" Lana, the woman who knew the King the longest out of nearly anyone else, tapped her fingers to her lips. "I wish I could say. If it were me or another advisor, even Reiss being threatened by the Scarlet Ribbons he'd complain, loudly, but he'd trust us. His children, however..." She paused in her thoughts to reach over and lock her fingers with Gavin's. "It's hard to accept how grown you are."

An uncomfortable burning grew in his stomach from the parental love she didn't even try to mask. Turning on his seat, Gavin sighed, "Mom."

"I know, I know. All stoic and seriousness, here on out. Death to sentimentality. So, you told me about your official work..." Lana brought her fingers together in a tent, "now tell me how you're doing."

"I..." Gavin twisted the burn up which now looked good as new. The top of his skin was a bit red still, but he knew that it'd be back to his typical soft brown by morning. "Do you mean this?"

"You, you. Your personal life. Don't make that face," she scolded so quickly he barely had time to pull one. "Your friends. This dwarf you mentioned..."

"Snowy."

"He seems a level headed sort who will only get you into minor mischief," she smiled as if giving him full blanche to get up to it. "And well versed in darkspawn," she asked most about the dwarf, surprised by his reasoning and choices.

"I like him okay. I don't know if we're friends or anything, but..."

His mother tipped her head and sighed, "Sweetie, if he's volunteering to keep your secret, he's your friend. When they start opening up to you about all their past misdeeds, you're practically brothers. Trust me."

That thought lightened his heart. He was never certain how to broach the subject with anyone. Hello, I seem to enjoy spending time with you. You are a fun person. Want to be friends? It sounded stupid in his head, Maker only knew how he'd mess it up out of his mouth. Why did this have to be so hard?

"So..." Lana drew her son out of his navel long enough for him to look over, "what about Myra?"

His lips parted, but the gasp didn't release, "What about her?"

Coyly, his mom shrugged a shoulder, "I spotted her on this caravan. How are you two getting along?"

"Fine, Mom," Gavin gasped out, not wanting to get into this conversation with her. With anyone. Maker's breath.

"Fine as in she'll give you the time of day, or..."

"She's," he stared down at his hands laying on his knees. "She's a friend."

"That's it?" Blessed Andraste, his mother would not stop prying. "Because you're blushing brighter than a sunset."

Gavin's head whipped up, his hands flying to his cheeks to try and cover them up, but it wouldn't quite take. "Mother!" he attempted to scold her, but of course she just laughed.

"What? I can't know you? Know her too? I'm glad you were able to work out your little differences."

"Maybe," he muttered to himself, thinking of the march to Redcliffe. Myra'd been quiet to him, not curt or mad, but cold and distant. Not at all like the Myra he ever knew.

"What is it?" his mother couldn't help herself from prying. If there a problem, Lana Rutherford had to fix it. She was ten times worse than his father.

"She's...I don't know, been avoiding me," Gavin looked up into her eyes but his mother shifted to stare out into the distance. "I don't think she hates me, but it's... I want to ask, but I fear what'll happen if I do. Would she get mad? Would she hate me then? What if there's nothing wrong? Would she then think I made it wrong by asking?"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down. You just went through a pretty traumatic experience. People died and more could have died. A lot of times it hits people differently. Even Myra, who I know is as bendable as her father, can turn brittle sometimes."

"What should I do?" Gavin felt a foolish shake in his hands, the same ones his father got when things grew too difficult for him to process.

Laying a hand over her son's shoulders, Lana tugged him to her in a half hug, "Give her time. This is Myra, when she's upset she tells you. Loudly." He snorted at that truth. It was what made her oddly calming for the internal Gavin. There was no second guessing with her, she let you knew where you stood right away.

"Dad's gonna be mad," Gavin whispered.

"Maybe," his mother slid back, releasing her son out of the hug as she placed her hands onto her lap. "Maybe not. He's cooled over the years."

By the order of his mother, Cullen wasn't allowed to outright forbid two thirteen year olds sharing a few kisses. But he was damn good at making it known that he wasn't happy about the situation. It was the most rebellious Gavin ever directly was, sneaking out under his father's nose to spend private time with Myra. Shame that he got almost too good at it for later.

"But," his mom said, a smile on her face, "she's your age, we know her, and I like her. She's a smart girl, and enough like her mother to minimize some of her father's more grating habits."

Gavin didn't realize he'd been sitting on pins and needles about telling his parents until the truth was laid out. He took in a breath and felt some of the worry chip away from his shoulders. They were okay with Myra. His mother was okay with Myra, father was a to be determined -- no doubt massaged by his mother. At least she took it better than his wanting to be a squire.

"Thanks, Mom," he reached forward to wrap a hand around her for another hug when the door opened.

"I found a kettle, but it's cold. Then I realized it didn't matter as you'd just let the tea grow cold anyway," his father's words faded as he stepped into the doorway and eyed up his son. "Gavin."

"Dad."

Rising off the chair, father and son awkwardly hugged while a tea kettle bobbed and weaved in the way. "You look good," Cullen complimented him, looking up, "hair's getting a bit long."

Absently, Gavin picked at the tips that were already emerging. He sighed, having to find a knife later tonight to take a whack at it.

"You should let it grow," his mother cooed. She was always begging him to do it. "I adore the blonde tips, it's so different." Which was why Gavin cut them back. His two-tone hair somehow made the tall, broad boy stand out even more.

Cullen patted his son on the shoulder in solidarity before leaning to his wife on the bed. Placing the kettle into her safe arms, he pecked a kiss to her lips. "How are you doing?"

"I got to see my boy..." she said as an explanation, which somehow made Gavin's cheeks light up.

"I meant physically, how are you feeling?" By way of explanation, he turned to his son, "We've been riding up and down the area getting a feel for the darkspawn. All these years and your mother's still as strong as ever."

For her part, Lana cocked up an eyebrow at the bullshit. No doubt she was stuck in this room as much out of fear of someone recognizing her as she couldn't rise from the bed. But her loving husband didn't seem to care. Sliding back to her, Cullen returned for another kiss.

Gavin glanced away, but coughed. "I should return to my company, before any of them come looking for me."

His father nodded, "Let me walk with you," before honing in on Lana. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Maker's sake, yes! Go, I'll be here, reading. Gavin..." she called to her son, who turned in the doorway to look at his mom. "I love you. Stay safe," her lips lifted in a conspiratorial smiled, "and give it time."

"I...I will."

Father and son didn't speak much as they left Lana to slide back on the bed. She took the time to flame the kettle with her magic, but his dad was right. It'd go cold before she took a single sip. Gavin tried to lead their walk, but he wasn't certain exactly where he belonged. He knew the castle pretty well, often spending a few holidays running up and down the corridors as a child while his parents visited the Arl, but where they'd put so many people was beyond him.

"Your arm," Cullen broke the silence first, his eyes darting to the wound. Picking it up, Gavin winced a bit. "I assume your mother..."

"Yeah, she fixed it."

Nodding his head at the obvious, Cullen paused before a staircase and leaned against the wall. He seemed to age a hundred years in that one move, the man of iron crumbling to rust in exhaustion. It was so disturbing, Gavin reached out as if to catch him but Cullen waved his hands away.

"I'm fine," he insisted, as he always did. "Tired. We weren't exactly planning on riding up here, but the reports were...unsettling."

Gavin knew his parents. His mother would have been the one to insist they travel as quickly as possible to Redcliffe, never mind the toll it would have on her, while his father would fret himself over her safety. "Dad?" he tried to drop his voice lower, both father and son watching as a pair of Redcliffe servants dashed up the stairs, "Is it bad?"

Rolling his hand back to muss up the drooping curls, the great ex-Commander groaned, "Could have been much worse. I've..." A soft laugh broke from Cullen as he reached over to pat Gavin on the arm, "I've never been happier that you were shipped off to Denerim."

"Dad?"

He didn't break into tears, but Cullen shifted uncomfortably as if his chest swelled in pain until his tunic no longer fit. "The first attack was...they hit a squire practice grounds."

Gavin's eyes flared open wide, his mind drawing forth all those kids excited to be getting their chance. Evans and his drooping shield. Did he ever learn how to hold it properly?

"Some survived, but...it wasn't good," his dad scrubbed tighter into his eyes as he grimaced, "They want to bring back the Grey Wardens in full. Without dwarves down in the deep to take the pressure off, I guess someone's got to be pressed into service otherwise it'll keep happening."

"That's good, isn't it? The Wardens are renowned slayers of darkspawn."

Cullen fell silent a moment, his head tipped down to his chest as he seemed to be fighting through a dozen thoughts. "Your mother thinks so. The...King agrees with her, shock of shocks. So do a lot of the old guard who remember the blight."

"But you don't?" Gavin gasped. He stood face to face with just a handful of those monsters. To think of them ripping through villages of unarmed, terrified citizens was horrifying. "Mom's one of them."

"Was, Gavin, she was one of them, and she stopped being because they were..." An old fire burned in Cullen's eyes, his lip scar rising into a great sneer before it all vanished into thin air. Age and exhaustion dampened down the anger, his dad leaning back to the wall. "The Grey Wardens turned their back on the dignity of society. What they nearly unleashed upon all of thedas was...! You just... Promise me one thing, okay. Swear you won't join them."

Gavin swallowed hard at the pleading in his father's voice. All his life he would only receive a simple order delivered on the assumption Gavin would do it. No pleading, no bargaining, just go here, do this and it usually worked. He'd never had his father beg for his obedience.

"Be a knight," Cullen said, "way I hear it you're moving quickly up the ranks."

"I wouldn't go that far," Gavin insisted, well aware of how the woman he swore to serve despised him. Probably twice as much now that he had leverage over her. Over Cal. Why did he keep protecting people that hated him, that made his life miserable?

"I get it, I do. The Grey Wardens sound mythic in legends, the things they've done. What they can do... But it's not the whole story. It never is. The pitch they sell you rarely lives up to reality." He turned from Gavin to stare out the window facing into Lake Calenhad. While his mother sometimes would regale a young and curious Gavin with a few tales of her decade or so fighting darkspawn, his father refused to talk about being a templar. It was doubtful his son would even have known if not for the others in the abbey sometimes referring to him as Knight-Captain.

"Dad," he patted into his father's back, for once feeling the softness of time instead of the unbendable spine that carried his son when his legs grew too tired. "I have no intentions of ever being a Grey Warden. Not after the things Mom's told me."

His father's smile flitted against his lips a moment, one of the hard fought ones that felt as real as a soap bubble. Cullen gripped onto his son's fingers, the knots of a life toiling against soil bouncing against Gavin's that were stained from battle.

"Good," he nodded his head, the smile slipping away as he stared back out the window. "I'm glad. Perhaps we'll, they may not even decide to revive the order. There could be other ways."

He could pry into what these other ways were, but Gavin rather doubted his father would either be that privy to national secrets, or share them with his son. His mother seemed to be able to view her son sometimes as a teenager. His father would only flit his eyes over to him and spot a ten year old boy.

"We should be out of here soon," Cullen spoke up. "We can't stay away long, not with Nellie left in charge."

"Nellie?" Gavin winced, remembering the scatterbrained woman that had to have her chores written across a chalkboard on the regular or else she'd forget midday.

Cullen sighed, "We had no choice. Half are at home, dealing with irrigation in the fields courtesy of this dreadful heat." Not too many people wondered why that little half farm out by the abbey never seemed to suffer dry spells. Though Gavin suspected more than a few would catch his mom returning from the fields covered in mud and not a cloud in the sky.

"And your mother seemed to think she deserved a chance," Cullen laughed. "I swear, I don't think there's a single person in thedas your mom isn't certain can become amazing. They just need to be gifted the opportunity." He paused in his thought and sighed, "Probably why she gave me a chance."

An old silence fell between them, both staring out the window into the lake. Somewhere beyond in the middle sat a small island with a destroyed tower. They couldn't see it from here, but his father wouldn't stop looking -- as if he could feel it in his heart. He never seemed to like remaining long within view of Lake Calenhad.

"I did it," Gavin sputtered out, watching his fingers twist through each other. His dad lifted an eyebrow and turned to him, at first confused, then growing concerned. Gavin winced at his choice of words and raced to tack on, "I used the...that skill you taught me."

"You dispelled mana?" the concern wafted away to almost one of pride. "On a blood mage?"

"No, a darkspawn, the magic casting ones with the ugly...well, they're all ugly."

"An emissary," his dad nodded. The first day Cullen pulled his fifteen year old son out to the fields, Gavin was confused. He'd told his parents his intentions to become a knight a week before, his father using every opportunity to try to shake it out of him. That day, he assumed his father would try again, perhaps by attempting to make farming look even more enticing, or by chaining him to the plow. He had no idea.

The last thing he expected was for his dad, the man who would barely admit to ever having been a templar, to unsheathe his sword and begin to explain exactly how one ripped the veil away from a mage's hands. They trained often, his father insisting that he wouldn't be able to reach the same skills he once did, but that it could at least disorient a mage. And even that second of time would be enough for a sword to strike.

"You blanketed away the mana? All of it?" Cullen continued, watching Gavin nod.

"I-I had to, to protect someone..."

"This wouldn't be someone in a skirt, would it?" a hint of laughter threaded through his father's words, almost catching Gavin.

"Nnno," he shook his head, trying to hide away the blush burning in his gut at the thought.

"Pity, your mother would adore that how you met story," his father continued to surprise him, the man staring out the window in thought. "You know we're proud of you."

"It wasn't that difficult..." Gavin began, about to wipe away any of his skill in the moment.

"Not that," Cullen wafted the thought away and turned to face his boy. He placed one hand upon Gavin's shoulder, then the other. "Everything you've accomplished."

"I haven't done anything."

His dad's glare flared a moment, the same amber eyes burning into Gavin's darting ones, "Everything you've overcome then." That stuck hard into Gavin's gullet, his brain wanting to confess every sin wearing on his heart, but his lips sealed themselves. With no tea kettle in the way, Cullen pulled his son into a full hug, the old warrior crumbling a bit into the young one.

"Your mom cannot stop bragging about you to...pretty much anyone she meets," his dad said, gently slapping him one last time on the back before letting him free. That wasn't such a surprise, his mother would talk up anyone she felt needed a boost. Lana Rutherford, defender of the underdog.

As Gavin slipped back, trying to shake off the stupid blush burning on his cheeks, his father -- the stoic Commander of old that people thought was cold and emotionless as stone -- smile wide as he said, "And neither can I."

His lips undulated with a smile twisting into a painful gasp of too much too quickly. "Thanks, Dad."

"So," Cullen patted him on the shoulder, then gestured down the stairs, "How about you go check in with your superiors, then join your mom and me for a game of chess?"

"Chess? How can three of us play?" Gavin laughed, happy to try.

"You help your mother. She hates losing," his dad whispered the last part as if saying a single negative thing about his wife would cause thedas to crumble.

Gavin laughed, beginning to walk down the stairs to check in quick, before he paused to say, "I don't get it. How did she raise an army, lead it to end a blight, and yet be so bad at tactics?"

"As she likes to say it, it doesn't count as a proper representation of a battle if she can't have a drunken dwarf, a libidinous assassin, and a golem."

The libidinous assassin reminded Gavin of his proper job, Anjali no doubt floating around unwatched by anyone. What would come of that big mess? He should probably ask Ser Daryan what his assignment was to be, but... Rising off the stairs, Gavin returned to his father's side. Cullen questioned him, but he said, "My friend can cover for me. Also I think my mother might have some sway with the King."

His dad patted him on the back, returning them to his parent's room. While he didn't question Gavin's dodging duty, he did groan, "Don't blighted remind me."

## Chapter Thirty-Six

### Stuffed Crocodile

She could tell when her dad was at the super grumbling stage. Oddly, not a lot of people could. It wasn't that he was great at putting up a front like Rosie and pretending he was happy. He just didn't give the same 'I'm sick of your shit and want you all to go away' signs as most people. His cross comebacks seemed more like bitter jokes, most landing hard on the ground, not that he ever cared when he was in that bad of a mood.

"Hey," Myra began, staring into the darkened study where her dad recused himself to. That was exactly how he put it. Stood up in the middle of dinner after glaring at his first born for a good twenty minutes in between courses, shouted "I recuse myself," and then booked it to the first empty room he could find.

Alistair twisted the chair around a bit, his head lolling to the side until he spotted his youngest clogging up the doorway. "Wheaters," he called, Myra promptly rolling her eyes at the nickname that would never die. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, ya know, dinner was getting dull. They didn't even set the cake on fire. What's the point of making a fancy cake if you don't then set it on fire?"

She expected him to laugh or add on his own string of terrible ideas to liven the solemn party up, but her dad faded into himself. Maker's sake, how did it land on her to try and cheer him up? She was so bad at this stuff, usually talking nonstop to people until they either faked a smile or ran away screaming.

"You wanna sit with me, kiddo?" he turned his head over at her and then gestured to an old divan with a stuffed crocodile of all things stretched upon the cushions. Myra glanced over at her father in confusion at the reptile's appearance, only to understand how it got there with a King's assistance.

With a shrug, Myra slid into the dampened room. She plucked up the crocodile that was at most four feet long from snout to tail, then plopped down to the cushions and placed the lizard on her lap. While her dad stared into the fire, Myra began to smooth her fingers over the glued on scales, absently rubbing the thing as if it was a pet that fell asleep.

"Dad...?"

"How was your trip?" he interrupted her quickly, turning in the chair.

Was? Oh boy. She knew he hadn't talked to Rosie yet, the Princess still out there playing hostess or whatever she did best. But the grit in the pretty girl's jaw and the way she kept flexing her biceps as if looking for a fight was all Myra needed to know. Things were not going to end well for anyone tonight.

"Not bad. We got to that lake, the north one outside of Highever. Oh, and Bryn and I saw a frog as big as our heads. We tried to take it with us, but...turns out frogs don't really like living inside crates holding handmaiden's silken dresses."

Her dad snorted at that. No doubt he should be chastising her with a "Now Myra, we need to respect other peoples things and not leave amphibians inside of them," but he let it sail on past. With a slow hand, he took a pull from the mug beside his chair. She didn't know what it was, but the fumes were strong enough to warp the air around the girl on the couch. It could probably strip paint.

Rosie was in so much trouble.

"Then, uh...I nearly punched a boy, but my sister stopped me." She expected a reaction, to at least acknowledge that was the right move, but her dad only shut his eyes. "Lots of Banns giving tours of places to the point I think mazes and corridors will fill my nightmares for years."

I made out with a boy, a lot.

Myra pursed her lips, trying to shake off the thought. Her dad would flip and probably turn all his building wrath upon her for bringing that up. Plus, she didn't really want to talk about Gavin at the moment.

"After that, the darkspawn. Which...I have to say are not a lot of fun. They should name them nofunspawn."

"Did you fight?"

She expected her dad to either growl at the mention, or maybe throw out a few of his own jokes. When it came to darkspawn, he had a million of them. Such a simple, straight forward question threw Myra for a loop. Her fingers slid into the crocodile's open mouth, worrying up and down a tooth as she thought.

"Yeah."

"With a sword?" he turned in profile to her, a sliver of his white-grey eyebrow raised.

Myra felt her cheeks burning hotter as she rubbed her neck, "No. It was, I had...I used a flagpole to, ya know, whack whack."

Alistair sighed and took another drink. "We're going to have to tell your mother."

"She doesn't need to know about that bit. Or the frog part."

"Wheaty," now he turned fully in place to look over at her. "You're good with a staff, you should have a staff."

"But Mom says..."

"We can change her mind."

Myra snorted hard at that, "Since when?"

"Okay, give me a month head start," he added before winking at her. "If you don't like a sword, you don't like a sword."

"They're so...heavy, and I hate having to clomp around with one hanging off the side like, hello, yes I am armed. At least with a staff most people think, 'oh, walking stick. No reason to bother her.'"

"All good points. Save them for when your mom blows sky high," her dad laughed perhaps the first one since he learned the truth. Reiss was notoriously stubborn, a point he somehow found charming instead of infuriating. Though, he would sometimes confess to the daughter staying up at the palace with him while her mother was on a job that it could be infuriating too.

"So..." Myra began, undulating the crocodile in her lap up and down as if it was riding the waves. "Things."

"Things indeed," her dad was glaring at the barely flickering fireplace, his fingers tented to his temple while he tried to smooth out the embossed frown. "All kinds of things. Things you think," he tipped his head back and blew a great gust of air out of his lips, "you think you don't have to explain to people. Too many damn things."

"Dad?" she sat up higher, waiting until he looked over at her. "It's not that big a deal."

Her father's always silly eyes narrowed, "Wheaty, this isn't the time..."

"But it's not," she didn't know why she was sticking up for Rosie beyond sometimes her sister hid the dumb things Myra did. Like that time she was climbing the southern wall, slipped, and shattered a dozen pots in the fall. Rosie was outside doing whatever Rosie did and spotted her sister shaking broken terra cotta out of her shoes, but never said a word. Claimed one of the dogs did it. "Really."

Sliding further out of his chair, her dad rested nearly knee to knee with her. At an almost shared height, it was easy for Myra to look him in the eye. "Look, I get that you're okay. You're...tough. Sometimes scary tough, but even your mother will be spitting hot tacks when she hears about an assassin. Your mom."

"She hasn't even done anything," okay, aside from punching Gavin a few times. That was not very nice.

"It's not about the friendly assassin you pick up, it's..." he paused and regrouped, "It's sweet that you're trying to protect your sister, to help her and all, but this doesn't involve you, or Cailan."

Suddenly, Alistair groaned and tipped back into the chair, "Maker, I know you can handle yourself and even Rosie when she's not being a wilting flower for no good reason, but that kid..."

"He did good, Dad." At her insistence, Alistair turned in confusion at her. "Cailan led a bunch of civilians, servants and the like, to safety."

Snickering in surprise, her father shook his head as if he drank something strong, "Really? That's what Cailan chooses to be all humble about and not mention? Helping people? That kid is nothing but surprises." He kept patting himself in a half hug while mulling over his middle child's accomplishments, when the King suddenly grimaced.

"Wheaty, that doesn't mean that I can just ignore you all being in danger. You know that. You know how quick a situation can turn on you and go tits up."

Like a magic throwing darkspawn rising from the woods and setting itself upon them all.

Myra's lips dragged down into a huge frown, her fingers digging into the scales of the crocodile as if she could pop each one off. The change was so obvious even her somewhat deluded father looked over and asked, "What is it?"

"You were one of those mage hunters, right? A...ah shit, what were they called?"

"Templar."

"Right," Myra snapped her finger as if that was all that was on her mind. But her dad was still staring through her. He knew there was more. "Right, templars. And you, they could do stuff to mages. To...like, to stop them. Right?"

"A few things," her dad fully honed his eyes and focus upon her. "Myra? Why are you asking?"

She popped open her lips, wanting to explain, but the words clogged tight in her throat. It was silly, it was foolish, it was probably incriminating. To keep quiet, she jammed her jaw shut and began to twist the crocodile back and forth in her lap.

"Did someone attack you with a templar skill?" her dad reached over to lovingly hold her hand.

"No," Myra shook her head, aware that a few stupid tears were rising in her eyes. "No, not at me. At the...the thing we were fighting. It, it hit on -- I don't know -- accident."

"Ricochet," he nodded his head, sliding backwards a bit but he didn't let go of her hand. "That can happen, especially to the young and inexperienced." Suddenly her dad's head shot up and his eyes opened wide, "You didn't _like_ it did you?"

"What? No! Why would anyone like that? It felt like someone kicked me in the gut."

"I've wondered that myself a few times," Alistair suddenly tugged up the front of his hair, clearly wanting to change the subject before Myra asked any incriminating questions. After dropping his hands and listening to his daughter's agitated breathing, he turned to her, "My? What's really bugging you?"

"It's just...he, I mean, the person did it without warning. I had no way to know it would happen. And boom, felt like...like someone you li-- Like someone you trusted suddenly hit you." She felt the stupid tears building again in her throat.

Alistair groaned and mashed both of the heels of his hands into his eyes. He continued to rub away her questions a few more times before letting them down. The attack left him with red circling around his eyes like a bandit's mask. "The, I assume, dispel technique he used, did it take out whatever you were fighting?"

"Yeah, that emissary had no idea what hit it," Myra smiled waving her hand through the air at her remembering the way Gavin hacked it apart with ease.

"An emissary? Sweet Maker, that boy's only..." her dad froze up, his eyes meeting with Myra's as both realized their farce was pointless but neither wanting to call it out. "Whoever did that skill must be well trained, and probably gets a lot from his, or her, mother. Most definitely."

"Dad," Myra glared at him for bringing up that old feud.

"Fine, fine, forget I made any mention. But I don't understand what's the problem? Emissary dead, you safe. Both of you. Seems it did what it had to."

"Yeah, great and all, but that's a templar skill. Big, scary templars that would hunt and kill mages. Keep 'em locked up, became so bad they had to be disbanded and destroyed. Now he's...someone's throwing it around without thought for people caught in the crosshairs," Myra's voice deepened into a growl as she continued, her hands using the crocodile to emphasize her point.

Her father slid back into his chair and wrapped his hands around the mug. For awhile he just sat there, staring into whatever was left while swirling it around. Myra almost didn't expect an answer and thought maybe she should leave, when he finally spoke up. "The templars were dangerous and did become a problem, not just for mages. They had to be eliminated. But, just because an order went bad doesn't mean they all were."

With a laborious rise out of the chair, her father began to step back and forth in front of the rug, "There were good people in the templars, good people that wanted to do...good. Like me, or even..."

"The Commander?" Myra threw out fast before slapping a hand over her mouth. Her mother didn't have to tell her that Dad and Gavin's father didn't get on, the fact was blisteringly obvious. Though it took her until she was a bit older to ferret out why on her own. She wondered sometimes if Gavin knew.

Expecting her dad to groan or crack a joke, Myra braced herself, but he didn't. He sighed, "Is a good example of how good can become a problem."

"What?" She was confused. Everyone knew Cullen as heroic, stoic, other -ics probably. Never someone bad or dangerous, unless you were the bad guy.

"Take your would-be templar. I assume he's nice, kind, all those wonderful things they put down in poems, but he also fights. He knows how to kill, how to maim, how to hurt people. How to use a weapon to his advantage. That's what a templar's skills are."

"A weapon? Like...a sword. That seems a little easy. Sword kills one, but that can... What if, I mean the Qunari powder, that's scary stuff. It can blow up entire buildings in one shot."

"Wheaters," her dad leaned closer to her, "so can mages."

"But mages wouldn't..." she began to race to defend her own, before realizing she didn't really know her own. There were no mages her age she ever interacted with, the few on the streets were mere background in her life. What if one of them ever turned on the citizens?

"Dad? Did mom ever have to take down a mage?"

"A couple," he admitted with clenched teeth, "but I'm the one who's killed far more. Blood mages, dangerous beyond measure. And sometimes just people trying to kill me."

"Bad people," Myra said, trying to not feel her world shudder under her feet. She knew that it was live or die for her father during the blight, often the same for her mother when she worked the streets. It was simple, the bad people were bad and deserved whatever shit they stirred up. The good people were good because they stopped the bad people.

"They did seem rather not nice at the time, especially the Tevinter slavers. Kid, I can't tell you how to feel. I'm not even sure what one of those skills feels like on the other end."

Myra nodded her head dumbly, wanting her dad to run in and scare the monsters away. To turn everything back into the villain versus hero. This idea that heroes can shift into villains and villains become heroes unnerved her.

Gripping onto her shoulder, Alistair said, "But try to not judge him too harshly on it. I know I can't, not if he was trying to save you." He looked misty eyed at her and Myra felt her cheeks burning. Without trying to be too schmaltzy, Myra leaned forward to hug her dad's waist, her head burying into his side.

For a beat, her dad fiddled with her braid while completing the hug before he suddenly froze, "But you two aren't... You better not be, ya know, with him..."

"DAAD!" Myra shrieked, releasing the hug and flopping back onto the couch to cross her arms. "Maker's sake, don't be gross."

"Pretty sure it's a father's prerogative to gross his daughter out. Let's invite a couple of your friends in here. I can tell them all about the time you got it in your head to rip off your diaper and decorate the walls of the armory in poop."

"Andraste's butt," Myra fumed, her cheeks and forehead bright red. She glared at nothing, seething as she clicked her teeth from the embarrassment only her parents could cause.

Laughing at his kid's misfortune, which he caused, Alistair crumpled back to his chair. He took his time finishing his drink, before upending the empty mug onto the table. Myra caught the movement and asked, "Should I go?"

He glanced over, his eyes so haunted it looked like his soul was wounded. He really didn't want to have to confront Rosie, which was all that was left. Shaking it away, her dad laughed, "Nah, you can stay a bit. Tell me about other things. Things that don't involve you having to stare down a hurlock's ugly mug."

Myra nodded. She tipped the crocodile upside down to expose its belly and began to scratch it, as if the thing was alive and also a cat. "How's mom? Her stuff?"

"Good, busy. You know how the heat messes with people, but she's been staying back more, thank the Maker." That was a near on constant argument between the two. _You should remain back. No, I'm needed. Yeah,_ I _need you._ Somehow they always made up after, even if Reiss got her way 99% of the time. "She sends her love, she also thanks you for the letters even if you wrote them all before you left."

Myra winced at being caught, then laughed. Of course her mother knew. "Let me guess, she wants me to send her one I wrote on the road."

"If you could, but maybe leave out the darkspawn and templar skills unless you want your mother to pop up out here as your personal bodyguard."

"Duly noted," Myra nodded her head.

"Oh," her dad suddenly snapped his fingers, "Nearly forgot, Lunet sent a bunch of books with me for you. Which she ordered me to not look at or read lest I burt into flames on the spot."

"Aahh," Myra nearly shot up to her feet, wanting to wrest what she knew to be especially dirty books out of her father's hands, but he only shrugged.

"Jokes on her, I can't even read," he winked before innocently asking, "What's a throbbing member? A cultist that whacked his head really hard?"

Her jaw fell open, Myra feeling an urge to explain before she slammed it shut and began to laugh. Alistair joined in. Tucking her feet up onto the divan, Myra opened up to her dad and he in turn shared everything with her. By the end they both thought about finding a cake and seeing how hard it would be to set it on fire.

## Chapter Thirty-Seven

### Spud

She'd easily worn a path into the floor, which was especially impressive as it was made out of stone. Every once in awhile Cailan would look over and sigh. He wouldn't say anything, having nothing to say, but he'd make his presence known as if he was already weary of the whole affair. Rosie clicked her fingers together, trying to hold still, but her body couldn't remain in place and she resumed her pacing. To say the night was frosty would be an understatement. People were civil to her, but nothing more. No one wanted to be too kind to the princess and find themselves on the King's bad side. How many in their caravan had she pressed into silence? How many had ignored their King's orders at Rosamund's whims?

They were all asking it with quick glances and sighs much like her brother. At least it was no skin off his nose either way. Remain on the road, return home like a collared dog -- he was fine with both. Twisting on her toes, Rosie rammed into a table, scattering a pile of trinkets off of their perch. Most tipped over, glass statues of animals tumbling to the sides, but none shattering.

"Damn it all!" she cursed herself, reaching over to right up the Arl's or someone else's collectibles.

While she was trying to get a balancing elephant upright, she heard the door behind her creak open. Her heart thudded into her stomach even before the coughing voice sputtered out, "We need to talk, Rosie."

Her fingers trembled above the glass menagerie massacre, Rosie sliding back before she ruined that too. Sucking in a breath she turned to face her father. He was red rimmed around the eyes, no doubt having to drink to face up to talking to her. Great. This was even worse than she'd feared.

"Very well," she tipped her chin up, prepared to fight as strong as she could.

Alistair glanced around at the girls remaining by their princess' side. "Could you all clear out already? I rather doubt you want to stay."

"Yes, Sire," each girl shot up to her feet, took a deep curtsy, then scuttled out the door with their heads hanging down. No one wanted to meet his wrathful, regal gaze.

For a beat, Cailan glanced over at Rosie in sympathy, when their dad sighed, "You too. Unless you had some say in all this mess?"

Cailan shrugged, "Not particularly."

"Really?" their father scratched his chin in thought, "Pretty assassin, seemed your type."

Popping to his feet, Cailan cast a look over at Rosie, "You'd be surprised." His wolfish grin as if he knew something he shouldn't faded when their dad suddenly grabbed his arms around Cailan and tucked him into a hug.

"I know, I know," Alistair sighed, "but no one's watching and humor me." Cailan gave in, limply patting back to hold his father. When Alistair's grip gave, he stared into Cailan's eyes, "You're okay? You're sure?"

"Yes, as well as I can be. Rosie's...she's done an okay job so far."

It was sweet of him to try and stand up for her, but it was doubtful it mattered. Cailan stepped out of his dad's arms and crossed to the door. For a brief moment he looked up at his sister before vanishing out it. Their dad stood turned away, watching where his only son once stood.

"I'm surprised he let me hug him."

"He probably wanted to escape quickly to go fall into someone's bed," Rosie added on lightly. Their father laughed at the assessment then raised an eyebrow in agreement.

The camaraderie was but a brief flicker in the storm. Groaning, Alistair scrubbed against the stubble on his cheeks. "Rosie..." It was a few more whines and sighs before he continued, "What were you thinking?"

Her back stiffened, her head snapping up, "Anjali..."

"I don't care if the assassin you picked up has been perfectly pleasant and saved a box of kittens from a runaway tree. I doubt it, because _a-ssassin_ , but for the love of the Maker, why didn't you tell me?"

"You know why," Rosie's eyes flared as she stared down her father. "You treat me as if I'm yet a child. As if the most I can handle is sitting in on a simple city meeting, nothing else. No trusting me with matters of the nation, the country I shall once rule."

"It's not that blighted simple," he groaned, falling right into the center of her pacing track.

"Why not? Do I not deserve to be informed? Do you not trust me?"

"I dunno, your lying to me makes that a bit hard to give a hearty thumbs up to," he spat out, his eyes burning in anger that she knew was coated with fear.

"I never meant to lie," Rosie faded, feeling a sting at the deception. She thought that she'd tell him of it all once she was home and the danger long passed. Then it'd be a laugh, not this mess.

"Pretty sure, 'I'll send a letter to the King and tell him all about me keeping my own assassin around for fun,' then not doing it counts as a lie. Oh yeah, I talked to the advisors. Which I should be even madder at you about for forcing me to sit in on their blather. They've been building up notes to assault me with for decades!"

Glaring into the ground, Rosie dug her fingers through her skirts. She should have changed into something less...frilly. No frippery, only business for this meeting. Challenge? Was she really having to square off against her father? All her life he'd been the one saying 'nah, let her have a sword.' 'She can handle this. She's smart enough to do that.' And now, when she needed him most, he thought her as feeble as a newborn kitten?

"I'm going to send a few ravens on to the palace. Karelle's got procedure to follow to deal with the loss of Avery, we can have some big banquet when you return to Denerim, and the other..."

"No," it slipped out of her trembling lips at barely a breath, but it halted her father dead.

"What?" he glared at her, his eldest daughter's shoulders shaking as she whipped her head up at him.

"No, father, I will not return to Denerim."

"Listen here, young lady."

"I am not a child, I am not six years old and have been caught hiding toads inside helmets! I am an adult!"

He froze and folded his arms. "An adult screaming her lungs off at me."

"Because of you, because you keep treating me like I'm...as if you have no faith in me. As if you think, or know, that I will fail." Her cursed voice was slipping higher in her anger; she could taste the shrill about to explode.

Her dad slid back a bit, his head tipped to the ceiling while he tried to find a bit of calm. "It's not about you failing, Spuddy. It's about you dying. It's about you risking your life, the lives of your brother and sister, and not damn well telling me you were doing it!"

"Because you'd have run right in and taken everything, taken it all over."

"Damn right I would!" Her dad slammed his hand through the air, striking nothing but his own leg, but the force was enough the slap echoed in the chamber.

"Because you don't trust me," tears of exhaustion, of frustration, and of grief rose in her eyes.

Her dad, the man that'd carried her on his shoulders through the streets of every city in Ferelden, wrapped his arms around her. Rosie didn't uncross her arms, but she let herself fall into him as he patted the back of her head. "Because you're my baby, you all are. And the thought of you... Spudkins, I never want to lose you, any of you."

It was heartfelt, and it was sincere, but his words dug deep into the festering wound that'd been inside Rosie's soul for far too long. Yanking herself away, she glared at him. "Stop calling me that! Stop acting as if I, or Cailan, or even Myra are toddlers that can put on a silly show for the King before being carted off to bed. We are not children."

"Yes you damn well are!" her father shouted back. "I don't care how old you get, you have no blighted idea what's out there. What can kill you."

"I am twenty four. That's four years older than you were when you stopped a Maker damned blight!"

Her dad scowled deeper, his eyes burning through the air, "That's different."

"How? How am I in anyway different from you? You were younger, you had no one to help you..."

"Exactly!" he shrieked, tears burning in his eyes. "For the love of the Maker, Rosie, those were not good days. Every one of 'em I went to bed thinking I may not see the sunrise, and every morning thinking I may not see my bed again. That was the hardest year of my life."

Shaking his head fast, he picked up her pacing trail, one hand tugging up his hair while those brown eyes snapped back decades. She knew her father and company spent some time during the Blight dealing with an atrocity that occurred in this castle in Redcliffe. The way her father kept peering in terror at the walls, was he thinking back to that?

"Yes, I had no one..." he paused, a laugh snickering in his throat, "almost no one, but I never want that for you, for any of you. To head into battle alone, thinking no one cares, there's no one waiting back for you is..." Alistair's thought died and he ran his tongue over his lips to try and wet away the cracked skin. Whatever momentum he had faded, "It's not fun. Not at all. You don't want to do it."

"Then support me, dad!" Rosie shrieked, her emotions somehow amplifying from her father's. "Trust me. Trust me to be able to handle this stuff."

"We're not talking an Arl pissed off because you flipped over his pickle wagon," her dad began, confusing Rosie. She didn't remember that one ever happening. "These are assassins, trained killers, who are coming for you."

"You've dealt with assassins before," she began, trying to think back to her list of flimsy excuses she thought to use to save herself.

"Right, and nearly died. Very, very nearly died," her dad shuddered. He wasn't entirely the same after that attack, his body slowing quickly from exertion, though he always put up a good front.

Rosie slapped a hand into her thigh, getting exhausted with her father's stubbornness, "Because of Cade, because of a man you let get close to you."

"And who have you let get close to you, Rosamund? What do you know of her?" he leaned closer to her, the King easily looming over the short girl.

A noise like a whimper and a scream caught in Rosie's throat. She trusted Anjali with her life. But so had her father with Cade, the ex Commander of the troops in Denerim -- right until the man tried to have him killed. And why do you trust her? Has she given any reason? Is it the fact she saved your life or...is there another reason, Rosamund? A reason you won't even admit to yourself?

"I know she is my best hope to stopping this assassin. If they intend to cause a war by destabilizing the throne, they are just as likely to kill you too, dad. I...I can't let you risk yourself."

Something in that made her father snort as if she was all of six again, grabbing her warrior daddy's hand and insisting she'd protect him from the nasty darkspawn. But time had changed the tables. While he waited back at the castle safe, she was out in the field plucking real life darkspawn from this world. She wasn't a meek child anymore. Why couldn't he see that?

"Rosie," he sighed, shaking his head, "it's over. Come home, there's no reason you can't try again next year."

It wasn't the commanding 'do what I say or you'll be dropped into a timeout' voice that caught her but a softly pleading one. She almost wanted to give in, to race back to her room at home, to focus only on silly dithering things and forget politics for a few years. Live a life of leisure, before she had to sit on the throne.

Her eyes hardened and she plucked up her skirt in her hands, digging in tight. "Rosie..." her father groaned.

"No, I am finishing this, father."

"Maker's breath!"

"We will appear weak if we abandon this tour, it will leave our allies wondering..."

"Sod the allies, sod the damn crown, sod the whole country as far as I care," he waved his hands through the air as if trying to damn them all. "I am not losing you!" He tried to grab her hands to get one to break away from the skirt she had hoisted up in preparation of walking out, but she wouldn't let go.

"Take them, take everyone with you back to Denerim. I will finish this on my own if I must," sliding past her father, the princess' shoes beat hard into the floor as if she was trying to get it to submit to her will.

"Rosie..." he groaned, twisting around like a mechanical doll -- each part whipping over quickly to match with a gear. "Don't do this. Come home."

Yanking open the door, she stood framed by the candlelight of the castle halls, "Do whatever you wish, father. Return the caravan home, remain here in Redcliffe. But I shall see my duties through to the end." With a snarl, she threw her skirts down and slammed the door shut. She didn't run away, even if she wanted to, but slowly walked from her room and her father.

Behind her, she heard her father spit out, "Damn it, Spud," before everything went quiet.

## Chapter Thirty-Eight

### Trust

By the time Rosie made it out onto the terrace she wanted to scream, to tip her head back to the unforgiving stars and howl about every unfair matter in her life. There was a growing list so it might take some time. But she knew better, everyone was on edge as the two royal highnesses seemed to be duking it out verbally. The air tingled with fear that it could turn to the physical.

During dinner she thought she overheard some talk of civil war and Rosie nearly snorted out her soup. As mad as she was at her father, she'd never...she'd never stop loving him. The devotion of the Theirin children to their dad was often confounding to many of the upper crust parents who'd ask how the silly Alistair accomplished such a feat. Loyalty was almost impossible to come across for them from spawn they barely stomached. It was often worth it to watch their faces drop when he said love, and being there to clean up his kid's shit and/or vomit at 2 in the morning after they'd been sick.

Why wouldn't he listen? He used to be so great at listening to her, but... She went away to Kirkwall for a three month trip abroad. It was meant to teach her how to present herself not as a lady, but a head of state. Rosie was so proud of how good she got at keeping herself level headed, when she returned home she managed to maintain the greeting to her parents as a simple, "Hello, Mother. Hello, Father. Pleasure."

Her dad didn't look at her quite the same after that. Sure, he didn't stop caring, often finding ways to yank her out of schooling along with her brother to get up to mischief in the Denerim market. But it was different. Maybe he saw too much of himself in her, too much of her future and his...

Rosamund groaned loudly, her head tipped to the stars. "They say royalty can't look at their children because all they see is their own death."

"Here I assumed it was due to all the inbreeding."

She whipped her head to find the voice, not meaning to speak her inner thoughts aloud. Sliding out of the shadows emerged Anjali, a hand wrapped around the wound on her arm. She didn't make a fuss about it, but Rosie could tell it had to sting by how often she kept favoring the injury.

"Not that I think..." Anjali blinked a moment in Rosie's eyes. Barely a flicker of torchlight lit up from down below, requiring both women to stand rather close to see each other. "I mean, there's no way the Ferelden crown suffers the same as Nevarra."

"Oh?" Rosie placed a hand on her hip, her lips lifting in a curious smirk, "You seem rather certain of that."

Bright white teeth cut through the dim shadows of the night like the moon's embrace, "I am, because you are far too beautiful for your parents to be related."

"Good call," Rosie said, her hands flattening over her stomach to cut off the flutters. "My father, actually, he has no living relatives."

"None?" Anjali bunched her eyebrows in surprise. The one with the scar almost tipped far enough over for the gash to run parallel. She wanted to dip the tip of her pinkie through it, to feel the dark hairs cup against her skin, but that was uncalled for.

Unaware of Rosie's silly thoughts, the assassin bumped her hip into the railing, "Here I thought royalty pushed out as many kids as they could to keep their hooks in the crown and all."

"It's..." Rosie knew it all, the old civil war, the Orlesian occupation. How King Maric only produced two sons and lost the legitimate one during the blight while her father had the job land upon him. Maker was there a lot of history to Ferelden regardless of how the rest of thedas treated them like some nobody. "A long story."

Anjali's beautiful head bobbed as if she expected as such, her eyes turning out to gaze towards the village of Redcliffe itself. A few lights sparkled out of the trees, most near the tavern and one beside the chantry. How many of the villagers were awake, wondering about both the King and Princess in their neck of the woods? How many were already gossiping about the great row they watched? Maker, her poise tutor would have whacked her knuckles bloody for that.

"Shall I be..." Anjali began, her nose twitching to match the thought, "I'm wondering if I'm going to be run out of town, or find my neck stretched, or get real cozy with a gibbet. It's not so bad if you think to bring a book."

Rosie sputtered out a laugh at the idea, then sighed, "No."

"Are you certain? Because I'm not a fan of royalty shouting anywhere near me."

"Get in line." She glared out at this country that was meant to one day be hers, but what did that mean? What did that promise of blood matter when everyone kept wresting it away from her, because she didn't deserve it? Because it was above her? Because it was dangerous? Well, one day there'd be no one else and Rosamund would be all they had. What then?

A soft hand cupped against Rosie's shoulder and she turned right into Anjali's flickering eyes. By light of day an impishness danced in her deep browns, but under cover of darkness they were wide and looked almost innocent, like a sweet fawn's.

"How are you holding up?" the woman asked, seeming to stare right into her soul.

"Who, me? The princess? The spoiled brat that has to get her way and pitches a fit when she doesn't? Just dandy." Rosie meant it as a distraction, but Anjali's head whipped and her lips pursed.

"Was someone saying that? Accusing you of being..."

"No," Rosie shook her head, cupping her fingers over Anjali's to try and assure her no leaping to her defense was necessary, "Just...something I always have to keep in the back of my head. I'm not me, I'm the crown. The face of Ferelden. And if people see me acting out even for a moment it forever taints the lofted station until it crumbles to dust."

She expected the assassin to sigh, or blow her lips at the enormity of the situation but she brayed a laugh fast. When Rosie whipped over, glaring in confusion, Anjali raced to cover up the next one but didn't quite make it. "Really? You really believe that? That people can't think for even two seconds 'Oh, she's just having a fight with her dad?'"

"If someone spots a single scarlet ribbon flitting through the sky in Rivain, what happens?"

"Panic, shit their drawers, run inside to hide under beds."

"Even if there's a perfectly logical explanation?"

The woman sighed, "All right, ya got me. People are a pain in the ass." Rosie smiled a bit at the admittance. Sure, being a princess meant she got the best. Best clothes, best food, best teaching, best certainty that she'd be taken care of. In exchange her life was broken off into little pieces and shared around the country. Whatever sliver she hoped to keep private for herself kept slipping through her fingers.

"I've never been gladder to turn down my mother," Anjali mumbled, her head tipping to her chest.

At that, Rosie turned fully to her, the princess tipping her hip into the same banister so they could look eye to eye. "Is that why you became an assassin?"

Anjali's head whipped up, the woman seeming to not have meant to say it aloud. A trait they appeared to share. "It's..." her teeth scissored against her bottom lip which shined by the torchlight. "You asked about this," she drew her finger to circle the tattoo around her eye. It didn't entirely look like a ribbon, tick marks jutting off the half circle a bit like a clock.

"It's not a Scarlet Ribbon tattoo, we don't even really have those," the woman who had no troubles sharing anything on her chest seemed to falter. With eyes dancing, she said, "It's a Seer symbol."

"Seers?" Absently, Rosie reached over as if she was about to trace the tattoo upon Anjali's face but paused and tried to stuff her errant hands into her hair. _What in the Maker's name are you doing?_

"Like...okay, there's not a great example here. One part mother in the chantry to another part alderman. Seer women pretty much run the villages and towns in Rivain. Need to know when to plant crops? Visit the Seer. Need to know when it's best to harvest? See the Seer. Wondering if your baby will survive? Off to the Seer."

"Are they...mages?" She didn't know much about Rivain but even they had circles until the entire structure collapsed about thirty years ago.

"Some of them," Anjali said, "but not all. You don't need to see the future to be a Seer, just..." Her head hung down a moment before she glanced over at Rosie, "Like you, really. Smart. Poised. Able to arrive at a solution and then give the order no matter how badly it might go."

Rosie touched her chest softly, feeling incredibly childish all of a sudden. She wasn't any of those things with her father. There was another thought stinging deep inside of her, which she couldn't stop from emerging, "And you ran from being a Seer. From someone like me."

"Not, no, it's not like that," the assassin turned on her heel and quickly bundled Rosie's fingers in her own. It felt nice and friendly, until Anjali brought one of Rosie's hands up to her lips. So many people over the years had kissed her hand, sometimes as a sign of deference, sometimes to be an ass. But in all of them, she'd never sat upon the brink watching with her entire body stretched taut like a ribbon as a pair of succulent lips pressed warm breath to her skin.

It lasted at most a heartbeat, but it felt a lifetime, her flushed cheeks and hungry eyes darting over to Anjali's as whatever offense she felt was long lost. "I ran from my mother forcing me to become something I didn't want. The people adored her. She is a mage, and could see into the spirit realm often using it to divine secrets."

"But not you?"

Anjali twisted her head sadly, "First day out of her body and I already managed to disappoint her. I see in you some of what," she snickered a moment, "what I was taught to do. The playing nice, the pretending to be detached and unaffected. But there's more, isn't there?" Her full bodied voice drifted even deeper, Rosie's lips parting as her spine shivered. _More?_

"You, defying your dad like that. Breaking into the Tern's office. Standing your ground when that hurlock charged you."

The latter was the most foolish of them all, Rosie being knocked on her back from the move. She was only saved by Anjali and Ser Michael acting quickly. With the wind kicked out of her, their beloved Princess had to scrabble across the ground, snatching up all the dropped arrows she could.

Rosie's cheeks lit up at all of her sins listed like that, but the assassin smiled wide, "It's glorious. I never expected..." The smile dipped and she stepped back a breath, "Didn't think one could be both. My mother tried to train the fire out of me, to quench it with words like duty, and privilege, and devotion."

"I just..." Rosie swallowed hard, her eyes darting around the woman's face, "try to be me."

"Me too," she snickered, "and look at how well that's gotten me."

"What about your father? Did he want you to become a Seer?"

"Don't know. Never met him. Mother did not like to talk about it. I could bump into him on the street in a market somewhere and I'd never know," Anjali grew quiet a moment, her head bouncing with the wind before she sighed, "Could have slit his throat on a contract and been none the wiser too."

"That's..."

"Grim? Dark? Bloody?" she shrugged, "I am an assassin. I can't hide what I've done or what I will do."

"Is that it then? Your only options in life are assassin or seer?"

"Awe," Anjali smiled, her warm fingers sliding against Rosie's cheek to tuck back an errant strip of hair. "Is the beautiful princess trying to save me?"

"I'm only...you seem rather reticent about your life choice. I mean, if you could be anything, what would you be?"

The woman paused, her lips curling up in thought as she turned out to the vast world before her. There were a multitude of options in a land where no one would have ever known her as an assassin or a seer's daughter. It was the best kind of freedom -- anonymity.

After a moment, Anjali turned back to Rosie, and her lip curled into an enchanting smile. Heavy lidded eyes darted up and down Rosie's face as if she was trying to savor the view, before the assassin whispered, "A prince."

The single word pulled Rosie in, her eyelids fluttering shut as she leaned closer to Anjali. She felt a hand with a great gash down the palm cup first against her waist, then rise against her jaw. Rosie tipped her head, easily following Anjali's soft directions to line up her lips with...

"Hey, kid."

Her eyes sprung open and she whipped away from the assassin to find her father stepping out onto the veranda. Rosie didn't need to drop her hands as Anjali did it first, the assassin easily pretending they hadn't been about to...to what? Nothing. They weren't doing anything. Obviously.

"Dad?" Rosie gasped out in a high voice before trying to drag it down, "Father."

"So, you're not going to start with calling me a feckless boil snake that's consumed its brains instead of its tail? Progress."

Rosie pursed her lips, knowing she'd never call her father such ludicrous insults. He was showing off because he was angry, or in pain. For a beat, her dad looked over at the shadow by his daughter's side.

"You're her, aren't you? The assassin to catch an assassin," he said it with such sarcasm, the idiocy of the plan wasn't lost of Rosie who folded her arms and sighed.

"Uh," Anjali eyed up the king with her toes lifting as if she wanted to scamper over the railing and leap into the courtyard far below. "Yes, that'd be me." Screwing up her courage, she extended a hand to the King which he actually took.

He shook it a moment before snarling, "If you hurt my daughter..."

"I, I am doing my best to prevent that, Sir," Anjali widened her eyes while glancing over at Rosie.

"Dad!" she shouted, growing embarrassed by his overreaction. If Anjali had any intentions to dispatch with Rosamund there'd been ample opportunity already which she never took. The answer why seemed simple enough.

"All right," Alistair released his death grip upon the woman and stepped back. "Can you excuse us a moment, assassin? I need to talk to my spawn in private, preferably without her stomping away in a snit."

Sighing even more dramatically, Rosie tried to whip her head away from her father but in doing so she caught Anjali peering at her with concern. She looked as if she intended to remain. Why? To protect Rosie? Barely lifting her hand, Rosie tried to convey that she was fine with her dad. Anjali's darkened eyes drifted over the old man a moment before she nodded her head.

"Yes, Ser," she fake saluted and turned back towards the door out.

"Oh," Alistair spun on his heel to face her, "you wouldn't happen to be Antivan, would you?"

"No," Anjali shook her head, fully lost.

"Thank the Maker for tiny miracles," her dad spun back, making no sense, but that was normal for Rosie. Anjali drew her teeth over her bottom lip, one hand clinging to the door handle, but Rosie gave her the go ahead. With a sigh, the assassin vanished, once again leaving father and daughter all alone on the balcony.

Wind was clearly breaking up the trees lining along the village, but only the sound of the waterwheel churning from the river feeding the lake filled the night air. Rosie was content to stand there listening to it only, but her father finally drew up the courage to speak.

"I knew an assassin once," he said, causing Rosie to whip her head over in confusion. "Biggest pain in the ass I ever met," her dad laughed, before scrunching up his nose, "except for the witch."

"When was this?" She knew her father kept circumspect company at times, in particular the smuggling ring he was involved with to ferret slaves out of Tevinter and into Ferelden. But aside from the pirates and mercenaries, she never heard of a full blooded assassin in the mix.

"The blight, not my idea to keep him around, believe me. You can't really ever trust someone like that. If their loyalty can be bought then how do you ever stop questioning them, stop wondering if they'll turn on you for the right price?" Her dad slowed in his rant to stare out across Redcliffe. She knew he grew up here to some extent, but he never liked to talk about it much.

"Did he?" Rosie's question threw him off, as Alistair whipped his head over to her. "Did he betray you?"

Snorting, he staggered back from the view, "No. No, he never ever did. Was still a pain in the ass though. Look, Rosie..."

"Dad," she interrupted, "there isn't anything else to say."

"No, there's a lot left to say between you and I. For starters, you apologizing for storming out. You want to be treated like an adult you don't do that. Or you hurl a wine bottle and scream for someone to clean it up. Either way, do it like an adult." She didn't laugh at his interlude, just folded her arms and waited.

"And I need to say I'm sorry too. You were right, I have been shielding you from this, all of this...ruling stuff."

Her arms fell apart, Rosie's hands thudding to her thighs as she watched her father pick at one of the knots on his shoulder. They were meant to display to everyone in thedas that he was a King and due the respect necessary. Most of the time, he barely tied the things, leaving it to Karelle or one of the other long suffering advisors to do it up quick. When she was little, he'd sometimes encourage her or her brother to undo them.

"I get it," she said, falling back upon the logical conclusion she reached earlier. "My ascension to the throne requires your..." Maker, it was hard to say, to think, "loss. And that's difficult for anyone to..."

"Oh kiddo," her father turned to her, a doleful smile stretching across his dour cheeks, "I'm not worried about me dying, or plan on clinging rotten tooth and nail to the crown. Though, I'd appreciate you not shoving me off the top of the stairs to get it."

"Dad!" she gasped, tears prickling at the fearful thought of losing him.

Alistair bit into his lip and snickered, "The truth is, I don't want you to suffer same as me. No parent does. No good parent. I suppose there are plenty of shit ones who like watching their kids toil away."

"It's not suffering if I choose it," Rosie insisted but her dad sighed.

"Spuddy," he mused before flinching, "Sorry, I know, you're not a child. You're an adult, a woman that can get very cross like her mother when she's got half a mind." She felt foolish for her outburst, but didn't race to correct him either. The old nickname was childish and should remain dead.

"Just because you choose something doesn't mean it can't hurt you," her dad said. "I want to protect you as long as I can from it. From the real pain of...of what I get in my reports, or what I have to decide. Having lives hanging in the balance while you choose where to put your thumb on the scale is honestly not a lot of fun. I have no idea why anyone wants to do this job. Kills to get this job. We should put a cat in charge or something."

"Dad."

"A goat? Or is that too evil?"

He hated being King, everyone knew it who met the man for maybe five minutes. But somehow he was also cursed to be rather good at it. He could make the decisions necessary, keep the country floating through some of the worst times of the age, and his daughter looked up to that. More than that, she respected it.

"I want this," Rosie repeated what she felt she'd been fighting with for an age. "Keeping me from it isn't protecting me, it's...it's delaying the inevitable. Eventually I will have to learn."

"But while there are assassins about? That's a bit like teaching a kid to swim by chucking him off a waterfall."

"It will show we are strong, that the Theirin line does not flinch from adversity," she stuck out her chin, her eyes gazing across the horizon and up to the stars above.

This was her land, not just by right or blood, but in her soul. She was taught everything about it, the leaders who guided it, the hands who fed it, the life blood that sustained it, and the dangers lurking under the surface. Ferelden was as much Rosamund as her hair or nails were.

"How long you been working on that one?" her dad asked, his shoulder bouncing into hers.

"Since we first bumped into Anjali," Rosie admitted, growing flush on her face at the thought.

"It's not bad. Could use a few more pompous words for the criers, but..." He reached over with one arm to tuck his eldest into a side hug. "I will never, ever ever, never stop worrying about you. From the day I picked you up out of the cradle and you were like this big," he extended a hand and pretended to cup a baby's head to show how small Rosie was as an infant, "I swore to myself, self, nothing bad will happen to this tiny, squealing potato."

It was so foolish, but she couldn't stop the laugh at his sincerity.

"And I meant it. Still do. For you, and Cailan, and Myra who's about ten times harder to protect on a good day."

"Dad..."

"I know, I can't control you. Andraste's sake, I could barely convince any of you that we poop in the latrine hole not our pants."

"DAD!" Rosie shouted, whipping her head around out of fear anyone else was still listening in.

He sighed at the chastisement, seeming to find it slightly funny but also exhausting. "Is there anyway I can convince you to come home with me? To plan a new trip later when things are safer out here? Without an assassin lurking about in the background?"

The Princess blinked a moment at the sincerity in his voice. No orders, no threats, just a plea. Slowly, she shook her head no.

Groaning, her father tipped his head back to the stars, "I figured as much. You know, you can be a real pain in the butt when you think you're doing something you have to."

"So are you," Rosie added back, causing her father to smile.

"All right, I hate it. I want you to know I hate it. I will put it on record if I can fish any of my clerks out of the fountain. Don't ask." He licked his lips in thought before continuing, "But if you're going to keep on, you're taking Karelle. Ah!"

He threw a hand up to stop Rosie who was about to launch into an argument. "You need her. Without Avery, you're going to need someone who bleeds protocol from their veins. Trust me, on these pointless trips all the Banns love is protocol. Helps 'em show off. Without that, they'll eat you alive."

"And the fact Karelle will report everything I do directly back to you has no factor in this?" Rosie twisted her head to the side.

"It's exactly why this is the choice that I'm giving you. I'll leave, head back to Denerim and you can continue on, but no more lying, Rosie. No more you being all alone and sole decider. We're not at odds in this, we can make choices together too. Having allies, people you can turn to, to aid in all those sticky decisions, that's what this is really about. A lone ruler sat apart on a throne is one that's about to start impaling people up their bums until it's just a nation of corpses."

She winced at the metaphor but nodded her head. "Okay, I can certainly use Karelle."

"And Karelle will use you. You thought Avery was bad..."

"But she's been your Chamberlain for, for decades."

"Right, cause she's terrifyingly good at her job. In fact, I think in the month or so you have her, there's a good chance the palace will fall to rubble. So, if you return home and it's a big pile of bricks, that'd be why."

Rosie rolled her eyes, "Dad."

"Just promise me, kid, that you'll keep safe. You'll keep your brother and sister safe on this."

"I already have, and I will," she swore. "But you promise me something." At that her father tipped his head in confusion. "You have to tell me things. Matters that you share privately with the other Banns and Arls which I deserve to know about."

Alistair wrapped his hands around her and tugged her into a hug. After patting her back a few times as if he could tap out his worry he sighed, "Okay, I will. Now, I don't know about you, but I am blighted exhausted. Just sitting around watching someone else kill darkspawn is strenuous. I need to get to sleep, especially if I'll be leaving in the morning."

Rosie winced at that, "You can remain for a little while. Catch up..."

"No, nah it's your show now, kid. Besides, I think I mighta left a hearth going and probably should head back home before I burn all of Denerim down." It was so silly, the way his face sloped and he jerked a thumb towards the east, Rosie giggled. After getting one last joke out of the way, her dad moved towards the door. She stared out across the horizon, her mind too invigorated to consider sleep.

"Oh, and one more thing, Rosie. Be careful with that assassin you already got wandering around." She turned to find her father halfway in the door, his head turned down. With a shrug, he said, "Make certain she doesn't stab you in the heart," then vanished inside.

## Chapter Thirty-Nine

### Sketching

It wasn't easy to transfer the power with her father hanging around, giving last goodbyes and hugs, but Karelle managed to make it less jagged at least. Alistair gave her one last out, but Rosie was dead set on her path. She expected Cailan or Myra to return with their father, but both declined. Their brother because he suspected things were far more likely to get interesting on the road. Myra didn't give a reason, just shrugged her shoulders and scampered off. For a beat Alistair met the eye of his eldest and both sighed.

Whatever Myra was hiding it couldn't be _that_ bad. Probably.

Once the King and his smaller company headed home, waving to everyone in their wake, it became Rosamund's job to lead the group. She thought she had a good grasp on things, drifting in and out of the various clumps of advisors and clerics all making notes and forming opinions for the crown, but while standing outside a doorway she overheard a few in conference.

"This is pointless. We're acting on a farce. You know her father will just swoop in and do whatever he wants."

"We're under orders."

"To serve him, not her. Besides, seems like anyone who gets too close to her winds up on a pyre."

Rosie was about to run inside and shout them deaf, when Karelle suddenly snagged onto her arm. The woman was incredibly tall, perhaps as tall and imposing as Squire Gavin. She tipped her head down to her majesty, then whispered, "Let me handle it."

Stomping into the room as if skulls she wished to crush littered the path, Karelle's booming voice ordered, "Get to work. If I catch you slacking like this, you'll answer to our Highness."

"Which one?"

Wrong choice. Karelle spun and glared, "The one with a sword, and who doesn't brook foolishness."

At that Rosie stepped in primly. Dressed in ivory linen she appeared like a freshly scrubbed angel come to rescue the poor clerks. "Chamberlain," she greeted Karelle, "is there a problem?"

"I don't know," Karelle turned to both with her teeth out, "is there?"

"No!" they shrieked at the same time, scattering away to their books.

Rosie nodded her thanks, but the Chamberlain already turned back to her work inside a great red book she carried everywhere. About to leave, Karelle suddenly whispered, "I used to do that for your Daddy a few times. Once he ran in to try and play the good guy with his hands and face smeared in cherry juice. Never seen a pile of clerics run so fast in my life."

With a real itinerary which Karelle had operating at such efficiency you could barely see the cogs and gears moving, Rosie was whisked from one meeting to another. It worked out much nicer than Highever as well, what with Arl Teagan presiding and even Cousin Henry sitting near to Rosie. He was sweet enough to help her with any necessary materials, or even lean down to whisper who was who in a meeting. They whipped past so fast, she had no chance of remembering the quick greetings and was grateful.

For a few of the dinners, Cailan was forced to sit up at the head table, and amazingly Myra even made it up for one. Didn't last long, the girl all but unhinging her jaw to inhale the food. It was an aspect she must have received from their father, who was often cramming things in before rushing to his next problem. But Teagan enjoyed having her around -- he was probably the only noble to not treat her as a bastard, which made Myra behave around him.

Hopefully whatever she was up to, she'd wait from unleashing it at Redcliffe.

_You should talk to her about her magic.  _

Rosie put down the quill which -- instead of forming diplomatic words or harsh sentences -- was tracing the silhouette of a nose. It kept escaping her, the round perspective slipping from her mental grasp. Their father put the issue of Myra's magic on Rosie's shoulders. The half sister blew up during one of Rosie's parties, a birthday party come to think of it, sending fire streaking across the lawn. Everyone knew after that, but none would come out and say for fear of how their King would react.

Everything about Myra made her an outsider. Her status, her speech, her clothes, even her gait which often included her leaping onto furniture or climbing out of windows. It would be so much easier if she just tried to blend in a bit better. Live up to her expectations a bit.

Because that's working out so well for you, Rossie.

She picked up the quill and thumbed the feather through her fingers, savoring the feel of soft tufts caressing her skin. It reminded her of something, but she couldn't ascertain what. Something nice, that was a given. While lost in the gentle swish of a feather, she stared at the eyes. She'd inked them in first, the only part of the drawing she knew she got right. Even without the mouth finished, they crinkled at the edges in an impish smile.

But that wasn't quite enough.

Glancing over at her mug of tea, Rosie dipped the end of her pinkie into the black brew and dropped two tea stains onto the vellum. Brown swirled right over her ink lines, umber irises seeming to melt in affection. Twisting the feather around, Rosie gently thrummed it against the back of her hand. Yes, that felt more right, like lips skirting over her skin.

A noise clattered from outside the quiet kitchen. The quill scattered from her fingers raining drops of ink upon the table she sat at to steal a quick bite while working. With wide eyes, Rosie scooped up all her paperwork and then plopped it on top of her drawing. In doing so, the tea dripped down from the eyes, staining the vellum with brown tears.

There was no time for regrets as Rosie glanced around, her heart beating erratically at the fear of anyone finding out. But whoever made the noise paused further outside the door. She was about to resume her work, real work, when a voice called.

"Shhh...you're gonna give it all away."

That was Myra. Was her sister about to do something sneaky to the food? Poisoning wasn't her style, but switching the salt for sugar could be. Maybe altering a leavening agent for laughs. Rosie collapsed her work tight to her chest and glanced around. The kitchen's hearth was slumbering but never allowed to go out. Enough light kicked up from the embers that Myra would spot her in an instant if she tried to say hide in the back or under a table. But the pantry door...

Another one of her sister's giggles kicked out from the door, followed by more requests for someone else to remain as quiet as they had. Shifting fast, Rosie yanked open the pantry door and slid inside. It was a tight fit, her backside bumping into a knot of onions strung up to dry, but she was able to close the door. Holding her breath, Rosie listened as it was obvious Myra and some other mysterious stranger stepped into the room.

"See," her sister said, clearly walking around the apparently abandoned kitchen, "told you no one would be here."

"I didn't doubt you for a second." The voice was male. Funny, she thought it'd be that elf friend Myra was always around. It was also familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. Not Cailan, not with that gravitas.

"That's smart, because the things I know..." Myra's sentence faded as a new sound erupted from the kitchen. With Rosie's acoustics being muddled by drying vegetables, it sounded a bit like soup being slopped through a sieve into a bowl. That couldn't be right. There was no soup left out. Rosie had to make do with a bit of bread she sawed off from scraps.

The sounds ended and Myra whispered, "Your ears are fun to play with. That was probably weird to say."

A man's laugh followed, "A little, but it's cute coming from you."

Oh Maker.

Her entire stomach turned beet red as Rosie's brain filled in what those soup sounds were. Myra snuck down to the kitchens to...with a boy. Blessed Andraste, it was a good thing their father went home. And she was trapped in the same room doing her best to pretend she wasn't here. Great.

What was her hope? She could make a loud noise, pretend she was in the pantry looking for a bulb of garlic in the middle of the night. Never know when an undead creature might come through the window, best to be prepared.

Stupid, Rosie. Um, maybe run out so fast they don't see you?

This is Myra, she'd track her down before Rosamund even got back to her room. Okay, so, what about...? In shifting to come up with a plan, Rosie smacked into a shelf.

The noise wasn't much, maybe on the level of a sneeze in the next room, but Myra suddenly said, "Did you hear that?"

Crap. She knew. She'd find her. Struggling for a semblance of dignity, Rosie decided to be the one to reveal herself. As the door opened, she walked in on Myra with one hand wrapped around the waist of... Oh dear. Rosie put on a smile, lifting up her chin at the sight of her sister's eyes slightly bugging out of her skull. It was rare to get the drop on her.

"Evening," Rosie greeted them.

"Yo...your Majesty," Gavin sputtered out, his head bowing so low he nearly whacked his nose on the table they'd been about to... Best to not think about.

"What in the Maker's taint are you doing down here?" Myra sputtered, jabbing a finger at her pantry-hiding sister.

"I was about to ask you the same."

Myra didn't stammer, she knew when she was caught red handed. Glancing over at poor Gavin who seemed to be trying to melt into the ground, she spat out, "What's it look like?"

"How long has this been occurring?"

"A bit," Myra gave out the barest of information, her lips buttoned tight. Great, she was always so delightful in that mood.

Turning away from the sister she could never corral, Rosie focused on Gavin. "Squire," his head whipped up, shame and terror obvious in his eyes. "Could you give me a few moments with my sister? Alone?"

"Yes, my Lady," he bowed again, and began to scamper away as if the mere whisper of royalty could bend a tree in half. It was Myra who kept a hand on him, Gavin struggling to get away, while she clung tighter. While he could have easily overpowered her, he froze at the end of her reach and stared with the most pathetic puppy eyes.

"Why?" Myra aimed at Rosie.

"To talk, please," Rosie gestured to the table. At Myra's continued glare, she sighed and plopped onto the chair, her back turned to them.

Behind she could hear the couple quickly whispering in a panic at each other, Gavin wishing to obey and Myra wanting to rebel. Then a surprising thing happened. At his "Please," her sister let him go. Though it sounded as if she gave him a quick kiss before allowing it. On the way out, Gavin shut the door softly, no doubt with orders to remain close.

"All right, you want to talk, so talk..." Myra paced annoyingly behind, one of many techniques she used to keep a person off balance.

"Please sit," Rosie waved towards the seat and her sister's face turned sour.

"Is that a command, your Majesty?"

"No, I just thought you might want to."

"Fine," Myra plopped hard into the chair, her arms folded as she kept tipping the thing backwards a bit courtesy of her long legs. After letting it crash back to the ground a few times, she shot over at Rosie and hissed, "Are ya gonna tell, Dad?"

"No."

At that response Myra paused in her sulking and sat up higher. "What? Really?"

"Though if Karelle finds out..."

"Yeah, like I don't know she's the worst blabbermouth of them all."

"My," Rosie turned to her younger sister who sometimes acted so sarcastically adult she seemed to be forty, but could look so much younger than her seventeen years. "Are you being safe with him?"

"Safe?" she puckered up her nose in confusion, looking far too much like their father, before she sputtered out, "What? Ew! Why are you asking that? That's...you don't need to ask that. Or wonder, or think that. Just, ew!"

"It's a good question," Rosie reached over to try and pat her sister's hand and Myra actually let her. She didn't respond beyond laying there like a dead fish, but she didn't shake it off either. "Sometimes boys can be a bit..."

Myra snorted a bit, "What do you know about boys?"

The words were cruel, but her tone was nothing but curiosity, as if she couldn't fathom the idea that Rosamund would understand the intricacies of courting or even simple...sex. Her stomach flipped at the idea, Rosie turning to stare fully at the fire. She should burn that image lest anyone catch her with it.

"Gavin's not..." Myra continued to talk, dragging Rosie from her panic. If her sister thought at all about her implications, she didn't seem to care. Blowing air out of her lips fast, she planted her face into the tabletop. Words mumbled against the wood, but Rosie couldn't make them out.

"What was that?"

"I said we ain't done nothing," she turned what looked like weary eyes upon Rosie. "Nothing to worry about 'being safe' anyway. Stupid sounding anyway. 'Be safe.' Not like you can choke to death on a... Wait, can you choke to death on one?"

Rosie pinched into her eyes, really not wanting to weigh that with her sister. "I was only concerned, with you sneaking around in the middle of the night."

"He's stuck working weird shifts, I can sleep whenever I feel like. And we don't want our parents to know. No, we really don't want dad to know. Cause you know how he gets."

Myra was the true baby in the family, not that their father didn't baby them all. Somehow Cailan escaped his smothering embrace and worrying hands about a bed partner perhaps due as much with his not caring about their father's reaction as being a boy. While Rosie was 'blessed' to not have to deal with the issue of informing their father about any romantic intentions, Myra seemed to have to be the first to leap right into it.

"Well," Rosie reached over to wrap a hand around Myra's shoulders, "I'll stick up for you."

"What? Really? Why?"

"You're seventeen. You're more than old enough for a bit of snogging."

Her sister's eyes popped open wide and her mouth dropped. "I had no idea you even knew that word."

"I'm not that uptight, no matter what the servants may whisper in halls."

"Duh, unless uptight people are known for ripping the heads off dummies."

"It wasn't the head," Rosie rolled her eyes, "I stabbed it in the heart. And then my sword got stuck."

Myra's shoulders began to shake from the silent laugh. "Sorry, sorry, but...that's kinda funny. Kinda really funny."

"It is. And a story I imagine they'll be telling in Highever for years to come."

"Don't piss off the princess or she'll stab you right in the heart so bad they won't even be able to yank the sword free!" Myra sat up, her palms banging a beat into the table, "That's got a good ring to it really. One o' them like long tales to your name."

"Beware her brother, as he'll most likely bed your wife and her sister too."

At that Myra rolled her eyes towards Rosie, "I heard him with someone on the way down here. He ain't even kinda quiet."

"Why do you think no one will room with Cailan?"

"I used to assume it was his smelly farts when I was younger. Which is real stupid as...you'd think I'd catch on or something, given all that I..."

"Myra," she nudged her shoulder into her sisters, "are you happy?"

"What? With Cailan? He's okay I guess, but...oh, you meant, uh," she ran her hands through her mess of blonde hair, the locks freed of their usual braided trap. "Yeah," a streak of red dashed across her cheeks, "yeah, I'm really happy with him. He's... Maker he is soo nice. Like..."

Myra spun in place, her eyes shining bright, "So, cousin Henry, he gives me this little paper kite to mess with. A lot of the castle had one to kill time and I stupidly get it caught in a tree. Coulda gotten it myself but we had other boring shit to sit and listen to. Come back to my room to find my blue and gold dragon kite sitting on my pillow." The smile stretched wide as she thought of the cute boy rescuing her paper dragon. "Didn't even have to ask, he just...just did it."

"You like him, you like him a lot," Rosie snickered, enjoying this side of her sister.

"Shut up," Myra spat out, before smiling with that same brain melting look people falling in deep always had. "Maybe, maybe I do. Like him. But...don't tell him, okay. It'd, I dunno what he'd do."

She'd seen her fair share of courting displays over the years, the male side of the equation often feigning indifference to the point it nearly drove the female part mad. But something told Rosie that the young Gavin wasn't like that. He didn't seem the type who felt he needed to prove his masculinity; it simply was.

Rather than say that to her sister, she smiled, "I won't. But, you know father will eventually..."

"I know, I know, someone will spill the beans. I'm working on a plan. See, I figure that first like, Gavin proves himself as this great squire, maybe even gets knighted."

"Knighted before he's eighteen. That's impressive."

"Yeah, yeah, probably not going to happen, but Dad can't get all grouchy if he's part of the castle family, right?"

Rosie opened her mouth, wanting to agree with Myra, but she tipped her head down and broke into a laugh, "I'm sorry, sis, but..."

"Good thing I'm known as being the troublesome one," Myra laughed, bringing another to her sister.

"What's it feel like?" Rosie suddenly asked, her eyes staring at nothing. "Falling for someone?"

"Like diving headfirst into a lake where you have no idea how cold it is or how deep the water runs. But that's what makes it so thrilling too. The unknown bits, the testing and discovering. Finding out that that person you fancy fancies you back. That's the best part."

Rosie smiled at her sister, "Well..."

"Oh, and the kissing. Actually, that's probably the real best part."

Both girls tipped their heads together and laughed, Myra's freckles bright red as she struggled to shake off sharing a moment of fragility with another person. While her sister dipped back and forth on her chair, Rosie's eyes darted to her pile of papers and the sketch hidden within. It would be nice if she could ever know any of that one day.

## Chapter Forty

### Cleansing Rain

Rain pounded down the canvas roof, deep puddles of water waiting to collapse the tent downward as the weather picked up. Rosamund ignored them all, her hands wafting over the table bearing her map of Ferelden. They'd trekked out into the woods for a few days, marking spots where the darkspawn had supposedly erupted from the ground. Though so far, these were all blank holes that'd already been purged. No one wanted a repeat of before, but Henry and a few of his men came with just in case.

"I think here's a good stopping point next," Rosie jabbed at an old hunting lodge deeper into the forest.

Henry twisted around the map, sliding closer to get a better view of the area, "Not a lot of room in that old thing as I recall."

"We wouldn't need to take many," she assured him. Half of her retinue were back at the castle, including Cailan. Myra was out with her for now, because Daryan sent Gavin in her stead. She didn't say anything, just let her sister happily tag along. No doubt the two of them were holed up in a tent together snogging. If the Maker was kind, no one else was there with them.

"What are you thinking, my Lady?" Karelle's second in command, Ruderick asked. The chamberlain said she was far too old to go traipsing into the woods for a week, and sent him along. Rosie was grateful she was being given this much leeway so soon. If Karelle was here, everyone would look only to her.

"Me, two guards, the surveyor, you Ruderick, a cleric to record any relevant information. I don't see a reason to take more for a day's hike there and back," Rosie explained, feeling rather proud of herself. It wasn't that tricky of an outing to plan. She'd been up to the lodge before with her father. In truth, she could probably walk the path on her own, but that would be unseemly of course. Princesses never traveled alone.

Henry thumbed the pick she jammed into the hunting lodge, "I assume I'll be coming along as well."

Shrugging, Rosie turned to him, "It is your place, technically. It'd keep us from having to break in. Though I seem to recall a key kept under a funny shaped rock." Her cousin laughed from the idea, but at the back of the tent she heard a soft growl. Looking up, Rosie caught the dark shadow that stepped into the tent without being invited but didn't seem to want to interact with anyone either.

Anjali's face was neutral, almost looking as if she hadn't made the noise at all. But at Rosie staring at her, she suddenly rubbed the back of her neck and found the bowing ceiling fascinating. Why was she even here?

"Your Majesty? Princess!" Ruderick's shrieking finally pulled Rosie away from the assassin. She tried to put on a penitent face so the man wouldn't ask what she was looking at. "Are we finished here?"

"Hm? Yes, I'd say everyone head back to your tents and try to get a good night's sleep. There's no way we're moving until the rains stop."

"Assuming they ever do," Henry sighed.

"Here I thought summer in the Hinterlands was supposed to be dry," Rosie jabbed an elbow at her cousin and he laughed.

"We save all of the most impressive weather for a royal visit, my Lady," he smiled bending deep at the waist. It was so silly, she couldn't help but laugh. In between her titters, she heard it again, that same low pitched growl as if a dog was stalking around the tent.

"Shall I escort you back to your sleeping tent, my Lady?" Ruderick asked, clearly wanting to beat feet before the rain really picked up. Thunder rumbled above them, promising an even greater show.

"No," Rosie shook her head and smiled. "I'm going to go over a few more things here."

Ruderick shrugged, already tucking tighter into his cloak. The others filed out of this smaller tactical tent. Before leaving, Henry winked at her, "Don't work too hard, Cous, or you might wind up stuck here for the night."

She snickered at him, but didn't look up. There were still a lot of issues left to solve, most of which Ruderick kept insisting they leave for Karelle. For some reason, he seemed to think the Chamberlain was the only person in thedas capable of organizing reams of data. Apparently, Ruderick never met Cailan. Maybe she should have made her brother come on this 'aimless wandering into the woods' after all.

Rosie moved to reach for her cup of half filled wine, when her eyes lifted up to find a body standing in the tent. Her shoulders tightened, her spine snapping rigid in surprise, until her eyes glanced upward to find it was Anjali standing there with her arms crossed. The shock wore to a different kind of alertness, Rosie trying to smoothly wipe away the jitters in her fingers.

"Was there something you wanted to discuss?" she began, barely able to talk through a million butterflies lodging in her gut. To try and cover it over, Rosie tipped up her mug and took a long drink.

"I," Anjali stepped forward once, "Well, um, yes I suppose so."

The assassin's words faded away, and Rosie placed down her cup focusing fully upon her. It seemed odd for the always certain woman to be taking her time. After a beat, Anjali asked, "I'm wondering if you want me...for your little day trip. In case there are assassins about. To provide protection."

"I hadn't considered," Rosie said, her fingers sliding over the piles of vellum scattered upon the table. She really should scoop them up and place them inside a skin before the roof leaked.

"What?" Anjali suddenly scoffed so hard, Rosie's head shot up fast, "You think _Henry_ is the only protection you need?" There was no mistaking how she spat out her cousin's name as if it was poison.

Rosie blinked a moment, fully confused, "Do you have something against the Arl's son?"

"Me? Nope. Not a thing. Not one thing. He's one of those gallant types, right? White steed, shining armor, probably lays his cloak over water puddles and all that."

What in the Maker's name was she talking about? Folding her arms together, Rosie stared hard at her. Henry was good hearted, much like his father. The people of Redcliffe were enamored with their future Arl, but she'd never heard any of that considered a bad thing. Certainly not the way Anjali was framing it.

"I get it," Anjali spat out, both hands up as if to show she was fully defenseless. "I more than _get_ how all of that works."

"What? How does what work?" Beyond confused, Rosie paused in the gathering of her work and stared slack jawed at the woman.

"The whole proper breeding bit. Got to get the right...face and name or else, or it's all a waste."

Breeding? Face? Sweet bloody Andraste, Rosie was lost. Why would a woman from Rivain care at all about Henry's prospects? "I'm not certain what you know of my Cousin, or think you know, or will know, but he's..." Anjali's glare at the world shifted, her eyes melting into one of undeniable pain. It stung her so fast, Rosie stumbled a bit, her fingers flailing out and her words mumbling.

The word jealous flared in her brain, but she shook it away. That was silly. There was nothing to be jealous of. Certainly no reason, because... It wasn't as if...

Oh dear.

"Uh," Rosie drifted her fingers along the collar of her dress that ran right to her neck. "Maker's sake, why did I wear this?" she muttered to herself, her internal thoughts falling in a plop on the ground.

"Because someone made you?" Anjali threw out.

"Actually, I prefer dresses of this make when I'm out in the woods. The insects seem to disapprove of such a sallow yellow for whatever reason, and I wind up with less welts due to bites. Though the neckline is far too tight and I prefer to leave it unbuttoned for a few..." Her cursed cheeks lit up bright pink and she whipped her head away in shame. She was bumbling again. Why was she bumbling?

"Forget I said anything," Rosie shot out fast, a hand pressed to her red hot skin.

The assassin chuckled, her unwelcoming stance and locked in arms fading. With light toes, she stepped closer to the princess who wanted to dig her way into the ground. "Consider it forgotten," Anjali promised. "Though I'm surprised by the yellow fact. I'd never heard that before."

"I was going through a bit of a rainbow phase as a child, and wanted to wear every color I could," Rosie kept risking a quick glance at Anjali before whipping her eyes away in shame. Every word out of her mouth sounded infantile. "Caught on that a yellow day equaled less insect attacks, so I had a few dresses done in the same dye."

Anjali's captivating smile dipped up as she laughed, "Will there ever be a time I won't be surprised by you?"

"Um..." Rosie's mouth ran dry, uncertain if that was a compliment or not.

Soft umber eyes lifted, the edges crinkled in a smile. "Why don't you tell me about this hunting lodge? If I'll be going with you, of course."

"Yeah," she couldn't stop her own idiotic smile, Rosie nodding her head. Racing to tamp it down, she stared hard at the work instead, "Yes, right, I will. It's not very large, designed to hold three or four hunters, really. More a stop over when chasing stag. Um, I believe we have an old sketch of it and various surroundings in..."

She began to shuffle through the stacks of vellum, searching for a drawing of the lodge, when one scrap that she always kept pinned safely in between two dull reports slipped free. The parchment floated so slowly through the air it looked like a leaf tumbling off a barren branch. It took Rosie's brain a full second to comprehend just what it was, and another one to order her body to scoop it up.

"What is this?" Anjali exclaimed, snatching it away and pressing the image to her face. Internally, all of Rosie collapsed in on itself, her organs heating to a thousand degrees from the burn of shameful embarrassment. She whipped her head around to try and find an escape but there was none to be had.

"It's, an...a thing I do sometimes, of..."

"It's me," she turned the drawing around as if Rosie needed to see it to know. As if she hadn't been stressing over it for a month, trying to get everything right. It began as a simple sketch, but every day with the assassin remaining in their midst, more detail emerged until a black and white shaded copy of Anjali rested inside that vellum.

The ink assassin had her head at three quarters profile, Rosie drawing her form a little past her shoulders. She'd...foolishly decided to not add on clothing. Because she was bad at it, and hadn't quite decided what to do. Which was what Anjali was looking at, the sliver of shadowed cleavage evident at the bottom of the page.

Blessed Maker, she was going to the void.

"I like to draw!" Rosie shouted at near deafening levels, the panic clawing up her voice. "People, people that I meet, it can be useful for others. And helps me to relax or not have to do work stuff for the crown." Damn it! Why did she keep that stupid thing with her at all times? She should have hidden it, folded it up into a pocket, burned it! Not shown it to the subject as if its mere existence wasn't a terrifying invasion of...she didn't even know. It couldn't be good though. Girls didn't...they didn't draw other girls.

"It's beautiful," Anjali sighed.

"Huh?" Rosie gasped.

"You make me look beautiful, better than I can manage on a good day when not wandering around in the woods."

"No, see, it's," she reached over to touch her work still stained with old tea drops before pausing. A giddy laugh erupted from her throat for no discernible reason, Rosie's cheeks lighting up, "I just draw what I see."

"Oh?" her voice purred, Anjali sliding a step closer. "Is that so?"

"If," her heart was pounding harder inside her chest, each erratic beat knocking until it reverberated through her hair. "If you want, you could keep it."

A sliver of her succulent lips lifted at the edge, "I can see myself whenever I wish. You keep it." She passed over the drawing, her fingers skirting off the vellum to cup along the back of Rosie's hand.

Another childish laugh broke at the contact, her eyes darting around in all directions, but always landing back upon the beautiful woman in her tent. "Uh, okay. I can."

"If you ever draw one of yourself; however," she leaned closer, her voice dipping low, "I'd love to have it."

Rosie screwed up her eyes tight, goosebumps rising all along her arms at the lust ringing in Anjali's voice. She tasted her own lips, barely flitting her tongue against them, while...yes, thinking about someone else's pressed to hers. Not just someone else's, plush ruby lips that belonged to a mahogany face.

_What are you doing?_

One hand gripped onto the drawing, while Rosie foolishly let the other slide her fingers along the back of Anjali's hand. Her eyes opened only a peek, enough to watch the woman smile as she drew her beautiful, tattooed hand to Rosie's cheek.

Sweet Maker. _What are you doing?_

Rosie's eyes slipped shut, her brain flailing its hands in wonder. What was she doing? Letting a...no, not just letting, wanting a woman to kiss her. To, to touch her in ways that turned her ice-white skin red as a sunset. She shouldn't want it, not-not for who she was. For what she was.

But Maker, she did.

Heat from Anjali's mouth washed over Rosie's face, her body smelling of a spicy jasmine. Rosie softly puckered her lips, terrified of turning her head the wrong way or doing something else foolish. Closing her eyes so tight she could see stars she waited in an exquisite terror.

What are you doing?

Anjali jerked back instantly, her hand falling right off of Rosie's cheek. By the time she opened her eyes, the assassin was another foot back, anger and pain etched across her scowling face. What had...Oh no. No, she did not say that aloud.

"I cannot understand you," Anjali hissed. "Is this...are you playing some game with me? Think it's funny to toy with the assassin in your grip? One moment you act as if...and then you..." Her lips were wobbling, her nose flaring and eyes watering as if Rosie personally attacked her.

"No, it's..." she tried to reach for Anjali to attempt to explain, but the assassin hopped back further.

"Forgive me for intruding upon your time, _Princess_ ," she spat out. "It shall not happen again."

Spinning in place, Anjali ran out of the tent and into the storm. Without thinking, Rosie gave chase after her. The moment she crossed into the storm, Rosie's body twisted towards the ground. Rain and winds hammered hard into her shoulders, nearly wiping the much shorter woman out. But Anjali, either with the power of her fury or being used to such weather, marched onward.

Gritting her teeth, Rosie dug a heel into the mud and staggered up. She chased after the woman trying to flee into the dark skies. "Wait!" her voice could barely echo about the crash of thunder. If Anjali heard her, she gave no signal, the woman stomping harder through the dirt and barely caring that the rain was hammering upon them both.

She was angry at her, the woman's head practically steaming from the chilled rain and it cut right to Rosie's tender heart. Anjali had the longer gait, even walking she was outpacing Rosie and would soon be gone. A foolish fear struck her that she might not see the woman ever again.

"Please," Rosie whimpered, rain dripping off of her forehead to pool on her cheeks. "Please, stop."

Something in her tone must have made it over the pounding weather, as Anjali froze in her tracks. Her head hung down a bit, eyes seeming to skim across the puddles, but she wouldn't turn around to face Rosie.

"Why? Tell me, princess?" Anjali's waterlogged face twisted to Rosie, rivulets streaming across her rich skin as she stared. "Why should I stop?"

Rosie took in a deep breath, struggling against the battering of the storm and the water already tightening her dress to her skin. Why did she come out here? Why did she chase after this assassin? Why did she care to stop her?

For a beat Anjali's glare shifted to one of confusion and hope. She wanted an answer, any answer beyond a dismissal. Rosie could feel it in the air, hear the answer in her heart, but she was frozen in place. Water drenched through Anjali's headscarf, flattening it tight to her curls which were already escaping. She looked so...so what?

Pure as rainwater, hot as an open fire, electric as the storm zapping overhead.

Why couldn't she stop staring at this impossibly striking other woman?

You know why.

Rosie clomped through the mud, not caring at how it erupted from the puddles to latch onto her dress. She lifted a hand, raindrops pelting a barrage into her palm's skin before it found sanctuary nestled against Anjali's cheek. "So I can do this," Rosie whispered before lifting off of her heels and pressing her lips to the ones she'd been aching for.

Steam sizzled through the air, Anjali's heat wafting to Rosie's waning body as for a brief second they melded in perfect harmony. Soft as a flower petal, her lips fell flush with another woman's and her entire body erupted in goosebumps. She moved to slide down, to step back and assess just what she did, when Anjali locked a hand around the back of Rosie's head and pulled her tighter. The assassin's pillowy lips softly nipped against Rosie's bottom one. For a brief moment, her tongue slipped into tune with hers, the heat, the taste, the feel of a woman melting from her touch doing the same to the princess.

With a moan rattling in her throat, Anjali slid back from the kiss, but her hands didn't leave Rosie's body. Her heavy lidded eyes slipped open to beam an umber surprise at the princess. "Sapheela," the assassin whispered, her voice softer than a ribbon.

"I want you," Rosie said, her green eyes only upon Anjali. She didn't care if anyone overheard, if anyone knew. She'd wanted this for...too long.

The assassin snickered a moment, ran her teeth against her bottom lip, then pulled Rosamund to her for a toe curling kiss. Sweet Maker, it tasted better with each return, as if Anjali could soothe her soul with a simple touch of the lips. She broke from Rosie, her lips trailing a breath away from her supple cheek. Upon landing at her ear, Anjali whispered, "As you command."

Grabbing onto Rosie's hand, Anjali pulled the princess through the rain back towards the tactical tent. Her feet stumbled at first, Rosie's mind numb to the possibility of what was about to happen, when her body caught on fast. Greedily, it picked up speed, a laugh escaping from her throat as she and Anjali ran together into the freedom of the tent.

The canvas flap barely fell to the ground before their lips found each other again. Rosie stumbled backwards, Anjali bumping her into the tactics table, while her fingers threaded through Rosie's waterlogged hair. The princess' hands were busy too, both starting at the top of Anjali's shoulders and curling downward to follow the scoop of her outer ribs. She trailed them inward, savoring the bend to her waist before landing upon those feminine hips. The ones Rosie wanted to knead her palms over for weeks, that she dreamed of feeling sliding against hers.

Certain, Anjali's skilled hands began to undo the first two buttons upon Rosie's dress. Both fell apart, revealing her damp, pale skin rising in goosebumps. "Is my beautiful princess, cold?" Anjali mused. Before Rosie had a chance to respond, she dipped down to press a hot kiss to Rosie's décolletage.

Sweet Maker! She elongated her neck, her head practically dangling backwards as Anjali's tongue lapped a trail from the top of one breast to the other. With each kiss, the assassin undid another button, revealing more of Rosamund's body to her expert touch. Rosie bit down on her lip when she felt the cold dress's compression fall away from her breasts.

Anjali paused, rising up from where her chin had nestled in between Rosie's cleavage. Her palm cupped around the back of Rosie's head, gently pulling her up to stare into Anjali's striking eyes. "Your turn," she breathed against Rosamund's cheek before drawing a long kiss from her.

Confused, Rosie waited limply for an explanation, when Anjali picked up both of her hands and guided them to a hidden set of buttons at the back of her leathers. A breath caught in Rosie's throat, her fingers poised to strip the shirt off the woman who was staring right into her eyes. She ached to, but...

"Please," Anjali whispered, "be gentle."

It was said in such a lighthearted tone, Rosie snickered, her libido flaring alive twice as strong. Plunging her lips deep onto Anjali's inviting ones, she worked to undo an eternal line of tiny buttons. The whole time her breathtaking assassin kept cupping her fingers up and down Rosie's hips, tugging the opened dress further apart. Wet edges dragged against her straining nipples, both begging for something she could barely understand.

Maker's sake, it was hard to concentrate on such tiny buttons slipping below her trembling fingers. Half of the leathers opened from the side, splitting to reveal a swell of Anjali's tear-drop breast. An urge to place her lips against the soft, dark brown skin flared in Rosie's mind, but she had to get the cursed thing off first. And Anjali was drawing her fingers up and down the unbuttoned ends of Rosie's dress. At the bottom, she'd fan her fingers right under Rosie's bosom as if to support them, then dip in tight for a kiss.

"This is blighted impossible," Rosie snarled, barely making any progress.

With a laugh, Anjali's hands broke from their caress. "Okay, we can be a bit less gentle." Grabbing onto both ends of her leathers, Anjali gave a great tug. The buttons popped apart from their snares, revealing a dark plum nipple prodding slightly downward from the swollen breast.

Carefully, Rosie reached over to tug away the still dangling side of Anjali's tunic. Her left breast was slightly smaller, that nipple pointing right at Rosie as if it wanted her ministrations first.

"Do you like it?" Anjali asked in a dusky voice.

Rosie's head nodded dumbly, her hands frozen in place as she stared in rapture at this other woman's chest. This woman that wanted her to look, to share, to hopefully touch.

"Not a lot of people get to see this tattoo," she whispered, her fingers sliding off of Rosie to circle below her breasts.

The princess blinked in surprise. She'd been so lost in the other carnal delights, she failed to even notice the red ribbon coiled like a sunning snake across Anjali's torso. The next end began right at the swell of her left breast, before curling twice across her stomach and sliding towards the back.

"Do they continue around your...?" Rosie began before blushing terribly. She tried to point towards Anjali's ass and the woman smiled at the princess' obvious pain.

"Would you like to find out?" Anjali asked. Dumbly, Rosie nodded her head. Needing no more, the woman tossed off her leather armor onto the ground, then unbuttoned her pants. It all wound up in a wet pile atop her boots, leaving Rosie gasping for air.

She wanted to run her nails up the thighs straining from Anjali's stance. To press her hot lips against the calves and down to the ankle. To drape her thumbs into the part where the thighs met and... Maker's sake, she was drawn to Anjali's pubic hair, hoping to trail her fingers through it and find so much better below.

"Sapheela," she curled her fingers over Rosie's jaw, the naked woman pressing into her with a deep kiss. Even with half of her dress in the way, Rosie could feel Anjali's tight body, the muscles of her legs knocking into hers. How her breasts molded and formed with Rosie's. The princess didn't even realize she was caressing Anjali's chest until the woman moaned in the back of her mouth.

"Andraste, keep going," she ordered, Rosie curling her palm over the fullness of her breasts. As each finger bone bumped over Anjali's nipple, the woman gasped, her body squirming over top of Rosie's. Far in the distance, she could feel the table grinding into her backside, but Rosie didn't care. There was no pain while she was wrapped around such perfection.

Even while Anjali's head was thrown back, her breasts both clutched in Rosie's fingers, the assassin managed to tug down Rosie's dress. First one end slid off her shoulder, revealing the divot of her collarbone. Anjali paused in her throes to press a kiss against Rosie's milky skin. Each petal touch burned through her body, ramping up Rosie's desire.

"Take it off," Rosie growled, her eyes whipping over to the remaining shoulder covered in her wet dress.

"As my lady commands," Anjali smiled. As with her tunic before, the assassin gripped onto Rosie's dress and yanked hard. This time, a few buttons popped free, springing through the tent to land upon dewy grass, but Rosie didn't care. While the dress tumbled to the ground, Anjali's warm fingers caressed first from the top of her shoulders down towards Rosie's straining breasts.

When both dipped along the sides, Rosie moaned from deep within her core. Anjali matched it, her fingers straining to fully envelop Rosie's bust. "Blessed Maker," both women gasped, Anjali circling her fingers to invigorate Rosie's nipples.

She felt as if her brain was on fire, the liquid heat dripping down her spine to spread through every limb, every finger and toe. Her heart throbbed harder, practically reaching up to her ribs to beg for more. With a slow trail, Anjali drew her lips down Rosie's pale skin. Upon reaching Rosie's breast, the woman smiled, "As red as your name." She was about to ask what that meant, when Anjali plunged her lips around Rosie's nipple.

Holy Andraste! Her spine arced, lifting Rosie's lower chest higher. She wanted Anjali to have access, to have it all, to draw as much of Rosie inside her mouth as she could. To see and savor all of her, as much as the assassin wanted.

Fingers hooked around Anjali's waist began to tremble, Rosie's toes foolishly tapping as she kept bouncing on her heels. It was too much. It wasn't enough. It was...she didn't know, but blighted hell she wanted more.

The assassin barely switched to lapping up her other nipple, when Rosie dared to let her fingers slide over the top of Anjali's thighs. Her fingers thrummed upon the taut muscle, gently kneading it the way she'd dreamed at night. With each swipe of her paws, Rosie's skinny fingers dipped deeper in. A thrush of downy soft pubic hair skirted over the top of her index finger and a breath caught in her throat.

Catching that something changed, Anjali lifted her head up to stare right into Rosie's emerald eyes. At the look, Rosie's fingers froze, her spine locking in tight. Somewhere in the back of her brain buzzed every half whispered thought on why this was idiotic, ill defined, not to be considered.

Then Anjali's toe curling smile lifted up her succulent lips and obliterated every fear locked inside Rosie's heart. Butting her head tight, Rosie kissed the deadly assassin with her lips, and gently thumbed down the middle of her opening. It caught the woman by such a surprise, Anjali gasped into Rosie's mouth. Her entire spine was buzzing like bubbles in champagne, Rosie's cheeks burning hotter as she was drawn to the same full, plush, inviting lips dangling outside the tight cropping of pubic hair.

"Mmm," Anjali murmured, her mouth darting close to Rosie's ear even as she widened her stance. "You approve?"

She gasped out a snort, barely capable of forming a thought. Like dipping a toe into the still water, uncertain if she wanted to dive in, Rosie kept skimming over Anjali. Her lubrication smoothed Rosie's clumsy attempt, trying to invite her to take the plunge, but she was uncertain what to do.

Anjali ran her fingers down Rosie's arm, her nails softly raising the skin and inviting more goosebumps. "I do believe it is customary that royalty is always served first."

Before Rosie could swivel her eyes, Anjali scooped her hands around the princess' bottom and hauled her up onto the table. Tacks, papers, reports -- all of it scattered to the damp ground while the dark assassin bent Rosie backwards. Anjali slotted in between her legs, using only her mouth to guide Rosie to lay upon the map of Ferelden. The Frostbacks graced her head, all of Ferelden proper supporting her back, while Denerim...wound up right in the middle of her thighs.

Anjali's fingers cupped against Rosie's cheek, her lips trailing hot kisses upon the princess' shoulders, breasts, her soft stomach, and even lower. When she reached nearly the end of her, Anjali dipped to a knee.

"Wh...what are you doing?" Rosie struggled to rise up on her elbows, but the woman smiled.

"Trust me," she winked and parted her hand down the middle of Rosie's pubic hair. The princess sat upon pins and needles, waiting for a finger much like her own to slip inside, to circle around her clitoris, or thrum until she exploded. But the assassin wasn't forging her trail with a finger, but her lips.

The first kiss began right above the top of Rosie's slit, barely a peck. The next caused her to buck her head back, her hand slapping into Orlais for leverage. "Red too," Anjali mused before her warm, wet tongue lapped against Rosie's lower lips. This other kind of kiss sent the princess reeling, her tongue lagging out and her chest heaving in a never ending pant.

Dragging her tongue in a circle, Anjali seemed to be tormenting Rosie with pleasure, each lap of her clitoris causing the princess to squeal. Her toes dangled behind Anjali's back, both digging into the woman's warm skin as she kept curling them. This was, this was how she wanted to die. With her body on fire, her breasts spilling and trembling as she struggled to shovel air in, and a woman lapping her lips and tongue against her most intimate parts.

Anjali dug her hands under Rosie's legs, lifting the princess higher. She dove in with more gusto, slurping and sucking her way around the princess' button. White spots burst upon the side's of Rosie's vision. She tried to stare down at the woman between her legs, but she could barely see anything. Her hearing vanished, the blood fully rushing in to fill the gap as waves washed away all sound. But in their wake the waves left a tingling pleasure growing stronger with each breath. It threatened to consume Rosie whole, to smother away her very being and she was grateful to lay down and allow it.

"Sweet fucking Maker!" Rosie shrieked at the top of her lungs, her hands slapping hard into the table as the orgasm knotted up her soul into a perfect bow. Her body writhed upon the table, Rosie attempting to take in a breath that didn't cause her lungs to sing in pleasure. Below her, she felt Anjali pause a beat, her fingers rubbing up and down Rosie's chunky calves.

"So that's what it takes to make you curse," the assassin whispered. "How about another?" She moved to press a kiss back upon her canvas, but Rosie hissed and scooted away. Her entire core was aflame, the tissue far too sensitive to be touched.

"Wait, wait, it's..." she gasped, shaking away the tears that sprung in her eyes, "too much right now." Rosie sat up, her eyes meeting with Anjali's. "You're too much."

A blush burned up her cheeks for saying such a foolish notion, but Anjali rose up off of her knees. She draped her hands around the back of Rosie, her palms rolling up and down her spine. "Your turn," Anjali snickered, plunging her lips that tasted of Rosie back onto herself.

The assassin climbed up onto the table, pinning Rosamund below her limber body. Her knees dug into the side of the princess' white thighs, Rosie tracing her nails up and down the muscle below. She wanted to kiss her the same, to undo this woman the same as she did to her, but...

"Anjali," her teeth bit into her bottom lip, Rosie's eyes darting up to her in concern. "I've never, um..."

The smile brought one to Rosie's worried face, Anjali dropping her elbows beside Rosie's head to cup her cheeks. "My Sapheela..." she murmured, taking another kiss from her unquenchable lips. "Here," Anjali drew her fingers along Rosie's, her palm curling up the back of Rosie's hand until she molded around it.

Tugging it forward, Anjali slid up higher and shifted her legs apart. "Together," she whispered before guiding Rosie's index finger deep inside of her. Anjali groaned, her hips rolling while Rosie's tongue lolled back in her mouth.

It was warm, silky smooth, powerful, inviting, wily -- everything she thought of the assassin that fell into her lap. She plunged their twinned fingers deeper inside, trying to memorize every bump and twist inside this other woman. "Blessed be," Anjali gasped. As she rode harder, her free hand cupped against Rosie's spilled over breast. That caused Rosie to suck in a breath, her body adoring how tightly the woman gripped onto her flesh, and how Anjali's body gripped onto her finger.

Lost in the moment, Rosie curled her thumb forward and gently traced a circle around Anjali's clit. "Faster," the woman commanded, her eyes shut tight as she kept moving with the rhythm. Happy to obey, Rosie picked up speed, gliding her thumb rapidly against the top of the nub.

"Holy shit," Anjali shouted, her entire body locking in while the woman below her wasn't going to give up for anything. "Gah ha ha!" she cried, her head snapping back when Rosie felt the pulses cinching up against their shared fingers. The orgasm flushed Anjali's entire body, her ribbon glowing like firelight against her glistening skin. Rosie wanted to trail her lips across every inch, but she had to settle for curling her free fingers instead. The others remained trapped inside Anjali, where they belonged.

"You..." Anjali's eyes opened wide a moment, before they dipped down into a sly look. "You take orders well for royalty."

Slowly, Anjali withdrew her hand and Rosie's, the woman needing both as she flopped on top of the princess. Exhausted, Rosie cupped her hand against the back of Anjali's hair and placed her flushed lips to her forehead. The woman nestled tighter to Rosie's naked chest, her nose bumping right into an old mole shaped like a book.

"It's not difficult when they come from you," Rosie whispered.

She expected a smart comeback, but Anjali only curled her hands tighter around Rosie's shoulders, both women fading together into a waking dream. Sweet Maker! Rosie's eyes shot open wide as she realized the princess of Ferelden just slept with a woman on top of a map of her future country.

What would her old tutors have said about that one?

## Chapter Forty-One

### Sapheela

With her head cradled against the crook of Anjali's arm, Rosie wished she could drift off to sleep on the chest of a beautiful woman. Sadly, whenever her breath slowed, and her eyelids lowered, the storm would flare up outside and rock her back awake. They both lay upon the ground, Anjali stretching her naked body across the grass to take most of the cold while Rosie cuddled against her. When the tactics table began to creek from their combined weight, they had to skitter off it. She did not want to have to explain to Karelle or anyone else how she managed to break it.

Fingers rifled through Rosie's hair, lifting the back half and exposing her cowlick she always did her best to hide. Lost in the thrum of her hair being tugged and caressed, Rosie drew her arm across Anjali's stomach. At first she trailed the tattoo, savoring the twists and whorls of the inked ribbon, but her eyes kept being drawn to how pale her skin looked next to Anjali's.

Pale enough one could see her blue veins prodding up from below the white flesh. They were most evident upon her breasts, straining to match some of the stretch marks along the side. Anjali was blessed with neither, her pair pure as silk. Rosie chewed on her lip, watching the assassin's breasts rise and fall with her breath.

"We could get you a tattoo," Anjali spoke up. She must have caught Rosie drawing across hers and read the scene differently.

A small blush burned on her cheeks and she shook her head.

"Come on, maybe a...what are those dogs called?"

"Mabari."

"Yes," the hand secured around Rosie's back to keep her close began to drift down, "right here above your bottom. A secret."

"Someone would notice," Rosie tried to shake away the foolish idea, her entire chest aflame in the blush. The assassin's easy going nature faded to a coolness that matched the storm struggling through a second round. "Because I can't be trusted to dress myself. There's always people around me, doing...things."

At that, Anjali's laugh reverberated up through her chest, once again inviting Rosie to look over. She really should stop doing that. Her assassin curled a finger down along Rosie's round jawline and tugged her face up. Planting her chin into Anjali's chest, Rosie stared up into those bottomless umber eyes.

"You are too beautiful for words," she whispered, a satisfied smile playing with her lips. While Rosie struggled to think of a response, Anjali curled her hair back behind her ear. "What about hashmarks?"

"Hashmarks?"

"As a tattoo. To represent your kills. You took down quite a few darkspawn."

"I had help," she laughed, feeling silly about the whole disaster. "Like, say, a charming assassin watching over me." Climbing higher, Rosie inched along the grass with her hip while her fingers walked against Anjali's chest. "Protecting me."

Forgetting her fears, Rosie slid up to fully straddle Anjali, her hands pressing down into the soft dirt while she lost herself in those beautiful eyes. Hands cupped against Rosie's stomach, curling around to shield her waist and eventually working around to that bum Anjali wanted to tattoo. "It's rather romantic really," Rosie whispered while bending towards the woman.

When their lips met, a great roll of thunder reverberated through the night's sky. She felt Anjali stiffen a moment below her, but Rosie plied her away from the weather by the use of her tongue. Running her calloused hand up to hold Rosie's cheek, Anjali muttered a string of Rivani words before kissing her lips once more.

"I'm afraid I don't know..." Rosie began, blinking madly in the waning light. All they had left was a single lantern, its oil already waning. Soon it'd be two warm, naked bodies clinging together in the dark.

Anjali popped her lips a moment, her nose scrunching up in thought, "It's not easy to translate. Um, a beauty as sharp as you is rarer than a lizard in the ocean."

"I take it that doesn't happen often," Rosie asked, a chuckle in her throat.

"No," her assassin laughed back, "no, it does not, _Sapheela_. And you have not disagreed to the hashmark tattoo."

"They are lovely," she mused, circling her thumb along the one on Anjali's eye, "but my mother would string me up if I did."

"What of your father?"

"Ah..." she paused and snorted. "He'd probably insist we get matching ones."

"The King of Ferelden with a great facial tattoo."

"Probably get one of a mabari leaping over a flaming wheel of cheese or something like that," she laughed at the nonsense because it was easy. They were both two silly girls that...were wrapped around each other. Nothing more to it.

At the mention of her father, Rosie curled back down, laying her head across Anjali's chest. Through the woman's ribcage she could hear her heart thumping strong and proud. May it never break, Rosie wished foolishly. Rather than groan at the excess weight, Anjali snuggled her arms tighter around Rosie and buried a kiss into her hair.

"Do I...there's not say a law that states whosoever deflowers the princess will be strung up by her ankles until ravens pluck out her liver, is there?"

"No," Rosie snickered.

"Good."

Her eyes fell down, the facade of how easy this could be cracking in half. Wanting to release everything off of her chest, Rosie whispered to herself, "You didn't."

"Didn't what?" Anjali seemed to hear her, and wanted to know more.

Taking in a deep breath, Rosie revealed a secret she'd kept pinned inside for years. "You weren't the one to 'deflower' me."

"Oh, I'd only," Anjali seemed to be panicking as if she feared she'd hurt her, "When you said you weren't...I thought."

"I've never been with," sweat beaded upon her brow, Rosie's palms turning bright red at the cauldron of emotions bubbling over in her gut. She should stop this, get dressed, return to her tent and a few pointed questions. "A woman. Not with...not like this, or anything even approaching it."

"Ah, I see. But you have been..."

"There was a boy. I was away in Cumberland, at one of many finishing schools. Lots of higher noble girls were there to learn our proper roles in the future. They kept laughing about how the stablehand had an obvious crush on me."

She didn't remember him well, grey eyes, a tawny cap pulled so low only a lock of brown hair escaped, and he always smelled of horse. That didn't seem right, to have almost no memories of your first, but it was all she had. "I didn't see it, didn't get it. Nineteen years old, I'd danced with hundreds of boys and I still could not understand how to court. How to swoon as the other girls did. How to spot the cute boy in a pile of rough. I thought..."

Her story fell silent a moment, Rosie trying to bury her face tight into Anjali's chest as if she was some coward. A child too terrified to face up to who she was, what she was. When fingers smoothed down the small of her back, Rosie risked a glance up to find only sympathy in Anjali's eyes.

"It was strange. Not terrible, but, I kept thinking 'this is it?' This is what makes my friends do idiotic things? This is what drives them to devote hours to ranking the most attractive children of the Arls and Banns? It hardly seemed worth the effort of getting undressed."

"Ouch," Anjali winced, "That bad?"

"He was an eighteen year old boy," Rosie sighed, with a bit more age on her realizing how foolish her plan was.

"Who deflowered a princess no less."

"I doubt he knew. We didn't bother much with titles there, thankfully, and if he did I imagine he'd have stayed away." That was why it never worked, she told herself. So many boys were terrified of her title, of how she'd one day be queen and they'd be something less than that. The fact she didn't want them was only fair for how many didn't want her.

But they did. Perhaps not as a courting partner, but she knew when their eyes would drift over her body. It came in early, Rosie still in the 'fighting imaginary dragons' stage when one day she woke to discover her chest expanded overnight. She wanted to stay the foolish girl running in the mud and waving her sword, but she couldn't. Her breasts required a corset, or they'd bounce and bring pain. Or worse. The looks, the obvious eyes shifting up and down the newest womanly body amongst them.

"Have you...?" Rosie began, suddenly staring at her only example of the something else lurking inside her. "Um, been with a boy? Or man?"

"No," Anjali shook her head. "Though I'm no virgin either."

"I could tell," Rosie said, a satisfied smile curling up her cheeks. Then her mind played back how that sounded and she gasped, "Not that I think, I mean, you're very, it...buggers."

For a breath Anjali chuckled, then she rose up a bit, concern bobbing in her eyes. "Did you...I hope you enjoyed it?"

Rosie's eyes misted and she breathed, "It was the most amazing experience of my life."

"Wow, well, I hope you don't mind if I put that endorsement down on my business card." Her assassin laughed, plopping her head back to the ground while her hands cupped warmth up and down Rosie's naked body. After a moment, she gripped tight, her eyes screwed up as she breathed, "Do you regret it?"

She wanted to insist that no, of course not. Rosamund went full in. A 'but' weighed down upon her tongue, flattening it in Rosie's mouth and letting no such assurance escape. She felt Anjali staring at her, the woman trying to slide out from under her. Of course she wouldn't want to remain if she wasn't wanted. It was logical, and you're being cruel, Rosamund.

"Anjali," she breathed her name, trying to stop the woman from fleeing. "My whole life my future's been decided for me."

The woman who ran from the same tipped her head and sighed, "Doesn't mean you have to take it."

"But I want it, some of it. Yet, I have to take all of it or none of it."

"Seems to me you don't have to get married, or have to have children. Look at Orlais."

Yes, a fine example of how boxed in Rosamund was. Empress Celene never wed, never bred, her lover an elf that nearly toppled her empire. And when she died, she left a massive civil war that was tearing their country apart. If Rosie did the same...she couldn't. She wouldn't. Also... "I want children, which would probably surprise my father who said I was more prone to beheading dolls than playing with them."

Anjali laughed a moment at that, her warm breath passing over Rosie's hair as she whispered more in her native tongue. Never before had Rosie regretted learning Tevene instead.

"And that requires..." her words deadened inside her mouth. She'd ignored the siren call rattling around inside her blood because what would answering it solve? She had to be married, she had to produce children. The throne was always in a precarious position, only her and Cailan capable of continuing the line. If they didn't create more, everything their father suffered for could fail in a generation.

"Sapheela?" Anjali whispered, her hands trying to rouse Rosie from her silent turn.

She felt a foolish laugh churning in her gut, her eyes darting over to the woman cushioning her body -- the woman comforting her. "I used to tell myself I wasn't enjoying a pretty face, merely admiring a woman's use of a pigment. I don't lust after her fine figure, only find the dress fascinating."

Below her, Anjali began to slide out from under Rosie. She tipped to the side, letting her go. In truth, she couldn't blame her, Rosie's thoughts sounding even more childish as she voiced them. But Anjali didn't dress quickly and flee into the night. She sat up, her legs crossed in a casual position.

"I'm wearing no makeup, and there is no dress upon me either. Not that you can get me into one," she sighed to herself before curling her palm against Rosie's cheek. "Look at me. What do you see?"

Her eyes canvased the pillowy lips she feared she could never get enough of. Those stark cheekbones, her thin, feminine neck, down the square shoulders, breasts Rosie wished to rest inside her palms, a trembling stomach pooched in her sit that made it appear soft and inviting, and her legs. Rosie ached to wrap them around her head, to return the favor Anjali bestowed upon her.

"Beauty," she gasped, her eyes tearing up at the simplicity of it. "Ache, want, need. When I touch you," she drew her fingers slowly down Anjali's arm, trailing the bend of her tricep until it met with an elbow, "my skin feels electric, awake for the first time in...forever. Kissing you is," she lapped her lips, trying to find the words, "terrifying but perfect. My heart throbs at the thought, while my soul knows it's, thinks it's... I'm being foolish."

"What?" Anjali gasped, pricks of tears rising in her eyes. "Oh Sapheela, you are so far from foolish. You're...ah, I wish I knew your tongue better so I could say it properly."

"Just say it."

She flailed her hands in the air, her eyes sparkling as Anjali with great emphasis tried to tell Rosie what she thought of her. Sadly, Rosie didn't catch a single word of it, but she watched the flush rise to the woman's cheeks. Felt her hand caress up and down her skin. Couldn't cease falling into the excited umber of her eyes. It didn't really matter what she said, Rosie could read it all across her skin.

Leaping forward, Rosie pinned Anjali against the back of the tent. Her lips silenced the Rivaini, the final rolling vowels slipping with Rosie's tongue while both women wrapped themselves around the feminine bodies they craved. Panting in a breath, Rosie slid back, her eyes lost in a wash of Anjali's care.

She slid her pinkie around to try and draw back Rosie's hair from her face. "Perhaps you should let yourself have what you want, Sapheela."

Her shoulders burned at the thought of giving in, of letting herself damn the consequences and taking a woman to her bed, to her side officially. Perhaps it was only Anjali she wanted, for now. There could yet be a man who might burn in the back of her eyes the way this woman did.

Rather than voice any of that, Rosie sighed, "What does Sapheela mean?"

"You don't know?" she scoffed and Rosie shook her head. "The fact you never asked, I assumed. In Rivain, there is this white flower...a bit like your rose, but with the most fragile petals. One touch can cause the entire flower to break. And a scent sweeter than the ripest fruits of late summer."

Rosie lay her head against Anjali's chest, the assassin stroking her hair while she clung tighter to her legs. Maybe she did want this. Maybe she needed this.

"It only blooms by moonlight, the closed off petals opening to our dear Satina so the lunar moths will flit light through its flower parts. There are no other flowers in Rivain more beautiful than the Sapheela. It is small, but breathtaking."

"You know," Rosie tried to wipe away the sentimental tears burning in her eyes upon Anjali's chest, "you could be lying to me."

"True. It could be the name of a particularly obstinate goat I had as a child. With patches of white hair missing from its flank." Anjali chuckled at the idea, her bright smile lifting Rosie's as well. After a beat, she glanced down at the woman in her lap, "I suppose its up to you to decide which it is."

She sucked in a breath from the look, Rosie feeling as if her entire soul just trembled. Tucking in tighter, her body searching for the warmth of Anjali's, she whispered, "I suppose I shall."

## Chapter Forty-Two

### Bad Penny

"Don't take this the wrong way, Henry," Rosamund smiled at her cousin who paused in stretching beside the library window. His crystal blue eyes darted over to her so she could continue, "But I will be glad to resume the road tomorrow."

Rather than grumble at the slight, her cousin smiled wide and let a soft laugh escape, "Given the rising tide of...all of these requests, I do not blame you." He tipped into one of dozens of petitions for the Arl to deal with the darkspawn problem. Most came from Banns concerned about loss of revenue, but a few were delivered by the mouths of those who lost homes or worse in this sudden scourge.

"In fact, I am almost tempted to trail you to...the New Dales, I believe?" he turned to her in the chair swamped by all the parchment she could leave behind. Her cousin did not seem to be of the same mind as Cailan, who'd already written up his estimates on the costs of answering each one and considered the matter settled.

"Yes," Rosie nodded her head, "the New Dales."

"Delightful, we can see what new waterwheel their head elf will proudly show off," her brother complained. He'd fallen sideways onto a chair, one mud stained boot dangling off the armrest while he kept fiddling with a small gear that rotated with each flick of his finger.

Rosie sighed and tipped back to the arched ceiling, "I could always leave you behind. There's reams and reams of paperwork I'm certain Henry would love to bury you in."

Her brother's ice blue eyes rolled over to her, the sockets darkened as if the man was up the entire night. She really didn't want to know why. "You jest but it's tempting. Far better than having to sit on the ground, listen to their ear shattering songs about dead gods, and eat bugs for dinner."

"The Dalish are not..." she began when Cailan flopped to the side and glared at her.

"It's been, what, forty years since they had their scrap of land yet somehow the concept of a town eludes them. Father suggested they try walls along their borders and what do they do? Plant a bunch of trees! Then stick up some of those dog carvings as if that will solve the problem. It's foolish."

Her brother banged the back of his head against the chair and sighed, "It's simple math. Their population has expanded beyond the nomad lifestyle, so blighted well behave like it."

"Cailan!" Rosie hissed, well aware that in a lot of ways the New Dales was one of their father's favorite projects which he oddly kept out of. Though, he'd often try to swing by and see how things were going. The New Dales was always on the itinerary as if it was as important to the crown as Highever or Redcliffe. Even Gwaren wasn't getting a stop this time, the Teyrn laid up with another round of gout, poor man.

Her brother didn't answer her chastisement, simply darted his hands through the air as if he was weaving with them. That'd be the day. Trying to take command of the subject, and suddenly aware there were a good dozen others in the room with her, Rosie turned to Henry, "Have you visited the New Dales?"

"On occasion. They're not wild about us humans popping by, but the Keeper is more open than most. The waterfall there however is breathtaking," he stepped beside Rosie, his hip perched upon the desk at a friendly distance, but the man paused and his eyes darted over to the dark form leaning upon a slice of empty wall. Anjali cut through him, her arms crossed in anger, until Rosie smiled and the assassin faded to an easy stance.

As if she had a scratch, Anjali drew her thumbnail against her cheek, until reaching her lips. Puckering them, she imprinted a kiss onto her thumb and locked eyes with the Princess. Doing her damnedest to not blush, Rosie spread her fingers over the pile of work as a distraction. Being on the road would make it much easier for her to slip her handlers, another very good reason to be excited to leave Redcliffe.

Three of those handlers sat around her, Evie in top form as she began to berate a few of Teagan's servants for some slight. Tess sat on the opposite side, often blowing her hair up in annoyance because that blighted cousin was at it again. Rosamund prayed every day for Evie to finally find a husband and leave her service, but all the men seemed to be onto the woman's peccadilloes and wisely stayed away. Was that to be her curse? She'd be trapped with her blighted spinster cousin until both were wrinkled and grey?

Trying to shake the foolish thought away, Rosie let her eyes drift towards the dark woman with her shoulders leaning onto the wall, her hips thrust out for balance. What she wouldn't give to be able to grab onto her thighs and part those legs. The improper thoughts brought a real flush to her cheeks, Rosie trying to wave it away while she began to wonder if maybe Myra's idea of using the kitchen wasn't such a bad one. If they were careful, and avoided the fire, or any errant knives.

She moved to stand, when the door to the library burst open. Rosie barely glanced over, assuming it to be either Karelle, one of the knights, or the Arl himself looking for his son. When a lip curling voice coughed and called out, "My Lady," her head snapped up.

Eldon stood framed in the doorway wearing the finest garments he no doubt possessed. Maker's sake, what was he doing here? She left him behind at Highever. A refusal of a proposal tended to send a man scampering back to his den to lick his wounds until he wanted to try with another woman. Then again, perhaps he wished to apologize, to reclaim a more friendly relationship with the crown.

"Lord Eldon," Rosie greeted him with as patient a voice as she could.

"I have come to discuss a grave mistake," he said with his hands perched behind his back. The pose reminded her of a little boy with no easy outlet who found himself forced to confess that he was the one who broke a vase.

"Please," she waved her hand, attempting to calm him and cut off the rising tension, "there is no need to apologize..."

"One that you have committed," he spoke right over top of her, not listening to a word.

The bonhomie turned to ice, Rosie's hand freezing as she glared at him, "Excuse me?"

"In refusing my offer of marriage. You clearly did not think through the implications of what such a decision would have."

He couldn't be serious. Rosie glanced around the room, trying to find someone who would be laughing at this farce. All the faces were still, mouths locked in tight as if they feared speaking a word. Only Cailan she caught rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

Sadly, Lord Eldon was not finished, "My family is well established within the Ferelden line of nobility. We are nearly as ancient as Calenhad itself, in fact. Some would say that would put us as having proper rights to the throne, which we graciously allowed your father to take during the civil war."

At that Rosie rose up to her full height, her chest thrust out and shoulders back as if she was about to attack the man. "You graciously allowed?" she repeated, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. Their family was minimal at best, inbred at worst, and a dying tree. If Eldon was to be their last hope of glory, they failed spectacularly at it. Probably why his father was shopping for anyone else to take the reign.

The man opened his mouth, no doubt about to spew more claptrap of his family, but Rosie talked over him. "Master Eldon," she sneered his name as if it was mud stuck to her dress, "When a woman makes her decision about who to marry, it is not proper for the man to storm back to her and insist she was wrong. I attempted to let you save face for that travesty of a proposal through a letter in the first place, but this is..."

"I understand," he tipped his head down, his eyes scanning through the ground, "I wished to make a show of strength but forgot that ladies such as yourself prefer a rather frivolous show of romance."

Rosie huffed, "That is not at all the problem...!"

"So I am here, fully in the flesh, about to take a knee and ask you once again to do what is the most logical choice in thedas. Take me as your husband," his clammy hands flopped out for Rosie's, but she had both digging her nails into her elbows.

"You," she spat, her eyes burning in fire at this tiny, insignificant man who believed he could command her with impunity. "Drop to your knee and I shall have you dragged out of here in chains."

"My Lady?" he whispered, fully confused as if he really thought all she needed to be won over were a few words and a hollow gesture.

Sucking in a breath, it struck Rosie that that was how he always referred to her. Never a 'your majesty' or 'your highness' just a constant reminder that she was a lady that he seemed to think he could scoop up like a horse at an auction. "There will be no niceties, Mister Eldon, only the facts. I have no interest in you, I shall not take you as a husband, nor let you anywhere near the throne."

"No offense, my Lady," he chuckled his hands stretched out as if he planned to soothe a skittish horse, "but you're not thinking clearly. You're far too emotionally invested to make a wise decision."

"Emotionally invested?" she scoffed. "Yes, how dare I be emotionally invested in whosoever becomes my spouse and king." In flailing her eyes around the room, she caught Anjali with a hand back behind her shoulder. The assassin had a grip to her dagger, but Rosie tried to shake it off. They didn't need a dead Bann's son to add to their problems.

"If this is how you behave for a simple issue, your cheeks flushed, your nostrils flaring, your body locked off tighter than a knot, it is no wonder that the crown requires a far cooler head to lead it." He wouldn't stop, he seemed incapable of stopping from tearing her down while also attempting to winch himself higher using bullshit for the rope. "Since you seem incapable of reason, I shall have to petition the King..."

"Go ahead," Rosie laughed, wanting to be back home for that one. Perhaps her and her father could both fire arrows into the letter...or the messenger she added from the anger she felt burning in her heart. "The King will refuse you, and then ignore you."

"He is very good at that," Cailan added in, the first assist she received the whole time.

Eldon's beady little eyes snapped from sister to brother. He seemed to be acting as if he lost ground, instead of never having a leg to stand on to begin with. "The Bannorn will hear of this, my Lady," he hissed.

A hand clamped onto Eldon's arm and he turned to stare up into the tight grip of Henry. "I think you've acted out of turn long enough. Be wise and step away, my good man."

It was obvious Eldon intended to shake him off, but Henry had the strength and height on him. Walking forwards, Henry began to drag the puny pain out the door. But Eldon wasn't finished. "The Bannorn will not approve of you Rosamund. They will never let you take the crown, not without a husband that they wish. You will be dethroned in an instant, a weak and childish girl stripped of her foolish ambitions."

"Hold," her voice was ice, Rosie's back locked straight while she stared deep into the man's wild eyes. Henry glanced back at her, clearly wishing to hurl Eldon off the balcony onto the latrine pile below, but she shook it off. Walking crisply towards the man still pinned in her cousin's hand, Rosie eyed him up.

"Lord Eldon," she began in her projecting voice that could reach the back of the throne room.

He looked at her and gulped. Perhaps he remembered that she had power beyond a simple waiting to be, that she'd already been crowned and could say execute someone if they were deemed a threat. Her father wouldn't even bat an eye for scraping this turd off.

Raising back her hand, Rosie slapped him hard on the cheek. The thwack echoed through the still library, every inhabitant holding their breath. Wisely, Eldon didn't move, his hands dangling limply at his sides. Good. When he turned to her in shock, she tipped her head back and said, "I challenge you to a duel."

"What?"

"If I win you shall never again broach the subject of marriage with me or any of my kin, nor will you speak to me until the day your sorry corpse is hurled onto a pyre."

He glanced around the library, his fingers struggling to reach up and cover the rising red welt Rosie left behind. "And I win?"

 No if, of course. She spread her hands wide, "Then you shall have what you wanted."

"You'd marry me?" he sputtered as if it was so simple.

"Uh, sis..." Cailan tumbled to his feet, moving to rush over.

Cousin Henry glanced over at her, his lips barely whispered, "Rossie, is this wise?"

She shook it off, glaring at Eldon, "Do we have a deal?"

"Yes!" he shouted, before fading back as if he was barely interested in anything she could offer. "Yes, I accept. When shall this be fought?"

"In two hours time, in the courtyard," she threw out, barely having thought it through. Most would take a day, but damn it, she wanted this over with now while her blood boiled in her veins.

Eldon, either unaware of duel etiquette or thinking he'd easily win, nodded, "Very well, I shall select my champion."

Beside her Rosie felt both Henry and Anjali slide into view, their chests lifting as they clearly volunteered to fight for her cause. But she shook them away and honed right in on Eldon, "No. There are to be no champions, no stand-ins. We will fight ourselves."

"What?!" the man gasped again, his eyes widening.

"Okay, I changed my mind," Cailan chuckled. "This just got fun."

Rosie leaned closer to Eldon. Blessed Andraste, hopefully as close as she'd ever get to the worm. With a sneer, she said, "Surely a man of such supreme worth as you claim would be capable and willing to fight for what he wants or deserves."

He swallowed hard, his eyes darting from Henry back to the unwilling bride-to-be. "Very well, princess. I shall fight and win your hand in two hours time."

"It's a duel," she said, unwilling to touch the man's hand. "Henry, you can let him go." Her cousin dug his fingers in a moment before opening them to release Eldon. The man quickly got his feet under himself and shuffled out of the room to prepare.

"Cous," Henry turned to her, concern etched in his voice, "is this wise? He could..."

Rosie laughed a moment under her breath, her fingers dipping through the paperwork she'd already read a dozen times over. "Trust me. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a duel to prepare for." Spinning on her heel, she marched out of the room. Her cousin and brother were sharing a look, the girls were all gasping behind their hands and fans in shock. Only Anjali stood back with a great smile on her face.

At least one person had faith in her.

## Chapter Forty-Three

### Duel

Word must have percolated through the palace quickly as Rosie spotted far more heads circling the courtyard than were necessary. Technically, all she needed was her second but she didn't really care if there were plenty of people on hand to watch. Let them all know and remember the outcome. Digging a hand into the back of her neck, Rosie glanced around to try and get a sense of the sun. They were early, and something told her Eldon would be late.

"Cailan," she turned to her brother who'd been politely following the train but also doing his best to stay out of it. "Would you be my second?"

"Uh, okay. What does a second do, exactly?"

"Typically, you're there to fight in the chance the duelist chickens out," she explained as if defining a term, but her brother's eyes bugged out. "I'm here, all you have to do is make certain Eldon doesn't cheat."

"All right, all right," he bobbed his head and rocked back on his toes. "Er, how does one cheat at a duel?"

"Just...stand around. You merely need to exist. I think you can handle that," she sighed while struggling to try and find her center. Cousin Henry paced about the edge, a hand upon the hilt at his hip. She could have asked him to be her second, but as the host it seemed better to leave him as detached from the proceedings. In the off chance she made the wrong choice, she'd need Henry's help to fix her mistake.

"Pst," Cailan inched closer to his sister, his head bent over to get nearer her ear. She turned, annoyed at his antics, but found his skin sallow and cheeks stricken. "I get that you were a bit riled up from that wonderful interlude by your paramour..." Rosie snarled at the idea. "but isn't this one of those things we really need to tell father about?"

Rosie heard a clatter of boots and turned from her brother, "I shall inform him after the duel is decided."

"Oh great, after. Because I'm certain that's how he'd want to know. Not going to bite you in the ass at all."

She tried to wipe any emotion off her face, but it was Tess that appeared in the courtyard and not Eldon nor his entourage. "I've brought it," Tess shouted, waving Rosie's sword high above her head. She seemed to have brought others as well, a few more who'd been milling about followed the handmaiden with the princess' sword including Myra.

Her eyes honed in on Rosie picking up her blade and sliding it out of the scabbard to inspect the edge. "Hey, Cailan," Myra slid over to their brother, "what the shit's going on?"

"Our future queen has decided to fight a man to the death in a duel for her hand in marriage," he groaned.

Myra took it all with a shrug, "Neat."

"It is not to the death," Rosie sighed, her thumb guiding along the razor sharp edge. Still, it could always use a bit of work. "Does anyone have a whetstone?" A few hands scrabbled into pockets before someone was kind enough to drop one into her fingers.

"What do you mean it's not to the death?" Cailan, the man whose only experience with swordplay involved husbands chasing after him, stared down in confusion while Rosie tried to hone her blade.

"Most duels are not fought to the death, only first blood. You can waive the right, if you're an idiot or wish to die, but..." she twisted her sword around in her hands, savoring the feel of it slicing apart the very air, "I rather doubt Eldon is that enchanted with extinguishing his worthless hide."

"Eldon?" Myra stuck her tongue out, "That waste of a dried up druffalo pizzle you wouldn't toss to a hound?"

"Yes, that'd be the one," Rosamund drew the whetstone back to the other side, wishing her blade was sharp enough it could cut through words themselves. That'd make her life easier.

"My Lady," a hand drifted towards hers and she noticed it was a soft brown. Turning, she raised an eyebrow at the squire standing with his arms limply reaching towards her as if to try and rescue her from this folly. "I could do that for you," Gavin added.

"No, a good swordsman takes care of her own blade," she said, an eye following the edge, but from the corner she watched Gavin smile almost proudly and slide back. He stepped beside Myra, the two whispering quietly to each other. No doubt he was quizzing her sister on how talented the princess was and if she stood a chance at this folly.

They were all asking that question from behind hands and at the side of their mouths. People knew Rosie had her own sword, but nothing else. She preferred it that way.

"Here." A new hand -- smaller, darker, and more beautiful than before -- thrust a scrap of red fabric at her. Rosie gripped onto it and turned to find Anjali with her hair erupting off the top of her head. She'd handed her headscarf to Rosie, who couldn't stop running her fingers over it as if the scrap of cloth was the finest silk in thedas.

"So nothing gets in your eyes," she explained, her fingers cupping against the back of Rosie's hand. Those umber eyes burned with so many unspoken words they could number the stars. Lifting the red scrap of fabric to her head, when it wafted past her nose she smelled the woman whose scent yet clung to her skin. Jasmine, myrrh, and the sweet embrace of sex all mixed into Rosie's hair as she knotted it in place.

Nodding her head in thanks, she moved to turn away, when Anjali said what they were all thinking, "You better win."

It was quick, most everyone else fretting to themselves, but Rosie caught both her sister and her sister's squire looking over. _Oh no_. Did Myra know? Was she puzzling it out? She tried to swallow down the fear of having her intimate life laid out before her like the timeline for a murder, when the gate opened and riding boots clopped across the bricks.

The courtyard was laid out the way most were, a hexagonal shape that bore a short fountain of Andraste in the middle. For now the fountain was barely bubbling, most of the water long since evaporated in the heat. It was where Rosamund stood as she turned to face down her challenger. Eldon clipped in on far too high heels as if the riding boots would help to increase his reach instead of teetering his form. Or maybe he was just insecure about his height.

Beside him stood his second, a man Rosie barely glanced at. She moved to speak, when Eldon beat her too it. "I'm surprised you showed," he chuckled.

"I challenged you," her voice drifted down to a growl, wishing this was a duel to the death. It'd solve her problem permanently at least. But so would this. He would have to honor the concordance; the future Arl of Redcliffe was watching and very few could go against that word.

Eldon shrugged, the man clearly ill informed on matters of a duel. "I brought a selection of weapons, but I see you have some cute, little pink sword for yourself." She chuckled while running her fingers over the finest steel in Ferelden. Made from the bone of a dragon, it was a rare blade that could match it. Not that Eldon needed to be informed of such matters.

He selected a bastard sword, far too large for such a matter as this but the man seemed to be all pomp and no circumstance. After swiping it through the air like he intended to kill a bee, he turned to the princess. "Do you need a moment to change?" Eldon chuckled, staring down at her dress.

"No," Rosie shook her head, "this shall suffice." She'd already rolled her dress up into a belt on her stomach, making certain the hemlines wouldn't catch. After all of her training, she feared that putting on trousers might throw her off.

Eldon shrugged, "Very well, it is as you said, your challenge. How shall we begin?"

"In the middle, away from the crowd," she gestured towards the empty courtyard, all their people quickly sliding to the sides. Eldon raised his sword high as if she was going to attack right then and there, but Rosie sighed. "First, we have our seconds shake hands."

Cailan's eyes opened wide and he dashed into the fray. Sticking out his hand, he was quick to grab onto whoever Eldon conned into this and give a single pump. "Good enough?" he whispered at Rosie, who groaned.

She knew she was going to regret this part. Extending her hand to Eldon, she waited for him to take it. The man picked up her fingers, but instead of shaking them, he began to pull them to his lips. She moved to yank them free, but he clamped down harder and before slobbering all over her skin, whispered, " _My_ lady." The emphasis was so crystal clear it was a wonder he didn't piss on her leg to seal the deal.

When Eldon finally released her, Rosie made a show of wiping his drool off on the side of her dress. Passing her sword into her right hand, she clamped down onto the hilt, while her left gripped tight to the scabbard. "Oh, is this the part where we fight?" he asked, waving his broadsword back into play.

She could do this. She was prepared. She just had to trust in herself. Tipping her head down, Rosie tried to find her center, the calm part that kept her head cool and arm straight. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Anjali whose mouth dangled partly open in concern. Rosie twisted her head, wanting to take one final look out of fear it might be the last, when the woman lifted her thumb up.

Rosie yanked her sword out of the scabbard, the light of the trees glinting down the pinkish-red blade. With her left hand, she tucked the scabbard in tight to the side, her body moving into position. Eldon stared at her, a scoff building in his throat. "Uh, honey, if you want to go put down the not-blade part I'll wait."

Her eyes honed in on him, the neck, the groin, the open chest, the exposed arm. Each look dissected the man into the breakable sections of a dummy. "No," Rosie snarled and she lifted her blade across her chest.

Eldon shrugged, "Okay, then." He swung first, attempting to plow his way through Rosie's defenses. The broadsword smashed into hers, the clanging noise reverberating through her ears, but barely a tremble reaching her fingers gripping tight against the barrage. It was a very good sword.

When the first two didn't work, Eldon tried the exact same thing. Rosie danced backwards, her steps bringing her closer to the fountain while the seconds dashed with to keep tabs. "Come now," Eldon sighed, his arm barely slowing while he spoke, "you've had your fun, but this is pointless." Each slash of his blade cut closer to her, Rosie having to counter left then right to match them. He wasn't holding back, the man willing to risk harming her to get what he wanted. She may as well be a white haired stag in his mind.

"Put down your sword," Eldon paused with his arm lifted, fully exposing his chest, but Rosie froze as well. Her fingers gripped tighter to the scabbard as she knocked the back of her heels into the fountain. "Let's finish this properly like civilized gentry."

She locked in her shoulders, her eyes narrowing to slits. The man barely waited for her answer before he ran forward. Sliding to the side and easily avoiding the man's attack, Rosie whacked into him with the scabbard. The leather and metal dull end jabbed into Eldon's side as he failed to account for the sudden fountain. Tumbling forward, knees banging against the barrier, he face planted right into the inch deep water and stone edifice.

Rosie twisted around, her toes digging a line in the dirt of the filthy stones of the courtyard. She watched as the man wrenched himself free of the fountain and landed on his knees, his face and hair covered in moldy green water. Hissing, Eldon touched his nose and flinched. A trickle of blood dripped from where it plowed into the bottom of the fountain.

"There," Cailan shouted, jabbing a finger at Eldon who was fuming, "first blood. Rossie won!" He reached over to grab his sister's hand in triumph, but whispered, "And now we can stop this madness."

"No!" Eldon shrieked, swiping harder at his nose and smearing the scarlet blood across his face. "It is not over."

"You're bleeding, mate. You're still bleeding. Those are the rules," Cailan tried to explain as if he was the master of duels.

"I am the wounded party," Eldon jabbed a finger at his chest, puffing it up higher, "I decide what we fight and when it's done."

"Are you flipping loony?" Cailan honed in on the man lifting up his blade, "You can't possibly want to fight to the death. Who wants to die?"

"Cailan," she reached over to get her brother's attention. He whipped his head, his face curled up in total confusion, "get out of the way." Rosie raised up her blade and stared only at Eldon.

Her brother took a moment, remaining in the middle of them before he threw up both hands and walked away muttering, "Fine. But if dad asks, I tried."

Ignoring her brother, Rosie twisted her chin at the man who wasn't going to stop until he got what he wanted, or couldn't have it anymore. Eldon spat at the ground, his blood staining the stones of Redcliffe. There was likely to be more before this was over. Raising his blade, he decided to get crafty and go for the defensive mode. Rosie's eyes darted up and down his form as she began to shift her feet in a circle.

Eldon attempted to follow, his eyes practically ripping her to shreds as they danced around each other. Every slight shift of hers caused him to flinch and react, but neither would meet. Around her, she could hear the others all chattering in anticipation.

"Just do it already!"

"Stab someone!"

"Do duels always take this long?"

Rosamund didn't follow any of the voices, she blocked them all out, even her sister who seemed to be trying to pry commentary from her squire. No, all that mattered was the man whose arm was beginning to wane from his far too large sword. "Lord Eldon," she said, standing up straighter.

He jumped a bit at that, struggling to maintain his form. That was when Rosie attacked. Her first move was obvious, slow and laborious. It struck against the left side, rattling down his far cheaper blade and shaking his fist. But the man didn't let go. He seemed incapable of such a thing. "You were wrong," she sneered, twisting around to attack from the right.

Eldon gasped, driving his blade down. It sent Rosie's sword skittering back, barely escaping before he would have pinned it down to the ground. "That so?" he snarled, not happy about being called out.

"I do know all about you," she turned, striking faster than seemed possible while the man raced to bash each one away. With his larger blade it was easier to form a wall, but he was already gasping in breaths to keep going, his arm waning from the weight.

"About your ramshackle family and its struggles to keep a grip upon fortunes of old turned to bare coffers." Spinning in place, Rosie met the man's blade up high, stretching herself foolishly. Eldon tried to lash out with his foot and kick her back, but she darted away fast.

The man spat on the ground, more blood staining it, as he began to stomp after her. She didn't have far to go, Rosie trying to eye up an opportunity while the wolf circled beside her. Turning on a dime, she barely met the man's blade from slicing into her neck. He sneered, his putrid breath washing over her face while bloody saliva dripped near her dress.

Shoving with all the force in her arms, Rosie twisted the man off her, his rabid spit falling to the ground instead of on her. "About how you can barely form a claim to your father's lands, never mind a crown."

Eldon's eyes lit up and he tipped his shoulder down. No longer caring about the finesse of the duel, he ran right at Rosie. She tried to raise her sword but it wouldn't make it in time. Steam practically poured out of the man's nose as he tipped his head back like a wild beast and screamed. Just before he was about to smash into her and lay her out, Rosie's left hand lashed forward.

The scabbard bit hard into Eldon's knees, sounds of cracking bone erupting through the still crowd. Shrieking in pain, the man tried to twist away while also trailing Rosie, but he was too slow. Not exhausted, she easily turned on a dime and drew her blade over the back of the man's thighs. His trousers split wide open, a sharp line as thin as a single strand of spiderweb quickly welling up and dripping blood down his legs.

Eldon drew a hand over the back of his knees and found it coated in more blood. He could end this, walk away. But the man looked beyond reproach now. Forgetting the injury, Eldon staggered up to his height and fixed both hands around his sword.

"And I know, Eldon," Rosie taunted, rising up on her toes to easily slide backwards with sure steps. "I know..." she began when the man ran forward, the blade extended off his right side. She swung fast, nearly slicing apart his gut from the left. Eldon had to turn to avoid it, but that was what she was counting on.

With her left hand, she slid her own scabbard over the man's sword, effectively blunting it to nothing. He gasped at the move, his eyes bugging in surprise, when Rosie turned her wrist and bashed the pommel of her sword right into Eldon's already bloody nose. His head snapped back, Rosie following up with another to the gut.

When she kicked his knee, the man crumpled, falling to the ground in a groan of agony. Rosie was quick to leap on top, her blade right to his neck. "I know that you leave your left side wide open in a sword fight. I know all that and more because that is what I do and why you would never be King. Now...yield or I will slice open your throat and you will bleed all over the stones of this palace."

His eyes glared murder at the woman who could easily do it to him. She sneered right back, ready to finish this. Extending his arm, Eldon laid his sword upon the ground and muttered, "I yield."

"What was that?" Rosie tipped her head to the side.

"I said, I yield!" Rising back up to her feet, she kept her sword point trained upon his neck until she kicked his blade away.

Certain he couldn't leap up fast to stab her in the back, she wafted her sword away from his neck. "And you shall never marry me."

"No, your Majesty, I have no intentions to suffer your visage or your wretched voice, ever again," Eldon hissed, rolling to his hands and feet.

No doubt she was supposed to feel slighted for such a thing, but Rosie smiled, "Good." Placing a boot down upon the man's hilt, she yanked free her scabbard. "If I were you, I'd work on your form before you agree to anymore duels," she added while sheathing her blade.

Stepping away from Eldon while his second tried to mop up the blood, Rosie lifted her head when a chorus of applause began around her. She turned to catch Myra with her fingers in her mouth, whistling as loud as she could. Cailan, the man as white as a sheet, stumbled over to ask, "Is it over? Please tell me it's over."

Ignoring her people bowled over to learn their princess could fight, Rosie focused all her attention upon the beautiful shining face of one woman. Anjali's lips lifted in a smile and she tipped her head in a slight bow to Rosie's accomplishment. Running her tongue over her lips, Rosie knew exactly how she planned to celebrate.

"Yes," she nodded at her brother and tossed him the sword he barely caught, "it's over."

## Chapter Forty-Four

### Peachy

Salt pooled on the side her chin, right into a divot some people would nicely call a dimple. But dimples only appeared when a person smiled, made 'em seem all cute and innocent. Her divot popped up when she would snarl, or was trying to gnaw through a five day old pretzel rod. Someone laid a stash of them out for the servants before the big trip back to the road. Myra was surprised to find so many left, until she began to chew away on it. Even a mabari would cash in after one bite.

Still...it gave her something to do. Getting on the road sounded good. Redcliffe wasn't bad all things considered, but there was a lot more interesting out there. Plus, it was far easier for her to vanish into the night when there weren't another dozen of Teagan's stoolies dashing about to the tents in the caravan. She hadn't even had a chance to touch Gavin since Rosie caught her in the kitchen.

Oh right. The rainstorm. Which was fun, up until Snowy rolled in and they all learned how to properly cheat at Diamondback without getting caught. Her always law abiding boyfriend flinched at the thought, but Myra was itching to try out her skills on a new target. Maybe Cailan?

Rounding up the stairs, which she took three at a time, Myra turned to find Tess standing in the hallway calmly twisting a needle through a hoop of brown linen. Whatever she was embroidering, it was still at the squiggles stage -- or maybe Tess sucked at it. Myra never hung around long enough to find out how it worked.

"Hey," she called to the least annoying handmaiden. The woman glanced up from her work, her eyebrow raised in consideration of the greeting but her mouth too pursed to offer one back. Out of all the super fancy ladies that surrounded her sister, Tess was the only one with short hair. It was cropped so tight it could be confused for a boy's, but it worked wonders for her fine features -- the tiny nose in particular. Absently, Myra ran her fingers down her longer honker. She had so much elven blood in her, it was a wonder they let her out of the alienage, but somehow she got stuck with her dad's nose.

Trying to shake it off, Myra tipped her head towards the rooms awarded to their beloved Princess. "I'm gonna go see Rosie," she said, barely knowing why beyond something to do. She expected Tess to sigh, or wave her hands, but the woman's head shot up and panic erupted in her eyes.

"No!"

"No?"

"My Lady has...she's suffering from a headache and required a lie down."

Myra snorted at that. "Don't worry, that little pissant she diced to pieces has already left the castle. Henry made damn certain." She moved to open the door, when Tess grabbed onto her hand. The woman's eyes bored into Myra's face as if the touch should send the bastard daughter scampering away, but Myra smiled, "I'll be quiet and not bang around, I promise."

Keeping her sight upon Tess, Myra tugged on the latch. The handmaiden could have fought her, wrestled against the longer, lankier one and probably lost, but she didn't. With a guarded sigh, Tess slid back to her place standing against the wall. Did Rosie know her friend was just wandering around right outside her door keeping people from entering?

Tess either deserved better pay, or to have someone investigate her connections and make certain there weren't any dead princesses in her past. Shaking her head, Myra slid into the luxurious trappings only a legitimate child of the king would receive.

Okay, her room was nice too. And she got the one with the secret passage that led down to the dungeons. Which she was not supposed to know about, or find, or use to sneak all the way under the lake. Nope. Not at all.

But Rosie's was gigantic, the sitting room capable of housing a bear...if one of them felt the need to go fully civil and stop all that crapping in the woods stuff. A great fire roared in a hearth that could spit roast a stag, again, if the bear grew peckish in the night. Handfuls of paintings of people Myra didn't recognize nor care to know filled out the decor, but the largest practically filled a wall. It had a man, a woman, and a boy around age ten standing for their portrait. The man was already white haired while the woman clearly blonde, and the boy with soft, weepy eyes. Whoever they were, they must have mattered for someone to waste so much paint on them.

No doubt the bear would be impressed. She tapped a finger to her chin, twisting her head while staring out the window. A thin balcony rested behind, only suitable for pigeons and any wayward girls who were prone to feats of neck-break threatening. In truth, she didn't really have much to say to Rosie -- who must be behind one of the closed doors napping away her headache. But the way Tess rose up to defend the door, Myra had to get inside. It was practically bred into her bones.

She might be able to shimmy down to a lower level and knock in a window to slip out, leaving Tess very confused and Rosie unaware. Wanting to attempt the challenge, Myra moved to the window and ran her fingers over the latch. It was a tricky one, both the top and bottom bolted. Probably in the event any bears did try to climb to the room.

Staggering up onto her tiptoes, Myra strained to reach the top latch without dragging over a stool when she heard the door behind her open. With her body stretched as far as it could go, she pivoted her head to look over her shoulder as Rosie stepped through the door. Her stick straight hair looked like a shrew dug into the back and went mad making a nest. But she didn't seem to care; a fat, stupid smile on her face as she stretched a moment.

Myra was about to announce herself, when her sister turned on her toes and cupped a hand around a second body that was hiding back inside the bedroom.

Hello...

Holding in a breath and trying to shrink as far from view as possible without moving, Myra watched as Rosie puckered up to kiss whoever had been 'alleviating her headache.' Her sister was practically giddy, laughing and blushing as she tugged on the hand of her paramour. Rosie began to speak about whatever matter was on her mind, when... Oh Maker. The assassin stepped out from behind the door, her clothes adjusted properly, but wearing the same sloppy smile.

Dad was gonna be pissed.

Unaware of anyone watching, Anjali pulled on Rosie's hand and her sister tumbled back towards the woman. Both their hands wrapped around each other, guiding back for another kiss before they had to return to the real world. Myra strained, but her warped muscles were starting to go. A burn erupted up her calf and before she could get in a breath, her body bounced into the window.

Both of the lovers whipped their head over at the girl who rebounded fast off the glass and spun in place. Flipping her braid back and forth, Myra waved, "Hi!" her tone as innocent as she could make it.

"What are you...?" Rosie's mouth dropped down, her jaw practically dislocating as she realized her sister caught her red handed. Red lipped too.

"Thought I'd pop by, see how things are going..." Myra explained, before tipping her head down and muttering, "Better than I expected, for sure."

"Myra," her sister swallowed hard, the woman ratcheting in her spine as if she could command her to forget everything she saw, "Whatever you think you witnessed is..."

Snorting, Myra placed a hand to her hip and sighed. She looked past Rosie to Anjali and said, "Does that ever work?"

"No," the assassin admitted, her fingers drifting near Rosie but not quite touching.

"Come here, Sis," Myra waved a hand through the air, trying to guide Rosie to her.

"Why?" Rossie remained rooted to the spot, as if she feared Myra was about to run through the castle and tattle on her.

"So we can have a heart to heart talk," Myra said, her tone laughing. Suddenly, she dropped her eyes and in a stripped voice said, "Like in the kitchens."

"Oh," Rosie bobbed her head, the burn on her cheeks lightening a step before she turned to her girlfriend, "Could you give us a minute?"

"Are you certain?" Anjali darted her eyes over at Myra who smiled sweetly. Even if the assassin was going to try anything, Myra could easily pivot out the window. For all of Anjali's darting moves with the daggers it was unlikely she could follow.

Rosie placed her palm to Anjali's cheek, her hand falling along with the assassin's glare, "Yes, it will be all right."

The woman nodded, but didn't seem wild about it. She grabbed onto the latch about to open the door, when Myra called out, "You can kiss goodbye. I don't care."

"I will return to the squires," Anjali said instead, her eyes warily trailing Myra who plopped down into the biggest, overstuffed chair she ever sat in. The cushions practically dented a foot when her ass fell into it. If she weren't so tall, it might swallow her legs whole. Maker, Rosie had to look hilarious sitting in it.

By the time the door closed, and Rossie had composed herself, she turned to Myra who was prodding at the armrest with curiosity. "Myra..."

"Your hair's a mess," she called out, not looking up. There was a carving underneath. She was trying to decipher it with her fingers, but the middle word was confusing her.

Gasping, Rosie's arms flailed as she tried to smooth down her hair.

"The little details, those are the ones you have to watch 'cause they're the first to go," Myra muttered when she finally figured out what was wrong. _You spell it with a u not an o. Duh.  _

Turning her head up, she watched her sister cross the room as if she was walking to her death. Rosie paused, her foot straining to make the next step while Myra stared her up and down. Cocking her head to the side, she sighed, "A headache? That was the best you could come up with?"

Rosie blew a great snot bubble out of her nose, the exhale so sharp it should have come with knives. As primly as possible, she planted her ass onto the chair catty-corner to Myra's. "What I was doing with Anjali..."

"Are you being safe?" Myra asked, her voice riddled with concern.

Her sister glared at that, her arms crossing tight, "You find this hilarious."

"Now come on, Rosie. You can tell me. I'm your sister."

"Regrettably," she rolled her eyes, causing Myra to break into giggles.

"What are you thinking?" Myra snapped at her. Rosie's bright face flushed to an ice cold white of terror. "I am the master of sneaking around. A headache? You know Tess knew the whole time, right? She's standing out there doing whatever it is all those girls around you do."

"Tess?" Rosie whipped her head towards the door where no doubt her friend watched a harried assassin run down the stairs to freedom. "Blighted hell," she groaned, burying her face into her hands. "It wasn't...it's not supposed to be. There isn't a thing occurring that can..."

Myra reached over to pat her sister on the knee. "You like her?"

A brief window parted between her fingers, allowing Rosie to look over at her younger sister. "I believe so," she confessed as if it was weighing down her soul.

"Then here's what you do," Myra adjusted her hips and stared directly at her sister, "no more claiming illness. That just worries people. Or they know you're shitting them and try to call you on it. Never works. No, the trick is to sneak out at night."

"I've attempted that," Rosie began before her face went tomato red. "Not that, I mean I would not have considered...the..."

"Did you go too early?" Myra asked, already reading the situation. Her sister was an early to bed type, while a lot of the younger people around her were not. "There's a magic hour, magic hours, from about 2 to 4 in the morning. All the night owls will have finally conked on out to bed, or found other beds to play in, and the morning pigeons won't be waking for another hour. That's when you mess around."

Rosie folded her hands together in thought, properly weighing her younger sister's words. After a time, she whipped her head over and narrowed her eyes, "How often have you done this?"

"Me? Never," Myra said so sincerely, Rosie burst out laughing.

"Very well, I will consider your advice."

"You like her a lot, don't you?" Myra inched nearer, her voice dropping low to share in the secret.

Her sister maintained her aloof stance, but her eyes crinkled in a hidden smile. "I think I might. I'm not certain what all it means."

"Don't need to mean anything now. You have fun, but you are being safe right? No throwing knives, or wrestling bears."

"Sweet merciful Maker, I shall never again inquire if you're safe. Lesson learned," Rosie parted her hands, for once not looking like the uptight tutor she always tried to pretend to be.

"I'm glad, that you're happy. Also real glad you won't be acting like my mother anymore because it's bad enough having one."

She meant it too, both parts, but the first one in particular. Rosie was always smiling while she paraded about as princess, but this time they looked like they came from her gut instead of her head. As if she wanted to burst out into song, and skip through meadows or other fancy shit like that. It was nice, she'd been waffling about it all for so long.

Shifting in her seat, Rosie dropped her voice lower, "You won't _tell_ anyone, will you?"

"Like anyone would believe me even if I did," Myra shook it off before sighing, "Nah. You can tell 'em when you want to. I have enough problems on my own."

"Thank you," her sister reached over and gripped onto her hand. They swung together a moment, both girls smiling as they shared a secret love blooming in their hearts.

Maker's sake, she needed to stop reading those terrible books Auntie Lune sent her.

"I should go," Myra said tipping her head to the window.

"You can use the door."

"Nah," she chuckled, her foot out to get a grip, "I can't wait for the confusing look on Tess' face. Open the door and there's no Myra. It's like she vanished."

"If you're gone how can you see the look on her face?"

"Here," Myra tapped her head, "in my mind. It's glorious. And might want to shush up your friend too, 'cause boy does she know something's up."

Rosie's lips pursed and she nodded her head, "Yes, I will. Thank you."

"No problem." Myra hooked a hand onto a lower ledge and moved to slide down. Below her, the surf of lake Calenhad pounded against the rocky shoreline. If she slipped, it'd be a very prodding and pointy end. "Oh!"

Myra tugged her head up to stare inside. "Practice on a peach."

Her sister froze, her face knotting up in confusion, "Practice on a...?"

"That's what Lunet always told me. For lip and tongue fatigue." Having said her bit of wisdom, she slid down to the lower ledge away from the open window.

Before Rosie closed it, she heard her sister shout out in a groan, "Myra!"

## Chapter Forty-Five

### Coverup

His fingers remained chastely glued to her calves, not even risking the risqué terrain of her kneecaps. Nope, all Gavin could manage was to massage back and forth over her chicken legs. Not that she wanted to complain about what little was on offer with the warmth of his hands cupping over her rarely bare skin. She snickered at how his eyes slightly bugged when Myra walked into his tent with the short pants on. It was hot, and she was running out of clothing that wasn't covered in darkspawn blood. At least she still had a few extra tunics left behind -- though knowing Captain Gallant here he'd probably offer her the one off of his back while keeping his eyes closed.

Myra pivoted around, her legs that'd been crossed while she sat beside him sliding together and forming a small hill right above Gavin's lap. He glanced over from his book, a question bobbing in the amber depths. Nearly sitting in his lap, Myra reached over and tugged him to her lips. It could have been so romantic and sexy, but she failed to take into account how damn tall he was.

Tumbling from her unexpected grab, Gavin's chin smacked into her mouth, ratting Myra's teeth. She hissed at the idiotic plan and the pain, both causing her to whip her head fast out of fear he'd see something terrible, like tears in her eyes. "What...?" he gasped, a hand trying to massage away the accidental bite she gave to his chin. "What were you doing?"

"Nothing," Myra sputtered, her hackles raising. She moved to slide her legs back under herself, but Gavin's hand locked in on her knee. With him holding them in place, she froze. Her eyes darted up from her heavy and very mortified brow to watch as he brushed his fingers along the nape of her neck.

"Was it this?" he asked before pressing his lips to hers. Waves washed away her damn anxiety and embarrassment, pure bliss wafting off the man anchored to her face. Okay, anchored isn't really sexy there Myra. Um, suckered? No, Maker, that's even worse. Just kiss him and stop thinking.

Before he pulled away, Gavin drew his nose against the side of hers, Myra's jabbing deeper into the sweet brown cheek. At least he didn't seem to mind. "How was that?" he whispered, his tongue lapping over his lips and distracting her. While she watched it vanish back into his mouth, Myra spotted a sign of hair sprouting off the top of his lip. A dark tuft barely filled in across the vast wasteland and she wanted to run her fingers through it.

No, her toes!

You're being weird again. Stick to fingers.

"Good," she sputtered, aware she was staring and not talking. "I like it, like a lot and..." Her breath caught as the next words hung inside her brain. Like a runaway carriage that just flattened a fruit stand, took out a baker, and pitched right at the top of a hill this thing hung precariously from the edge, incapable of being stopped until it shattered at the bottom of a chasm.

Running her fingers up and down his clothed arm, Myra whispered, "I like you."

"I like you too," he said so fast her head whipped up in surprise.

"Just, just like that? You say 'I like you?'"

"Yes?" Gavin's eyes darted around his tiny tent as if he feared to find others seeping out of thin air, "Or, was I not supposed to do it that way? Oh Maker, was there to be a spectacle?"

"No!" Myra threw up her hands, then groaned. "No, I only...forget it." She folded in on herself. Stupid. Why did you question it? Why did you react wrong? Now he's pouting...though Maker does he look cute when he pouts. Not the time to be thinking that.

"I just, all the boy stories I heard, it seemed like getting them to talk about that stuff was like pulling a druffalo uphill in the snow, both ways."

That sweet smile returned, Gavin's eyes shining at her confession. "So I should obfuscate and deflect my feelings?"

"Maybe, a couple times...so I don't start thinking you're a changeling or something."

"I shall take that under consideration," Gavin whispered, returning to another kiss. She melted into him, practically purring in the back of her throat while he tousled with her downed hair. That braid was proving to be a real pain, but he was getting better at helping her to remove it.

When Gavin opened his mouth, Myra dove in at the opportunity. Maker's sake, he tasted so good -- like that heat you get in your stomach after you ate a spicy pepper but it's not too much. Just the right kind of burn. That one coursed through her veins, driving Myra's hands to cup up and down Gavin's chest. She was fascinated with his pecs, in particular the thin canyon between both. Myra couldn't stop running her finger up and down it, tapping into both sides of the muscley pillows surrounding it. Like a cozy and hot path or something.

Parting from his chest, her fingers found their way down towards his stomach. The patch of muscles trembled even below his thick tunic. She wanted to touch the naked skin, to let his heat pass through her naked skin. Sliding higher, Myra hooked her fingers along Gavin's hem. He leaned back, breaking off the kiss.

Myra opened her fingers, letting go of her prize as the hot node of failure burned in the back of her brain. That wasn't the right move. You shouldn't do whatever you did. Gavin made no obvious motions against it, but she could feel it in the air. Unaware of anything off, he picked up his book and began to read. But rather than drift off to his own world, he hooked a hand around the back of Myra's waist and tugged her right beside him.

With one arm locked around her and the other propping up the book, he guided Myra to rest her head against his chest. Gavin buried his chin into the crown of her hair, while she closed her eyes and fell into the soothing thrum of his heart. Each beat called out to hers, inviting it to slow down and join in with this other heart. Take its time, appreciate what it had.

"What are you reading?"

"Nothing too exciting," Gavin whispered, "just an old adventure tale."

Myra cracked open an eye and tried to follow along but so close to her face and at a vertical angle she could barely make it out. "Why don't you read it aloud?"

A gasp erupted from the supportive body under her. "That...why would you want to hear that?"

"Because your voice is like stepping into a bath of coconut milk," Myra threw off casually, but at his locked in silence she stammered, "I mean, just that...that was kinda weird, huh?"

"No, I'd simply never heard anyone describe my voice. Weird or otherwise. Why coconut milk?"

"Dad had a lot of coconuts, like drums and drums of them from some trip up north or a gift. Diplomats bring the weirdest gifts. We ran out of ideas of what to do with them all so I tried bathing in it."

"How was it?" he whispered against her forehead.

Maker, she could sleep like this. His strong arms swooped tight around her back and stomach, the heat of his body lulling hers across the veil. "Smooth, and cool, and very sticky."

"I shall try to avoid speaking sticky," he said while eyeing up the page. Gavin coughed once, no doubt trying to clear out all that coconut shell, and began to read aloud. "'Upon the perch, Ermassium heaved deftly to his...'"

The door to the tent popped open and Snowy stumbled in. "Hey Myra," he barely glanced over at the girl practically melting into Gavin. After dropping his gear, the dwarf turned to his roomie, "12 bottles is looking for you. Says you're due to help unpack the tents before we move out."

Gavin didn't complain, just nodded at the dwarf and closed his book, "Thank you."

For a beat Myra caught Snowy's eye, the dwarf sharing the same 'what is wrong with him?' look. Shrugging, Snowy tugged back open the tent flap and resumed whatever he was up to. Seeing as how most of the other squires were on downtime, it was probably fleecing people at cards again. Only Gavin was always on call, always put to the fields while everyone else sat back and relaxed. It was infuriating, and all the more so because he reacted to it with a shrug.

Placing the book back in his pack, Gavin began to slide out from under Myra, but she stuck in place. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'd rather keep my things in one place than risk losing them," he explained needlessly.

Rolling her eyes, she scrunched up against the wall as Gavin tried to shuffle around and prepare to return to his duties. "I mean why are you suddenly supposed to help take down tents. That's what the servants do. What's a squire needed for?"

"I'm uncertain. Perhaps to assist or look out for danger."

"We're two days out of Redcliffe, we're still in the Hinterlands. The only danger is a bear falling into Karelle's whiskey barrel, wandering into camp, and attempting to fornicate with a wagon."

Gavin flinched at her graphic what if, but didn't pause in packing up. "Whatever it is, I'm sure there is a good reason for it."

She snorted at that and dug into her eyes, "The reason being Daryan hates your guts. You'd think you lying to save her ass would do the opposite, but noope."

"That wasn't why I did it." He went quiet, his words clipped at Myra's thoughts. Gavin was shuffling around his things without any seeming end goal in mind. He seemed to want to head out there as much as Myra wanted him to.

"Why then?" she tipped her head to the side. "Why cover for Ol' 12 Bottles if not to get on her good side? Not like it worked with Cal." He was still being an ass, but a more cautious one. The shit somehow managed to convince half of his little cultists that he wasn't pissing himself scared when the darkspawn attacked. In fact, it was Cal who saved Gavin somehow. Even though they saw it with their own eyes, they believed the turd's lies because...

Andraste, if Myra ever figured out why she'd probably be rich.

Gavin didn't answer, his shoulders knotting up, but Myra was more than curious now. She didn't press him at the time, and both her and Snowy agreed to keep the lie. It seemed easier somehow, but he had to have a reason. "Why? Why'd you throw yourself behind another petard for someone who you hate rather than let her take the fall?"

"She's my Knight," he said.

"Okay...I know that, but it's not a reason."

"Isn't it?" Gavin turned back, his eyes narrowing down in full concentration. "I am devoted to her, to assist her in anyway I can."

"By lying? Cause that's what you did, you know. You lied."

"I...I did not think it my place to punish her."

Myra snorted, waving her hand through the air as if anyone thought the squire would do such a thing. More than likely it would have fallen to Rosie, and after their Dad popping up Daryan would have been in deep hurting. "Do you even know where she was while we were kicking darkspawn ass?"

He gently shook his head negative.

"So you lied, then you didn't press her for it, and now she's got you running ragged because she's pissed you got some dirt on her. That about it?"

"I don't think that's why..." he insisted, plucking up his scabbard to knot onto the hip.

Myra reached over and grabbed onto his forearm. The muscle flexed to steel, not willing to be turned from its duty, but she just wanted him to look at her. "Ya know, loyalty ain't all it's cracked up to be."

"Excuse me?" he turned to her, his eyebrows meeting deep as if she questioned his heritage. As if Myra would do that to anyone. "I was not being loyal. I was serving as I am asked to do, as we are all asked to do."

"Or you were blindly protecting someone who maybe doesn't deserve it. I've seen lots of people who work that angle. They're shit at their job, but it don't matter 'cause they get people on their side. They dazzle 'em with shiny words and trinkets, then when things go belly up because they're idiots, they sell out all their friends and escape scot-free. Seen it dozens of times."

Only a whisper of a breath rattled his nose, Gavin staring down at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. "I have not been dazzled by her words or any trinkets. As you well know, Ser Daryan despises me."

"Doesn't have to be hers," Myra shrugged and she felt Gavin's shoulders tighten to knots. She didn't mean to drag back up their first real argument but she was worried. People, good people, go in protecting their own. It's, wozzat, human nature and all. But then it becomes habit and that's how the wounds start to fester. Instead of burning 'em away, they keep feeding 'em until the whole thing's gone gangrene.

"Just, be careful, okay," Myra whispered softly, her hand patting along his back, "All that politics and stuff, it can blow up in your face real quick."

"You're worried about me?" he turned, a bittersweet smile playing with his lips.

"Damn straight I am. Darkspawn, bandits, assassins, whatever the hell Cal is. Some kind of dung eating maggot, I think." That caused Gavin to laugh, and she cupped his cheek. More whiskers prodded into her skin, causing Myra to gulp. "I want you to...ya know, be happy and stuff. Not get caught in something bad."

He drew back the blonde hairs framing her face, curling each one behind her ear before gently thumbing the small bump at the top. "I like you, Myra," Gavin whispered before kissing her on the lips, "I like you a lot."

A red hot fire set up shop on her cheeks, torching her poor freckles like corn tossed onto the hearth. Each one was liable to pop from how silly she felt from a boy's words. That was all they were, a few words. No reason to go bubbling into the ground over them.

"Ah," Myra suddenly called, pausing Gavin from sliding out of the tent. "Might want to change your tunic. Pretty sure that stain there's been looking at me funny all day."

He chuckled at her assessment and sighed, "You're probably right." Without any by-your-leave, Gavin opened up the tie on the front and yanked the shirt right up over his head by the neckline.

Which was about when Myra's heart gave out. She was certain she was dead, sitting so close to the man with a body of a god merely inches away, but her hands locked into her lap. That tuft of chest hair taunted her. It called out, "Myra, come play with us," but she couldn't move.

Sweet Maker. Gavin bundled up his shirt and tossed it, causing his biceps to tighten up. Myra wanted to trail her fingers along the vein popping up to say hi. Then he went and reached far, drawing the light and her eyes to his stomach. She forgot about the birthmark, the diamond shape with a tail that rested right beside his bellybutton. It was only visible when he was working in the fields, the shirt tossed off and a skinny thirteen year old's body barely worth remembering.

This man's one had her body trying to tug her forward to lay her hands all over him, while her brain whimpered in a corner. He likes you. He said so. You can touch him!

Myra scooted forward, her palm lifting to glance over Gavin's chest. Didn't matter where, she just had to touch it. To feel his skin tremble as she followed the terrain of his muscles. Reaching, she could almost feel the heat rising off his glistening brown skin, when a white curtain fell down over the masterpiece. Skittering back, Myra cursed herself while Gavin moved to knot on the ties.

What is wrong with you? He's your boyfriend and you're scared to touch him? They'd been making out for three weeks now. Was it so hard to think you'd want to see him shirtless? To touch him shirtless?

Did he want to do the same to her?

Myra's lips parted at the thought, her toes curling as her libido rolled the idea around. It sounded nice, very nice.

"Well, I best get to it," Gavin broke through Myra's heady thoughts. Unaware of how she wanted to yank someone's clothes off, whether hers or his she wasn't certain, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips. "See you after?"

Myra watched as he lifted up the tent, his trousers barely able to stretch across his ass. Biting on her lip, she mumbled, "Count on it."

Taking a few moments to give him a head start, by the time Myra tumbled out of his tent she had no idea where to go, nor what to do. The Hinterlands weren't a bad place to be stuck, their father often bringing the whole clan out for retreats. She remembered a really fun lake that hung right to the edge of a cliff. If you floated in it and looked out, it felt like you were staring into eternity.

But that was further north, back towards Redcliffe and they were off to see the elves. Myra pursed her lips at the thought. She got on pretty good in the Alienage back at home, most used to a half blood or two running about, but Dalish were different. They tolerated humans visiting, none were allowed to stay. And for them, anyone without the pointed ears was a human.

Her mom told her to not even bother trying to blend in with them, to not bring up the elf thing. The way she talked, it seemed like they treated Reiss as if she was a human too. Was it because she lived in a city? Though the New Dales were often taking in alienage members who didn't want to suffer in squalor. Or was it the same reason as home? They knew Reiss dallied with a human and went and made a baby who, to practically everyone, looked as human as the rest that stole their lands and did other evil human things. Probably while cackling, humans seemed like cacklers.

Gah! Why did this have to be so blighted complicated? Sometimes she was human, sometimes she wasn't human enough. Sometimes she was treated like an elf, sometimes she didn't have enough elfy blood in her. Each day Myra woke up not knowing what she was until someone told her. If she grew flippers on her hands and people called her a fish, she'd probably shrug and think it normal at this point.

Shaking away all the blood boiling thoughts, Myra turned down the row of tents. She wandered past the great cooking fire, where a handful of servants were working to get the dinner meal out. A line of rabbits waited for stewing, courtesy of her...boyfriend who had to skin them all while Myra kept dazzling him with silly magic tricks. There was one coney with slightly singed flesh after that.

Bryn wasn't among them, but she could have been assigned to laundry which was never ending, or might be helping Gavin take down the tents. Myra could assist, it'd give her an excuse to hang out with them both, but then she'd have to do actual work and nothing could live up to Karelle's standards. Out of ideas, she turned towards the tent she shared with her sort-of sister. While Myra was happy to call Bryn that, having known her since she was five, her mother frowned on the idea. Given the fact Myra did have a half-sister who was kinda important, confusing the two would only lead to problems for people who dared to overhear their conversations.

Taking a left, she nodded at Snowy who sure enough was embroiled in a game of strip Diamondback, or so it looked judging by the poor man whose torso and legs were burning by the summer sun. He held his cards tight to his face, sweat pouring free while staring daggers at the cocksure dwarf. With barely a toss of his cards, no doubt Snowy revealed an unbeatable hand which caused the stripped man to curse in a few languages.

Still chuckling at the display, Myra lifted up her tent flap and turned before the man had to yank free his knickers. As the bright light of summer faded from her eyes, she stared around the darkened tans of the tent to find...a naked man's ass.

What the...! Myra moved to raise her hands as if to smite whoever was rolling around nude in their bedrolls, when the dark hair of the naked man moved to reveal an elven face smiling in rapture.

"Bryn?" Myra gasped, causing both of the players to freeze. While her friend's face dropped in shock, when the man turned to look back, Myra was the one to shriek. "Cailan! What the hell are you doing?!"

She took a step forward, about to yank her brother off of her friend, when he flinched in half and tried to cover over...Maker's blighted ass polyps! Myra whipped her head to the side, really not wanting to see that, any of it. Ever.

"My," Bryn shouted, already wiggling out from under her brother. Blessed Andraste, what we she doing under her brother? How could they even...? "This isn't what...?"

"Really?" Myra snapped, focusing only on Bryn's eyes. Maybe if she stared at those deep blues, she'd fail to notice how her best friend was also naked. "You're going to pull that 'this isn't what it looks like' on me? For fuck's sake, Bryn."

"Calm down," Cailan began, already having wadded Bryn's blanket around his waist as cover. It was barely enough, causing Myra's gorge to rise, but she focused on his words instead.

"You..." she jabbed a finger at him, "Can't you fucking control yourself for one Maker damn minute!" He shrugged as if it was no big deal, while Myra only grew more enraged. "Bryn," she reached over, trying to grab onto her friend's hand, but she yanked it back. "Come on. I'm getting you out of here."

"Stop, Myra. Stop and..." Bryn glanced over at Cailan, both of them sharing...Maker's breath, they shouldn't be sharing anything! "Calm down."

"Stop telling me to calm down!" Myra shrieked, her voice rising so much she had to be heard by half the train. "This is not something worth calming down over! You..." she jabbed a finger at Cailan, "you seduced, you...you sullied my friend!"

Her brother tipped his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. "Myra, you're speaking gibberish now."

"No I'm not! Do you have any idea...? What the hell is wrong with you?"

She couldn't believe it. This had to be a...a dream. A very bad dream; maybe she fell into the fade. Were there your worst nightmare demons? Cause this had to be one of them. Bryn, sweet, kind Bryn with cheeks of pure joy was ravaged by that notch posting randy prince. And it was her first time.

Myra's wounded eyes glanced over to her friend who was trying to tug on a shirt. She was full of nothing but sympathy, while Bryn...she glared as if Myra was being unreasonable. Surely she knew, she had to know what Cailan was like? Myra was always telling her!

Whipping back to her good for nothing brother, Myra cursed, "I'm telling Rosie what you did."

"For the love of Andraste," Cailan rolled his eyes, but it didn't matter. Spinning on her heels, Myra ran straight out of the tent her brother soiled to find their sister. He was going to get it good for this betrayal.

## Chapter Forty-Six

### Blinders

"Myra."

Her heart thundered a thousand breaks, each rush of blood to her head jabbing a fresh pick behind her eyes. She wanted to cry tears of frustration and betrayal, but this wasn't the place. All of Rosie's flock clustered around her, the chickens gawping about whatever they did, but at the sight of Myra marching up with both fists clenched, the sounds of gossip died away. As one they all turned to her, even Evie shutting her gaping pie hole for once.

It was Rosie who staggered up to her feet, her face rolling through a dozen emotions she was doing her best to hide away. Stepping forward, she said her sister's name again, as if that would jog Myra from her fugue state. She should have punched him. That was what people did in those situations, though it was usually another man and because he fancied the girl, instead of she was a girl protecting her friend.

Also, he was her brother. Maybe a duel instead. Like the one Rosie pulled off. But not to the death. Her dad would kill her.

"What's going on, My?" Rosie asked, coming to a stop a foot from her.

"It's..."

"For the Maker's sake!" Cailan's weedy voice broke over Myra's explanation. She whipped her head back to find him dressed but haphazardly, the ties dangling limply towards the ground, a lack of a belt, and no shoes on. His cheeks were mottled from the run, the boy not used to bursts of exercise. "Myra," he glared fully at her, "think very carefully about what..."

"He slept with my friend!" she shouted, jabbing a finger right at Cailan.

Groaning, Cailan tossed his head back and scrubbed into his eyes. "That's hardly a punishable offense," he sputtered out, letting his hands hide away his traitorous eyes.

"I should duel you for it!" Myra shouted, beyond thinking clearly. She was quickly moving into the biting whatever got in her way stage as the rage built up behind her lips, acidic saliva foaming in her mouth.

"For what?" he spat staring dead on at her, before turning to Rosie, "Talk some damn sense into her, please."

Both turned to the only arbiter in this situation, Rosie's eyes darting from raging sister to unapologetic brother. "Cailan, did you really...?"

"Yes, fine. I had no intentions of denying it. I bedded Myra's friend."

"See! See!" she shouted, hopping up on her toes as if she talked him into a confession. "Filthy scumbag..."

"My," Rosie gripped onto her shoulder as if the tiny princess could hope to keep her pinned in place. "You know him, you know how he..."

"She's not just my friend, she's practically my sister, you fuckstick!"

"Wait," Rosie reared back, finally honing in on Cailan who was whistling a bit and looking away, "Is this that elven girl who's traveling with us?"

"Maybe..."

"Yes it damn well is!"

"Blighted hell, Cailan," Rosie groaned getting on board with Myra's plans to make him pay. "You know she's a servant, right?"

The prince shrugged, nothing affecting him. At least not until Myra would punch him in the eye. That'd surely put a dent in his lothario ways.

"I may have heard mention a time or two," was all he'd say.

"And you damn well know what Dad would say about that," Rosie crossed her arms, fully glaring upon him.

Cailan whipped away from whatever fantasy land he drifted off to to glare at the princess, "It's a foolish rule. All because he got burned due to her mother..." he gestured at Myra, who was beginning to crack her knuckles. "Does not mean I should bother with it."

"Cailan..."

"It's not as if I have any control over her. I don't pay her. I certainly don't command her. There's that spotted washerwoman who gives out all the orders, not I."

"Cailan!"

Groaning, he rubbed into the back of his neck and shrugged, "Fine. Very well. I shall cease having any sort of relations with her or any other servant I ever come in contact with." He whipped his head over at Myra and glared, "Happy?"

"No. He should be punished!"

"Why?" Rosie blanched.

"Because he..." Myra began before the words flitted away. It was Bryn's personal information, and certainly didn't deserve to be bandied about in front of all these tittering handmaidens. Which you did already by shouting and dragging it all out before Rosie and her cluster. Myra's stomach churned, her cheeks turning bright pink at the unfairness of it all. That damn scoundrel was going to get away without even a slap to the wrist.

"Yes, Myra. Why?" Cailan spun on her, waiting for her to say anything.

"So help me, Cailan," Rosie turned on her brother, "if I find out you forced yourself on..."

He winced at that, a hand cupping to his chest as if she wounded him. "Call me a cad all you like, but I am NOT that. I thought you would know that. And you too," he shouted at Myra who was tucking tighter into herself.

"Now, unless you intend to string me up by my neck or geld me, I think I've had enough of this." Staring down Myra for a beat he turned on his heel and stomped away into the forest of tents where a dozen heads were popping out wondering what was going on.

Blighted hell, the entire caravan was going to know about this. They'd put two and two together and... Damn it.

"Rossie," she begged, tugging on her sister's sleeve.

The woman paused and sighed, "Cailan may be wanton, but he's honest about it. There's nothing to be done, Myra. If she wanted it, then..." Rosie left the words hanging in the air as she returned to her makeshift throne. With a loud voice, she tried to get her girls onto any topic beyond her brother and his numerous mistresses. Myra doubted it'd take but she was grateful for the attempt.

Locking her arms around herself, Myra headed back to their tent. She should console Bryn, try and help as much as she could. No doubt her friend would be in tears after that. Realize how Cailan used her for his own means and need Myra to soothe the ache away. She'd already thought of a few good ways to torture her brother upon reaching the tent, but Bryn wasn't inside.

She wasn't curled up on the ground weeping, or even sitting silently. Bryn was stomping around in a circle outside, cursing in elven under her breath. When she looked up and caught sight of Myra she snarled, "What did you think you were doing?!"

"Helping!" Myra exclaimed, already exhausted with people acting as if she was the bad guy.

"Helping? How in the Maker's name are you helping! Every fucking person here knows now, because of you."

"I..." she glanced back, clouds forming on her brow, "I didn't mean for that to happen. I'm sorry."

"Oh, you're sorry," Bryn spat. "Poor Myra, she goes running in without thinking and when it all goes to shit she's sorry and sad. Sorry doesn't cut it!"

What was her problem? She should be mad at Cailan, not her! "Why are you blaming me? He's the one who..."

"You don't know a damn thing, Myra. You never do. You don't care. You flit about free as a butterfly landing upon whatever flower you want while all of us worms are left to toil in the ground."

Bryn's eyes were bulging, her hands worrying a ripped sheet back and forth. In her anger it was splitting worse, about to become two. Myra didn't know how to respond. She didn't want her friend to be mad at her, but she was tired of having to defend herself. Why couldn't anyone see and understand how wrong this was? Was she the only one left with any sense?

"I am not a butterfly!"

"Yes, you are. You always are. Because you're the king's daughter. Act like you're an elf when it suits you. Say the funny words, decorate the tree, drink koomtra, but you get to spend your nights sleeping on golden pillows while we're resting on rotted wood."

Myra's guts churned, "You know nothing of what my life is like."

"I fucking live with you! I scrape by doing shit jobs while you're free to run around chasing after your famous mother or Maker damn royal father. You have no idea what my life is. To stand around with a dumb smile on my face serving you drinks while you get to entertain all the other rich, fucking humans!"

Yanking hard, Bryn ripped the rest of the sheet apart. The noise reverberated between them, Myra's breath catching deep in her lungs and refusing to return. "I'm a toy to you, to all of them. When you're bored or you want someone else around, you pluck me from my job. Just walk right in and I have to follow you, because otherwise I could lose my only home."

"You don't..." she mumbled, but Bryn was shouting louder, her head tipped to the sky.

"And if I do go with you, I risk losing the only way I can get food in my belly! I'm trapped and it's all your fault!" Her eyes flared red, Bryn spraying spittle at the end as she stepped right into Myra's face.

The shame in her gut boiled over, Myra leaping right back. "I didn't chose that life for you. You're the one who decided to work in the castle. There's tons of other jobs for elves. But you're too good to be a dock worker, right? Too fancy to be a seamstress! All I did was help you. All my mom did was help you. We could have just turned our backs on you and left you to die in the street like all the other elves did! How your mother did!"

She regretted it the second the words flew from her mouth. Myra slapped a hand over her lips, wishing she had the power to yank back everything she said. But there was no magic in thedas that could do it. Bryn's eyes opened in shock as if Myra literally stabbed her best friend in the heart. "Go," she whispered, before snarling under her breath, "get away from me. Don't talk to me ever again!"

Turning on her heel, Myra ran away from the train, tears streaming off her cheeks. Behind her she heard her best friend collapse to her knees crying her heart out. It wasn't because of Cailan, it was all Myra's fault.

* * *

She must have paced back and forth in the damn heat of the road for an hour. At first, all Myra wanted to do was punch something or hit it really hard with a stick. But as the anger abated, the shame grew so strong she was sick upon a shrubbery lining the dirt path. It'd be just her luck someone from the caravan would stumble upon it.

Was she that selfish? She wasn't trying to take Bryn away from her work, she just wanted to do fun things with her. She was her friend.

Was she? _After what you said? What you did?_ How could anyone want to be her friend?

Myra was a monster.

Slapping her hand into her head, Myra got a few more raps in, the feel of her brains rattling back and forth trying to cover over the massive pain in her heart. What the hell was wrong with her? Why'd she snap that badly?

Okay, so her brother...fuck, it wasn't fair. Why did Cailan have to mess everything up?! No one cared when he stayed with his dowagers and silly girls who waved fans prettily. But Bryn was smart, she was quick witted, she was kind, she was...special. Important. Far too important to be used up and tossed away like that. Like he always did with other women.

Or...

Shut up. Myra jabbed at her stomach, trying to beat herself up more and get the last of her lunch out. She felt hollow, as if her shame ate up the marrow in her bones, dissolved away her organs, and left her with nothing but a shell. A sad shell called Myra.

Digging a hand across her forehead, Myra knew what she had to do, but she really didn't want to. Her first stop required her asking around. People were real polite and stiff with her, the news traveling fast. She wasn't just the bastard daughter, she was the tattletale too. Careful or Myra will find all your secrets and then drag them in front of the princess.

She deserved it.

By the time she found her brother, he was dressed properly and sitting perched upon a writing table. Three ink pots surrounded him, which he'd dip into at seemingly random while writing into tiny margins. Myra stepped forward, her head hung down, but he didn't look up. He seemed to be so engrossed in whatever he was doing, Cailan was off in his own world.

Coughing, Myra rubbed into the back of her neck while staring at the ground. She couldn't look up into her brother's eyes, but the sound of quill scratchings ceased. "I'm sorry, okay. I'm sorry that I freaked out, and I overreacted, and I ran to Rosie's skirt and got you in trouble. I shouldn't have done that. And I'm sorry."

Her brother sighed and he laid his quill down. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, you always were the most dramatic of us." Myra's head snapped up at the jab, but she found a hint of a smile twisting with his thin lips. "In retrospect, your panicking is slightly understandable. The follow up less so, but if I caught one of my friends with my sisters...it would be awkward."

"And raise a lot of questions if it's with Rossie."

Cailan snickered a bit, "I do have a few female friends, thank you."

"It's just..." Myra waffled back and forth on her toes, wanting to run but knowing she had to stay, "Bryn's like..."

"A sister, I heard."

"I've known her since we were kids, younger than kids. I think we met by exchanging rocks we thought were gemstones. And I don't...I think she's special."

"Are you jealous?"

"Not that kind of special," Myra glared at her brother's insinuation. "I just wanted whoever was with her to think she's special too is all."

She waited for another jab or jape, but Cailan's head hung down. A shuddering breath whistled out of his nose and Myra stepped forward in concern. All her life her brother was air, nothing touched him, nothing bothered him. He couldn't be stained. But now he looked as if he wanted to cry.

"Do you really think that little of me?" he asked, lifting his head to reveal red eyes.

Myra gasped at the change, "No...I, I don't know."

"Rosie's insinuations--"

"Those were all hers, I swear. I don't think, you're not the type."

"You'd know all about that type, wouldn't you?" he blinked slowly, digging an elbow into the writing desk. Myra was trained to spot the bad guys hiding in amongst the good. She wasn't as talented as her mother, but finding a rotten apple wasn't that hard. The trick was to look for all the worms, and Cailan -- for all his lecherous ways -- never had any left in his wake.

He rubbed a hand across his clean shaven face, gently worrying back and forth his top lip in thought, "But you think me unfit for your friend. For a girl who's practically your sister. That much is obvious."

"I..." Yes, she did. It was blisteringly clear how much she didn't think him right for her. "I don't think you're bad, just..."

"What, Myra? Just what?"

"How you treat your conquests."

Cailan snorted at that, "Conquests? Is that how you think I view them? Oh right, the infamous notches on the bedpost. That must be it."

"There are a lot of them."

"Not as many as you suppose," he sighed. "Yes, there are more than one, but it's not a constant carnal carnival in my bed either. I... I quite appreciate the women I am with."

"Really?" Myra folded her arms tight, not buying it for a second.

"Bryn was delightfully interested in elven folklore. I hadn't heard much of it prior, but there were some fascinating stories that played out to a mathematical rhythm."

Her jaw dropped, Myra staring in shock as Cailan ran a hand up and down his arm in thought. "And she seemed more than happy to listen to my thoughts on tax codes. I assume it was part suffering for the sake of appearances, but she'd be willing to tack on her own thoughts instead of just nodding along."

"You remember them," Myra muttered under her breath. She knew her brother had an almost scary brain when it came to facts he cared about, but she'd never thought for a second he'd retain an ounce of the women he slept with. Most assumed Cailan didn't even catch a name before bedding them. "You remember all of them?"

"Of course. Should I not?" he shrugged as if this was simple news. With a heavy sigh, he plucked up his quill and returned to what calmed his mind. How many were there really? Myra always went along with the rest, assuming it had to be a new girl each week. Maybe even more often if there was a landsmeet in town.

_You were wearing your blinders, Myra. You went along without questioning what was fact and what sounded better in the gossip mill._

"I'm sorry," she said.

Her brother rolled his head, "You already apologized, there is little point dwelling in it."

"No, for...if you want to be with Bryn, I won't. I won't stand in the way, make a fuss..."

"Challenge me to a duel?" He lifted up an eyebrow and stared her down. "Surprised I'd know my little sister that well? I was half expecting you to yank out a glove and slap my face with it."

Myra's cheeks burned at the thought and she tried to shrink down further.

"Thank you for your offer but, Rosie is correct. Do not tell her I said that, or she'll be smugger than usual. For as much as I enjoy passing time with Lady Bryn, it is in both of our best interests if we drop it here."

"So no one gets hurt?"

Cailan paused with his quill brimming in ink. His hand hung suspended so long, a drop beaded off the end and splashed onto his work. He barely looked down before sighing, "Precisely. Now, you best go and make it up with her. She is like a sister to you after all."

"Cailan..."

"I don't hate you, My, if that's your concern."

"I don't hate you either. But I'm just...I shouldn't have misjudged you like that. You're, you're not so bad for being a smelly brother."

He snickered, "You're not so bad either, for being a nosy little sister."

* * *

By the time she tracked down Bryn, the girl was squatting alone near a stream. A basket of laundry sat beside her, but nothing was being slapped into rocks or run down a stream. Instead, Bryn had her knees tucked up to her chin, her eyes staring out at the horizon. Myra wondered if she should wait, give her time, but...

No, this had to be done now.

Making as much noise as she could, Myra stepped next to the lonely stream, but Bryn didn't look up. "I'm sorry," Myra gasped out, both hands clasped together in pleas. Unlike with Cailan, the tears were already beginning. For the Maker's sake, she'd grown up with Bryn, lived in the same room as her for years. Eaten so much spun sugar together they were barfing up pink and blue for hours. How could she do that to her?

Bryn didn't respond, her fingers prodding at a rock on the shoreline.

"I'm sorry for what I said, it's not true. None of it. We all love you back home. Most of the time I think my Mom would rather have you as a daughter and you're way better at keeping the room clean."

A single snort broke from that, Bryn nodding her head sadly at the bare facts.

"It was stupid, and it was cruel, and I only said it because I was..." Why did you say it? Because Bryn said mean things to her. True mean things. Which you countered as best you could. She tried to shake it off, but her old friends taunts dug into Myra's spine -- the hot tick burrowing deeper and deeper as it infected her. But that was a matter to worry about later, if she ever bothered.

Tapping her foot on the stone, Myra blubbered out, "And I'm sorry for what I did. I shouldn't have done that either, as I realize now how quickly I overreacted."

Bryn turned her head, her eyes narrowed at the obvious statement. Normal people didn't run to the highest authority when they caught their friend in flagrante with someone -- even if he was her brother.

"It was wrong, and bad, and I'm stupid. Really stupid. So stupid you should hit me over the head. Here, I brought a..." Myra bent down to pick up a rock, but the damn thing was wedged in tight with all the rest. "Uh, maybe I could go steal a stick quick."

Bryn sighed, her eyes closed as she tipped her head back to the sun. It easily lightened her mahogany hair, turning it to more of an oaky brown with a few coppery highlights. And you're staring at her hair because it's better than facing up to how badly you fucked this up.

"I won't talk to you anymore. I promise," Myra spat out, the tears trembling her words and garbling her lips, "I just...I had to say that. Because you were owed an apology. So, I'm sorry. There." Jamming her palms to her leaking eyes, Myra turned and moved to walk away.

She got a few steps when Bryn asked, "Why'd you do it?"

Dropping her hands, Myra froze while she struggled to do all that soul searching she was terrible at. Running from her problems, sometimes climbing, or ducking them, was easier. "Cause..." she drug her toe in the clumpy mud, "I was worried Cailan was using you."

"He wasn't..."

"I know," she spun to face Bryn who got up to her feet. Both girls stared across what felt a vast chasm but was really a few feet of watery dirt. "I talked to Cailan, and he's...it's just, he gives off that aura of being all..."

"Licentious?"

"I was gonna say horn ball, but that's fancier. There were all those girls, women hanging off his arm. I...I hated the idea that you'd be one of them. Thrown away like nothing. A few leaves ripped off the trees."

Bryn took in a shuddering breath, her normally sparkling eyes matte with sorrow. They lingered upon Myra's shoes, unable to face staring at her betrayer. "Myra..."

"But he doesn't think like that. He knows you. Pretty well, really. The folklore thing? That's what you used to seduce him?"

For a brief second her friend laughed and blushed, shrugging a shoulder at the simplest choice. "It, it worked, so..."

"Why him?" Myra asked as if she hadn't just blown up their friendship and tossed the remains into the ocean. Blanching, she tacked on, "If you don't mind my asking. Just...I don't get it. He's your first and, and nothing can come of it. You know nothing can come of it?"

"No Myra, I'm ten years old and think Princes regularly sweep elven servant girls off their feet and make them their wives. Of blighted course I know it was to be nothing more than a quick tryst in the woods. It's, it's what I wanted."

Whipping her head in confusion, Myra began, "But he's..."

"Kind, gentle, rather funny at times, and yes, easy on the eyes."

She couldn't help but stick her tongue out at that one, Myra unable to see anything but her gross brother in that face. People would go on about his blue eyes like they were some rare sapphire they hoped to pluck out, but to her they always seemed kinda like a dingy grey. Maybe a bit blue if the sun was out, but that was it.

"Fine, fine, you think Cailan is ho..." she paused and shook her head, "you find him attract..." Myra's bile threatened to rise and she started again, "you're not against his face."

Bryn giggled at her struggles, a brief bridge forming across their chasm.

"But why for your first ever...um, ya know. Why him? He wasn't exactly unexperienced either."

"Exactly," Bryn snapped her fingers as if she solved a great mystery, "he knew what he was doing. Better than most of the alienage boys running around hooting and hollering at any skirt that passes."

Myra blanked her brain to not think about Cailan knowing a damn thing about all that stuff and bits that go into other bits. Why was walking in on Rosie macking on the assassin less embarrassing than this?

"And I get to say my first time was with a prince. How many other people, elven girls no less, can claim that?"

"With Cailan around...?" Myra began, before wincing at her snide smarm.

"Or do you disapprove?" Bryn turned on her suddenly, her tongue spitting venom. "Do you not think me worthy?"

"Are you kidding me? He's the one who's not worthy of you. Did you know he used to stuff carved dolls up his nose? And big ones too, like nearly got half a golem up there before dad stopped him."

The tension broke a moment, like the first rain drop would part an obtrusive humidity. It didn't shatter, and more pressed in around them, but there was a brief window they could try to yank open. "I just, I dunno," Myra pinched into her eyes, knowing how what she wanted to say would go but needing to get it out. "I kinda wished that your first time would be with someone you could tell me about. Not hide it or...with my brother, whom I never want to hear a single sex related thing about."

"I wanted to tell you, for awhile," Bryn whispered, her hands cupping against her arms, "But I couldn't think of how to begin. I knew you'd be upset and...okay, I didn't expect _that_ reaction. Should have though, your blow ups are legendary."

Myra snorted at the truth. She was pretty easy going until she wasn't, then her mom called it the sixth blight for how she'd rail and rain fire from the sky. Not literally, not unless she was REALLY mad. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the muddy air. It stank of bog water and fish, lots of fish struggling to not boil alive in the summer heat.

"Was it...did it hurt? Your first time? Lots of people say that it can hurt."

"No," Bryn shook her head, "It was a bit uncomfortable at first, but Cailan--" Myra snarled at the name, doing her best to pretend it was some shadowy form she hadn't met yet and not her brother. "Fine, _he_ was gentle. Careful. I...I think I was enjoying myself too much to notice any pain."

Coughing to try and cover over the weird feelings of revulsion and curiosity, Myra danced back and forth on her feet. "Was there blood?"

"A little, not much. It's the mess after that's a pain really."

"Mess?"

"All that stuff that goes in has to come back out."

"Oh!" she reared back, flailing her arms as if Bryn slapped her in the face with a beehive. "I do not need to hear that! Or think about it! Blech! I'm gonna be sick." She bent over, her hands on her thighs while pretending to puke. Even if she did feel that revulsed, there was nothing left in her stomach to come up.

"I told you he's cute," Bryn whistled, her voice back up into its normal register.

"To you, I guess," she rubbed against her mouth as if really wiping away sick, then stood up tall.

"Why are you asking me about this stuff anyway?" Bryn said, her eyes knotted together with her brows the way they got when she was trying to understand this other weird creature that lived in her bedroom. "Don't you have a gorgeous boyfriend of your own?"

"Ah..." Myra's jaw dropped and her eyes darted around the clearing. She could feel her freckles overheating, and tried to cover them over with her braid. It didn't really work, her nose stuffed with blonde hair. But she shut her eyes too.

"My?"

"We haven't -- I mean -- he's, uh..."

Bryn's fingers glanced across Myra's arms, her friend dragging her out of her shame cocoon. "It's okay if you're not ready."

"But I am!" Myra gasped, then blinked.

She was? Ah shit...

Sure, she knew the basics and some of the more advanceds as well. This bit went into here; it'd seemed kinda weird for awhile when she was younger. But, yeah, now she wanted to. Not just because of Gavin -- though, Maker's breath it was hard to not want to with him -- but because she did. Because it'd be nice. Fun? Whatever the point of it all was. She wanted to know.

Bryn's eyes darted around as if she was afraid Myra was pulling a prank on her or something, but Myra was too busy gnawing on her braid in fearful contemplation. "Did you tell him?"

"No! No, no, I don't think he'd... You know him," she began, but Bryn blinked.

"Not really. You tend to wander off alone together more often than not."

"Right, right, I should..." Myra blew out the air trapped in her cheeks and groaned, "Introduce you, though you were already introduced um. He's very..."

"Stuffy?"

"Proper. I dunno, like, a doffing hats if he wore a hat type. I think asking about that, ya know, the stuff, might liquify his brain."

Bryn twisted her head to the side, "You two are doing some things though, right? You don't just hold hands and call each other girlfriend and boyfriend like you're ten."

"Maker's sake, yes, we're doing things. Some stuff. Not that there's, I mean, uh..."

"Has he gone down--"

"No! No, it's all been fully clothed. And I'm suddenly worried that any of my dad's spies might be overhearing this conversation."

She whipped her head around the clearly empty spring, but kept expecting to catch a flash of chainmail as a messenger scurried back into the brush. Forget what her dad might say, her mom would flat out kill her. Reiss was willing to let her daughter out onto the dark streets at night, but if she wasn't tucked up in bed with a warm glass of milk after the hunt, it was the end times. All she had to talk about this stuff with was Bryn.

"Have you even...?" Bryn began, trying to get to the heart of the matter, but Myra was tired of saying no.

"We haven't done that. We haven't done anything but kiss. A lot of kissing, and with tongue, but that's it! No, he hasn't touched me like...here," Myra waved a hand over her flat chest and shuddered. "Or back here," she jabbed at her ass which was a bit rounder but nowhere near memorable. "And I haven't touched him either. Not that boys get as much area, come to think of it."

"Don't take this the wrong way, My," Bryn began, causing Myra's hackles to raise, "but are you sure he's into girls."

"Yes, he's shown no signs and believe me, the squires are like a big ol' breeding pool for that. It's a wonder everyone doesn't come out into both by the end. I just...forget it. Okay. It's stupid and I shouldn't have brought it up. I'm here for you. Because of the dumb thing I did and said. And not me. I'm not important."

Bryn tapped her foot and sighed, because Myra was right. There was no point in talking about her stalled love life because it didn't matter. If she did, she did, eventually. Maybe it was enough that she could make out with a hot boy who made her toes curl and that'd fetch her a glass of water from a well nearly a mile away if she was thirsty. Not that she ever made him, just seemed like a Gavin thing to do.

Shit, he'd probably put a cucumber slice in it too.

"Maybe," Bryn began, "if he's as shy and uncertain as you said, you need to guide him a bit."

"What?"

"He might be worried about pushing you, and is waiting for you to give the go ahead."

She hadn't thought about that. It made sense really. Gavin wasn't exactly in the running for cad of the year -- Cal probably had that one locked up. Was he as scared of asking her as she was him? "What do I do?"

"That's easy," Bryn laughed, "take his hands, when you're kissing hot and heavy, and place them where you want him to touch."

That sounded too simple. Way too simple. There had to be a catch, or a trick, or she needed to be a different body shape or something. "I don't know..."

"It works, I swear!" Bryn laughed, causing Myra to shudder. "Not with Cailan, he rather enjoyed hearing me ask for what I wanted.

"La la la," Myra jammed her fingers in her ears, "I am not listening nor thinking about this. Elephants in the room. Thinking about them instead!"

Bryn yanked on Myra's hand and glared, "You done? Cause it'll work. Might have to get him to go a bit gentle. Boys seem to think these things are make out of brass for how hard they sucker on."

Giggling at her friend's assessment, Myra couldn't hide the excitement of trying any of that. In the moment with Gavin, when her body was red hot and begging for more, she'd wanted it so badly. But once they stepped back and cuddled, it seemed silly and maybe kinda weird.

Because keeping the species alive is weird.

Kinda. Who thinks shoving body parts into other body parts is normal? Not like jamming a spleen into an eyeball is anything fun.

Nodding her head, Myra admitted, "Okay. I'll try it. Sometime. When I think it's smart."

"That's my girl," Bryn cooed, curling a hand around her in a half hug.

Myra smiled at it before groaning at herself and her stupid reaction. "I'm sorry, I really really am. If you want I could, I bet I could talk Cailan into taking you back. Actually, he'd probably be all for it. It's Rosie who'd need the convincing and..."

"No," Bryn shook her head, her hair slipping into place. "It's better if we aren't seen together anymore. And I always knew it wouldn't last. Best to leave it here than try and stretch it out."

"You can still hit me if you want."

Bryn snickered, "I might take you up on that later. Seeing as how someone never bothers to change out her socks."

"What?"

"Wearing every pair you own at once?"

"Keeps my feet well cushioned."

"And sweaty as balls," Bryn gasped, waving a hand over her nose.

Myra began to laugh, before she realized her friend actually knew what balls smelled like. Probably looked like too. Was that a thing? Looking at them? Shaking it away fast, Myra threw back on a smile. She locked her arm around Bryn's shoulders while her friend did the same.

"Wanna sneak onto one of the wagons before we take off that way we don't have to walk to the Dalish?"

"My..."

"Oh, right," she winced, "if that'll keep you from your duties, you don't have to do it with me. I was only--"

"I mean we need to steal some provisions first. It gets hot hiding under that tarp and we'll need at least two water skins."

Her smile turned brighter, Myra wrapping both arms around her friend in a tight hug. They could both pretend right now that everything was back to normal, but she wasn't stupid. The words would linger, the looks might turn colder, but in time it'd fade away as much as when Myra swore she could cut Bryn's hair just as good as any barber.

That one only took two years and her sending an "I'm sorry" card every week. So, maybe four this time and a fresh card every day.

"My...?" Bryn asked, both of them hobbling together as if they were in a three legged race.

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to tell your mom about me and Cailan?"

Myra twisted over to her and snorted, "To the void with that! What my mom doesn't know won't kill her."

## Chapter Forty-Seven

### Innocence Lost

A whippoorwill planted its thin feet right upon the fence Gavin had been staring at. He smiled towards the tiny bird, its beak twisting with the wind while it glanced an eye around at the village. A silly part of him wanted to reach a finger out and hope the bird would land upon it, but in lifting his hand the creature took to the sky.

"Are you hiding back here?" a voice whispered from beside him.

Rather than flinch, he slipped his hand around the back of her waist and tugged Myra to him. She laughed at the move, but easily gave in. Possibly even assisted for how effortlessly she flew above the ground. Curling against his chest, she planted a quick kiss to his lips, her green eyes brighter than the fields of the Dales. He'd only heard stories of the Emerald Graves in Orlais, but he'd bet anything Myra's eyes were greener.

"I've been watching," Gavin said to her. He should probably release her, but it'd been quite a few days since they'd had a chance to be alone. Would it be so wrong for him to risk another kiss? Maybe two?

Myra, unaware of his thoughts, was staring into the forest beyond where the bird fluttered back to. "Watching what?"

"The trees."

She turned to him, her eyebrows rising, "The trees? Ya gonna file down your ears next and join in with them?"

"No," he laughed, shaking his head at the idea, "but if you're quiet you can hear the wildlife scampering around. There's little to no breeze, so any twisting of branches is..."

"A bird."

"Have to be a big bird. Probably a squirrel or the like, but it's far more exciting than listening to the elves discussing...what were they telling your sister about?"

Myra waved a hand through the air, "Some old dead guy who did some old thing years and years ago that's so ancient no one even knows if it's true. Typical Dalish story the way I hear it."

Burying his nose against her cheek, Gavin took in a breath and smiled. She smelled of liquid amber and plums, "What have you been up to?"

"Oh, ya know, things. Lots of things."

"Will anyone be injured?" he murmured, his lips brushing beside her skin.

"Nope."

Wrapping both arms around her, Gavin turned so he fully enveloped her side. Myra's hip pressed into his lower stomach, but it helped to settle the butterflies picking around in there. Sighing in the back of his throat, he muttered, "Good. Then it's probably your sister's problem and not mine."

"How many problems do I give you?" Myra chuckled. She kept tracing her tiny fingers up and down his arm, her cheek bulging with a smile.

"Enough," Gavin whispered.

She laughed, "Enough to be annoying, or enough to be...?"

Cupping her cheek, he pulled Myra to his lips. She tasted even sweeter than whatever she was getting up to with resin and fruit. Spicy too. Though there was always a touch of surprise with Myra. No matter how many times he kissed her it was always different and new.

As he leaned back, Gavin's eyes opened to focus on her, "Just enough."

"You are so..." her fingers drew across his eyebrows, seeming to knock the shape back and forth to her whims, "different. Really different, from everyone else I've ever met. And I've met a lot of people. Not very many good ones, mind you."

That caused him to snicker, Myra often regaling him with tales of her mother's cases and how often she wound up assisting. The way she told it, it seemed as if Myra was so invaluable it was a wonder Reiss was getting on at all without her. Gavin wondered sometimes about his parents in the abbey. There was a lot to do and harvest would be upon them sooner than he dared to think.

No. That isn't your place anymore. His father would handle it, as he did all matters.

"You've gone all stoic quiet. Something wrong?" her thin bottom lip puffed out, Myra fiddling with his ear like a knob.

"Nothing wrong, just...thinking."

"Oh," she sighed, turning in his arms so her back was pressed against him. Locking his hands tight around her stomach, Myra smiled, "Well that's nothing new. When aren't you thinking?"

Bending down, he placed his lips right to her ear and whispered, "When I'm kissing you." She trembled in his arms, Gavin's smile rising and the heat in his veins coursing at the reaction. "Though, otherwise, you're correct. It doesn't shut off easily."

Her head tipped back, Myra's blonde hair fanning out as she pressed herself tight to his chest, "I like that about you."

"Really?" he let his fingers skirt up and down her exposed forearms, her skin warm as fluffy pancakes.

Myra's mischievous eyes flared open and she smiled, "Yes really." She moved fast, easily slipping around to grab onto his cheeks and kiss him, when a loud cough broke from behind.

Both of their eyes darted to find a crotchety old elf glaring at them. He didn't say anything, just folded his arms and continued to glower. Gavin's cheeks were turning bright pink from the sneer, while Myra smiled and waved. "Sorry, this must be some sacred back of the fence post to your people. Didn't mean to slobber all over it with young affection."

"Myra," he tried to whisper, feeling even more of the old man's anger pouring free. What if they got the entire caravan kicked out of the New Dales?

She gripped onto his hand and giggled, "We'll be leaving now."

"Uh..." before Gavin could get his feet under him, she pulled him away from the compound. It was hard to call it a city. Though there were a few buildings, most of the structures were without walls. People passed to and fro as they wished, allowing a person to easily look from one end of the place to the other without anything in the way. A lot of the elves seemed to live outside, cooking fires, pottery wheels, tanneries, and story tellers were all plying their crafts on the steps of the houses instead of inside them.

More than a few heads craned away from their work at the two humans dashing away from their home. "Sorry," Gavin tried to wave, feeling some of the kids who'd been playing with a stick pause and watch warily. "Just, excuse us."

Giggling, Myra tugged him away from the whole mess of elves and towards their caravan. They weren't allowed to camp inside the New Dales, but close enough on their doorstep the walk wasn't long. A few people passed between the tents, but for the most part everyone was out either washing in the streams or sitting with the princess and the leaders around the fire. It was some big tradition that was important enough neither Gavin nor Myra needed to be there.

His leader didn't stop until she yanked up a tent flap and dashed inside with Gavin hot on her heels. Myra was in such a state, she flopped to the ground and began to laugh a bit while he found his breath. Maker, she was fast when she wanted to be.

Turning to secure the door, by the time he looked back a pair of hands cupped his cheeks. Myra's warm lips pressed into his, the girl practically knocking him over. He had to pinwheel his arms to keep from teetering down and taking the tent with.

"Whoa," Gavin called, looking up to try and make certain he didn't collapse a pole on accident.

"Problems?" the girl coyly tugged on her braid and began to undo the tie at the end.

"N...no," his brain switched off, his fingers aching to run through her golden waves. "Just need to get my bearings."

"Oh?" her sparkling greens danced with his as she gave up on the braid halfway and leapt onto him. This time Gavin tumbled to the ground, his bedroll mercifully catching him. Myra folded right into his embrace, her lips dancing up and down his jawline before she returned to his mouth.

Scooting onto his ass, Gavin tried to wrap his fingers around her hair and finish undoing the plait, but she was voracious. Myra kept pressing closer to him until Gavin gave up and flopped down onto his back. The loss was enough to cause Myra to pause above him, her knees straddling over his stomach as she stared down.

"You're beautiful," Gavin whispered, his fingers darting up her shoulder to dance through her freckles. There were so many the steps would never end.

Myra scoffed, "I thought you didn't call people like me beautiful. Something about not touching..."

"I was wrong," he breathed, his other hand beginning at the top of her head. It burrowed into her hair, each strand curling around his fingers, as he pulled it downward. Maker's glory, he moaned, her hair was like combing a river. It washed through him, the golden strands glittering by the light leeching off the tent walls.

Bending over, Myra kissed him, her tongue happily plying his lips apart. He loved when she did that, tasting her warm breath and wet tongue as it lapped with his. She moaned in the back of her throat, spreading her hands on the ground beside his head as Myra began to slip her hips lower.

His eyes flared open and Gavin grabbed onto her waist. Keeping her pinned upon his stomach where she was safe, he let the panic sift from his brain while he returned to kissing her. As she stretched with the reach, the end of her tunic lifted higher and higher, until his fingers glanced across a sliver of her stomach's skin. Blessed Andraste, it was even warmer than her cheeks.

No.

With careful movements, Gavin let go in order to smooth back down her tunic and cover herself, when Myra suddenly grabbed onto his hand. He expected her to push it down to the ground so they could entwine fingers while she kept herself propped up. But that wasn't her plan. While her lips plied him apart, Myra slowly raised his hand up her stomach.

He felt the edge of her ribs flash by, each one knocking against his knuckles before she curled her hand around the back of his and...

Merciful Maker. When she let go, he found his hand wrapped around one of her breasts. A nub of a nipple prodded into his palm even through her tunic and whatever else girls wore below. As Myra wiggled above him, the nub grew longer, enticing him to caress his hand over it. He should stop. He was already pushing himself too far.

But it's Myra. This isn't too bad.

No, this is wonderful.

Curling his hand back and forth over her small breast, Gavin was lost in the narrow bounce to her firm flesh while Myra... She tossed her head back, her eyes shut so tight and a look of bliss washing across her face. He adored it, wanted more.

Reaching up fast, he grabbed onto her other breast and began to massage both. At first so gently it was as if he was nothing more than a soft breeze, but as Myra began to react and roll her hips around, Gavin increased the pressure. She responded in kind, her lips cupping against his for kisses that were suddenly interrupted by a gasp of pleasure.

Maker's breath, this was perfect.

Lapping his tongue over her bottom lip, Gavin tried to pull it into his mouth, when Myra suddenly leaned back. His hands slid off her chest, sadly pooling upon his stomach while he watched her. She was slyly sliding back and forth as if doing a secret dance when she unexpectedly gripped onto the bottom of her shirt.

Before he could speak, she tugged it off over her head and moved to toss it to the side. Gavin screwed his eyes up tight and froze.

"Stop," he whimpered, his failsafes already mentally whipping him for letting it get this far.

"What...?" the confusion was evident, but it was the hurt in her voice that made him quiver worse. "Why?"

"Please," Gavin scampered up, trying to slide out from under her. Myra tumbled back and away, her head dropping down as she stared at her naked chest. He reached out for her shirt and passed it back, the fabric practically hitting the ground before Myra touched it. "Put it on, please."

He was reduced to begging, trying to calm the buzzing in his mind and body while his gut burned in shame. You let it get this far. You led her on.

"Okay," Myra muttered, the light inside of her doused to smoke. The sound made him wince again, wishing he hadn't done any of this. She began to tie the knots limply, her head hung down when she suddenly snapped her eyes up to glare at him. "Why?"

"Myra, please, it's..."

"No, why. Why don't you want to see me...see me naked? Normal boyfriends do. Boys are always trying to sneak peeks of naked girls. What's wrong with me?" Her voice cracked, the tears evident as she began to shake.

"Nothing!" Gavin tried to reach out to comfort her, but she whipped away, fat tears dribbling down her cheeks. Maker's breath, how could he do that to her?

"Yes there is," she mumbled. "I know, okay. I'm not stupid. I know I've got...nothing here," she stared down at her breasts that even just the quick glimpse of were forever burned into his mind. He knew he'd never forget and, in truth, he didn't want to. "Like, like a boy's or worse, flatter than that. Fried eggs."

"You do not have..." he bit into his lip wishing to console her, but having no idea what would do it. "You're beautiful."

Her glare could wither a forest.

"Adorable, cute, your figure is lovely."

"Lovely? Just...sure. Fine. That's what normal people say after they shrieked at having to see it. _I screamed because it's just so lovely I feared my eyeballs would melt_."

"Myra," he tried to reach for her, but she yanked her hands back clearly wanting to run but also bitch him out at the same time. Myra chose the latter as long as she had an audience.

"So, what? You're willing to kiss me but anything beyond that is too much? Too weird? I'm too wrong to even try?"

"It's not that," he sputtered, digging his nails into the back of his neck. A shake returned to his hands, one he thought he finally moved on from.

"Then what? Boyfriends want to touch their girlfriends. Want to kiss them. Want to...want to sleep with them."

Gavin cringed, his entire body curling up in pain.

"Okay, fine, I get it. I'm just... I don't know why you didn't declare me hideous and call it a day."

"You're blighted well not hideous," he reached over, finally gripping onto her hand. She froze instead of yanking it free.

"Then why? Why won't you...? What? Is it, is it all the rumors about me? The ones that seem to think I'm the town whore."

"I don't believe those for a moment," Gavin spat out, "and I wouldn't care."

"Cause I'm not," Myra shook her head, tears splashing on the top of her strong cheekbones. "I've not even... Everyone else around me is having sex. Shit, Rosie's getting some, Bryn...but not me. No. Not me, never me. No one's even...touched me before."

He wanted to tell her he adored her breasts and feeling them safely secured in his palms, but she'd never believe it. What was left to him? The truth? Groaning, Gavin tried to shake away the past he wore like a muddy cloak. Even when he thought he'd moved on from it, it wouldn't go. It never would.

"I haven't done anything," Myra muttered, glaring at the ground. "I'm a virgin."

"I'm not."

It slipped free, Gavin's soul sputtering out of his mouth before his eyes opened wide. He wanted to take it back, to deny he said it, but as he lifted his head and fell into Myra's hurt eyes, there was no dam strong enough to keep his secret at bay.

"You...you're not, you've had," she blinked, her eyes darting around the tent as if she thought it was all a farce and clowns would come rolling out of the sides. "When?"

He tugged his knees up to his chest, one arm wrapping around to keep them safe while the other...it kept wrapped around Myra's hand. "I was fifteen," he confessed, his eyes closed tight.

"Maker's balls!" she gasped.

"And she...she was twenty six." Gavin buried his head in his knees, expecting some kind of reaction. A yell perhaps. For her to get even angrier that he'd debase himself with another woman and not her. But when he looked up Myra was deadly silent, her eyes wide and her lip hanging open in shock.

"I thought, it wasn't..." Swallowing, he began again, "She worked on the farm sometimes, came up from the village. We met haphazardly while I was out in the fields. And she'd, she'd bring me things, little treats out of Redcliffe or things she spotted that she thought I'd like.

"I don't know why I did it," Gavin gasped, fingernails digging into his knee.

"Were you ra--?" Myra reached over and he snapped.

"No! No, I was not... Boys can't even be, not by..." Sucking in a breath, he tried to start anew, "I agreed, I let her do things." It was new and exciting, but scary at the same time. She seemed so worldly and he was just that farm boy out in the middle of nowhere. But every time after he felt as if he tarnished his soul, rot and decay sliding across the surface until nothing would remain. Yet he kept on doing it until...

"Gavin," Myra slid a bit closer, her words soft. She wasn't screaming at him, she wasn't mad. She looked hurt but a different kind of pain, the sympathetic one.

He drew a hand to his cheeks and felt wetness clinging there. Damn it, not again. Drilling into his spine, he walled off that old throb and glared at the ground. He was broken, a mirror that pitched off the wall and shattered into a thousand silver shards. For two years he'd carefully pieced each one back together into the frame but all it took was one touch and they all erupted apart.

A hand drifted over his cheekbones, and he blinked in surprise as Myra gently collected the tears in an old kerchief. She didn't say a thing about them, simply sat back and waited with their hands clenched together.

"It was a relief when my parents found out. I didn't..." he shuddered, his foot tapping on the ground, "It meant I didn't have to do it anymore. Didn't have to, that's idiotic. Isn't it supposed to be good? It was, sort of. If I..." If he fooled himself, he could pretend it was. But he knew why he kept going back to her, because he did once. There seemed little point in saying no now that the dragon was out of the cave.

"My mother was going to kill her."

Myra snorted, "That doesn't surprise me."

"No, I mean she was literally moments from killing her," Gavin stared at Myra who gulped at the thought but looked nearly as bloodthirsty as the Hero of Ferelden facing down a woman that hurt her son. "My father stopped her."

"Shame."

"I didn't," Gavin winced, his ears ringing with how at fault he was for it all. "I didn't want her to be hurt, to-to suffer. It didn't seem fair."

It did take two, even if one was only fifteen and his stomach became so knotted at the thought, he began to vomit up blood after. When he was first found out, by one of the older washerwomen, Gavin was terrified. He knew his parents would be angry, but he didn't understand how far beyond rage they'd become.

Knock kneed, he stood at the back while the washerwoman with a tight grip to her arm so she wouldn't flee informed his mother first. Gavin braced himself for a scolding, but it was to her that his Mom burned with a vengeance. She didn't even wait until they were alone to unleash her magic, pinning the woman to the wall. Gavin could hear her gasping for breath, his mother slowly crushing her ribs as she ranted. He couldn't understand a word out of her, the blood in his ears pooling as he began to beg for his mother to stop, to let her go. That it wasn't worth it.

But she wouldn't hear him, wouldn't listen, so he did the only thing he could think of and shouted for his father. The great Commander practically shrieked at the view of his wife pulverizing a woman with her power, before Lana informed him of why. Cullen turned ghost white and whipped his head over at Gavin. "Go to your room," was all he said, his tone colder than the frozen depths of winter.

So that's where Gavin sat, perched upon the edge of his bed wishing he could be anywhere else, anyone else. He wouldn't lift his head for hours, aware that something was happening outside, but not caring. Whatever life he thought he had was ruined, the stains never coming off no matter how hard he scrubbed. What would his parents do?

Some wayward people were shipped off to the chantry. Would that be his future? Days of prayer, fasting, quiet contemplation? Or would there be something much worse?

When his door opened, he didn't even look up, his brow too heavy to lift. "Son?" It was his father, come to dole out the proper punishment no doubt.

Gavin stared down at his wrists, wondering if he shouldn't lift them up for the manacles they deserved. The bed beside him dented as Cullen sat down. For a moment neither man said a thing, both letting the whistle of the abbey air flit through holes in the rock.

Cullen's hand landed upon Gavin's shoulder and he said, "It's not your fault."

"But Dad, I..."

"No," when his father turned to look over at him tears burbled in those same amber eyes, "It is not your fault."

But it was. He knew it, he felt it -- the regret stinging into his skin with every breath. If he'd just stayed away from her, if he'd told her he wasn't interested, she'd have...she'd have left him alone. "I'm so sorry," Gavin blubbered, curling deeper into his dad.

He wanted to be a man but wound up crying upon his father's shoulder like a child instead. Cullen wrapped his arms around him, not flinching at the pariah Gavin became. For a time he lay there against his father's chest, letting every bitter tear fall while his dad only rubbed against his back.

When the tears began to dry to salt, Gavin's sobs slowed as well. Cullen ruffled up Gavin's hair and he said with authority, "You have nothing to apologize for."

"I do, I should have..."

" _She_ should have," Cullen spat out fast, " _She_ knew you were a boy, _she_ made those choices, not you. You couldn't."

It was an easy thing to say, but he did find it thrilling at first. No one since Myra... Even thinking of her churned his stomach white. She was sweet, and innocent, and had no place here. How much would she hate him when she learned the truth?

"I did it. I'd..." Gavin breathed through the fire in his lungs, "I would follow her to places, I'd agree to do...things." He was so green he couldn't even speak the name of what he'd done physically, his cheeks lighting up at the thought. Groaning, he flopped his head to his chest and tucked away from his father, "I wanted to...to be a...to do what everyone else does."

He did, and he didn't. Kissing a beautiful woman was exciting, even touching her in places that were whispered about, but seeing her naked felt scandalous. And then... He didn't like the and then, but he did because his body did. So he must have too, even if he... He didn't know what he liked anymore.

"I was stupid, I ruined...everything. I ruined me, I ruined..."

"Gavin," Cullen sighed and pinched into the bridge of his nose, "You've ruined nothing. I..." His father turned on his seat and tried to look his son in the eye. "When I was a little older than you, I was with a girl."

His head snapped up in shock, Gavin's mouth dropping. His whole life his father spoke as if his mother was the only woman in his heart. That even when they were apart by time and distance, she was it. She was his gift from the Maker.

"I thought being with her would," his dad sighed, "make me a man. But it didn't, and I regretted it. Regretted that I wasted that opportunity so readily without thought. And that regret hounded me for many years."

"So, I should feel bad is what you're saying?" Gavin inched up on his toes wanting to run. "I deserve punishment?" He wished to whip himself, but was growing incensed that his father agreed so readily.

"No," his father shook his head rapidly and sighed, "What I mean is...I did something similar. I thought that the Maker would turn away from me for it. That most would know I was unworthy. But then I met your mother, a woman I have never deserved, and she loves me...more than I can ever understand. We've had so many wonderful years together, we've had you."

Cullen reached over to hug Gavin again, but the boy fought him a bit, still wanting to argue and run. "You haven't ruined anything in your life. This is a setback, believe me I've had worse. Far worse that I pray to Andraste never happens to you. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Gavin nodded his head because he didn't want to keep being lectured to. It didn't matter what his father said, it felt as if his entire world sundered in half and nothing would fix it. Cullen patted into his back and moved to rise off the bed.

He reached the doorway before Gavin turned to him. "Dad? Does Mom know about you and that first girl?"

Cullen chuckled, "Yes. There is nothing in my past your mother doesn't know of. Don't worry, you don't need to try to keep my secret."

"Good," Gavin smiled, a small weight lifting off his chest, when the entire thing crashed down. Staring at his hands, he whimpered, "What do I do?"

"What do you want to do?"

"Not that, not for...I don't know. What's it matter? I already did it, so..."

"Gavin," he breathed hard, "you never have to do that or anything else if you don't want to."

But he did in that moment, sort of. Some part of him did or he'd have done as he was told, right? Stopped it. "What if I can't tell when I do or don't?"

His father dug into the back of his neck, trying to work away a knot that had to be three decades in the making. "When would you want to?"

He turned into himself, trying to suss out the answer. When he was married. That was the right answer, but it felt too trite and broken. The wedding vows would mean little now. "When I love someone," he said instead.

"Okay then. Make a promise."

"Dad, I..."

"Not to me," Cullen held up his hand and a bittersweet smile dropped into place. "Son, this...this is your life, it's your heart. Make it to yourself."

And he did. Even as the hormones inside of him began to percolate stronger than a hot spring, Gavin did everything he could to keep himself away from girls. To not let himself grow enamored with any that might glance his way because...because he couldn't be trusted with himself. How could he know what was his heart and what was his body's doing? He'd already failed once, doing it again seemed easy.

Then along came Myra. He thought she was safe. She'd been nothing but chaste kisses for two years, the pair of them sneaking off to look at the stars and press their lips together while the crickets serenaded them. She never tried anything else, never pushed him, never made him feel wrong, just happy.

"Myra," he whispered her name, his eyes shut tight as he drew back to the new twisted future before him. She shifted in place, but kept her hand locked around his. "I told myself that...that I wouldn't do anything with a person until I, I loved her. I wanted to marry her, be with her forever."

Her throat swallowed, a lump moving down while she stared at the tent's roof. "I see."

"I like you, I don't know if I've ever liked anyone as much as I do you," he blubbered, wishing his words made sense, "but..."

"No, I get it. I do 'cause, I'm not ready for...I mean, love. That's a big BIG deal. And," she winced as if she should want the same as him. To be in love before making love.

He wished he could assure her that with all of that out in the open, they could return to what they were -- two kids kissing. But he knew he couldn't trust himself around her, not now. Not until he was...better. "My..." he began when she drew in a big sniffle.

Tears of a different type welled up in her eyes and she nodded her head, "I get it. I..."

"You hate me," he winced, his head dropping to his chest. "I'm sorry."

"No, I don't... Gavin, I can't hate you. You're too damn nice," she spat out, surprising him completely. He whipped his head up but Myra was staring up, trying to mask the tears in her eyes. "We can still be...I mean, just forget right? Pretend none of this happened, go back to kissing and I won't do dumb things that people convince me will work."

It would be easy, to smile and paper over the past. He wanted to, to cling to that youthful crush inside of him instead of what was burrowing deeper everyday. One part of him wanted it, while the rest feared that want. "I'm..." he chewed on his lips, his eyes rolling around the tent, "I can't, Myra. It was too much and I don't know if..."

He anticipated a fight, a big one with her starting a fire on her fingers, but her entire body crumpled in half. She stared down at her hands as if they were covered in dung and shuddered. Sucking in a breath, the tears dripped off her cheeks. "Ya know, out of every reason you could have broken up with me over, and I know there's a lot, this might be the easiest one to understand."

"I wish I was better," he mumbled, truly meaning it. Everything would be so much easier if he'd been a better man then or now.

Myra jammed the heel of her hand into her eyes and tried to swipe the tears away, "I wish I knew a time warping spell so I could go back and kick that woman in the cu-- But, we can't always get what we want. I don't even know if one exists or if it's all fantasy stories."

Slowly, she released his fingers letting them fall unwanted and unloved back to his lap. Gavin tried to curl his other hand around the lost one, but they kept fumbling as if his skin was numb. Sliding back, Myra began to move to the tent flap and away from him for good.

He knew it was selfish, but he had to ask, "Myra?" She turned from her exit, the tears raw in her eyes, "Can we still be friends?"

A single sob erupted from her lips which, in her pain, were redder than any rose. Slowly she nodded her head before wincing. He knew it couldn't be that simple. "Give me time, time to...to think and stuff. And...be away from you, from all that stuff."

Gavin understood, it seemed a fool's hope at best. If he'd been able to control himself, he wouldn't have had to lose her as a friend either.

"But yeah," Myra said, causing him to look up and find a smile taped to her face, "I mean you're the nicest friend I have. I can't lose that. What if I want to borrow money off you one day or something."

He smiled at her half hearted joke, feeling returning to his fingers. Slowly he held them both, wishing it could be her doing it instead. Myra lifted up the flap, no doubt to find someone to console her. Probably Bryn, or...Maker, would he have to see her with another boy?

It only seemed fair. She wasn't broken the way he was. She deserved someone to share in all of those proper firsts with. Someone she cared for, hopefully someone kind and decent. And not Cal.

"Gavin," he turned in surprise to find her still standing there, her lips pursed in thought. "My Mom, when girls would come to her because they'd been..." her eyes darted over to his storming face, the mere thought of the word bringing more churning to his guts. "Pressed upon," she amended, even though he knew what she thought, "they'd be inconsolable, thinking that they'd lost something precious, something they could never get back."

Her sharp green eyes fell upon him, truth itself burning inside the meadowy fields, "She'd say that there's no such thing as one virginity. That there's a never ending supply. Cause you're a virgin with everyone. And every first time with someone new, you lose it with them, but it's a drop in the bucket compared to the infinite out there. I always liked that one more."

It did sound nice, how little something so important could matter. Myra swiped back her hair, pinning it behind her ears. She moved to leave him to his misery, Gavin uncertain if he should bottle his feelings into drilling or chew them to pieces alone in his tent. Perhaps both were called for after this.

"And," she stuck her head back in, speaking her last words to him, "I don't think you're dirty."

## Chapter Forty-Eight

### Blood of Friendship

He buried himself in work finding that the easiest and most acceptable form of self flagellation. Ser Daryan wasn't even asking for him, Gavin taking on duties from sun up to sundown without thought. He didn't want to have time to think, or -- cruelest of all -- feel. For nearing a week, he barely noticed calluses turning to blisters or tears to his skin ripping open with each dawn. Doing something helped, sitting still was a reminder that he'd...failed again.

Would he ever be able to trust himself? To know that what he wanted he truly wanted instead of his foolish self being led astray by his body's lusts?

No wonder they all called him farm boy, or abbey. He was as credulous as a newborn babe.

"Whoa," Snowy's voice interrupted Gavin's dour thoughts, the dwarf skittering back in surprise at the boy attempting to do anything with his hands. "Sorry, just didn't expect you in here." He waved his hands around their tent, as if Gavin needed reminding of where he sat.

The only response he gave was to grunt and return to knotting up a pile of shirts. It'd make packing faster when they finally moved out, whenever that was. Perhaps the Princess mentioned it when he was around, he couldn't be certain. Gavin wasn't really capable of listening much these past few days. It hurt to focus.

"Every time I turn around you're off on another back breaking job. I mean I knew your Knight hated you, but...that's some dedicated hate there," Snowy continued to jabber. He could call him off, but it was nice to have something to break up the pressing silence.

Shrugging off his sheet of mail, the dwarf crumpled to his legs to sit upon the bedroll. Out of his pocket he fished up a small green apple, no doubt nicked from one of the elves trees. Gavin glanced over a moment to watch Snowy unearth a small knife and begin to slice off a sliver of the skin. He didn't eat it, but tossed the skin to the ground before slowly peeling the rest.

"Gotta watch out for poison seeped into the skin," he explained at Gavin's staring. In truth, he didn't really wonder why the dwarf was doing it but found the information curious. "If they did, it'll go brown fast inside but the skin stays bright green or red. Here," he twisted the peeled fruit to show flesh as white as snow. "Safe."

Gavin snickered at the simplicity while Snowy bit deep into his apple. No doubt he was the one to yank it off a tree, hardly necessitating a need to check for poison. But maybe he just preferred them without skins and wanted something fun to tell Gavin.

"Haven't seen your pretty girl around much. Can't imagine the mischief she gets around to without..." Snowy's pondering faded as he caught Gavin fully shrinking into his chest at the mention of Myra. "Ah," the dwarf slapped his apple to a crate and spun to face him, "shit, abbey. Don't tell me...."

"Things did," Gavin sucked in a breath to steady his voice, "not work out." It was the first time he had to admit it aloud. Few people knew, or cared, that he and Myra were anything turned to nothing. Maker, how was he going to tell his mother?

Snowy reached over to pat him on the shoulder in consolation. The dwarf twisted his head to the side and asked, "Did she dump you for someone funnier?"

Whipping his head over, Gavin froze, "No. No she didn't... Why would you think that?"

"That one always seems to be getting up to mischief, just thought..." he shook his thought away and turned his storm grey eyes upon his roommate, "Ne'er mind. Obviously not right."

"I did it," the words popped on his tongue like vinegar. "I...chose to end it." He could feel the question weighing on Snowy's mind. They'd been giddy fools right before it happened. What could have possibly occurred? Why would he do it? Blessed Andraste, he did not want to tell anyone else. It was bad enough Myra knew. Would she ever be able to look at him again? At least without pity in her eyes?

The dwarf scooted closer a moment and sighed, "That's the shits, it is. Hurts no matter what, really. I'm sorry."

"You..." Gavin burned his eyes into him, but there was only sincerity there, "Thank you. I..."

"Feels like ya got your chest kicked in by a bronto. That someone gutted ya like a fish and left your entrails dangling through the trees."

"As if I drank fire and waded into pitch," he mumbled curling his hands up to his face. There were no tears, but his cheeks had been burning since Myra left his tent. It was a shame that would never evaporate from his soul.

Tapping his knife into his boot, Snowy distracted Gavin. The handle to the blade was very fancy, and looked as if it was carved from bone. A scene of dwarves fighting against an enemy graced the side closest to Gavin. He wanted to ask about that, when Snowy slipped it back into his pocket without thought.

"If'n ya want, I can head out there and do your chores for you. I doubt Daryan will notice. She's been stuck standing by her Highness while they all play nice with elves."

"No, that's...I'd rather go out to chop firewood, if it's all the same. It's a good distraction."

"I hear ya," Snowy patted him across the shoulders then slumped back. Yanking into his pack, he unearthed an amber bottle. "And when you get back, we can get ourselves the proper broken up drunk."

Gavin smiled at the thought, less so the execution. He'd been down that road once before, it didn't help. Nothing did but time, which could cruelly be ripped away without a moment's notice. Would this wound ever heal?

Staggering to his knees, Gavin began to exit out of his shared tent, when Snowy sat up. "Hey," he rolled his tongue through his mouth a moment before speaking, "abbey, it'll be okay. I mean, look at you. You can probably pull down a proper Arlessa or something looking like that."

His smile strained, Gavin dipping his head in thought. He didn't want an Arlessa. He didn't fall for Myra because she was the daughter of the King. And it was doubtful many other women would put up with his bumbling words and call them adorable. Nodding his head, he slid out of the tent and walked the long trail up to the New Dales.

Around the gate stood two elves in full armor, green as the forest around them and very foreign looking. Their eyes darted to Gavin, but they remained in a relaxed pose, used to the humans coming and going from the caravan. He tried to wave to them, but felt foolish for the thought.

The village was arranged not like a typical city, there wasn't really a rich district at the highest hill. Nor a poor one placed beside a garbage heap or sewage dump. Instead it was based upon needs. A massive long house filled with tables and roaring fires made up their kitchens and eating places. It sat near the river banks, offering a lovely view that was only interrupted by the open structure of the launderers and the potters. Houses, as much as they could be called them, circled around the kitchens. Elves would often dash from one to the other, gathering whatever they needed for the meal.

Even decades out from being the Dalish, they never stopped working as one. He wondered how long that would last.

There were a few homes with walls, meant for the elderly and ailing, but he noticed a couple further in the distance with elves that didn't care much to interact in the longhouses. A population grows too large and the idyllic dream seems impossible. More people amplifies more problems, or so his father would say while grumbling about their lagging guard service. They didn't even have a house to store the weapons, nor a gate to lock them up.

What would his mother think of the Dalish? She mentioned them once, something about werewolves but nothing beyond that. Did she find them idealistic or naive? A real hope for something other than the bannorn and toiling away on farms? Or, as many whispered, an experiment guaranteed to end in failure? Perhaps that was what he should write to ask her. It'd certainly fill up so many pages, he wouldn't have time to go into his personal life. Not for another week, at least.

It was a silly lie, but it might work. At least she'd be kind about it when learning the truth. Trailing the sunline, Gavin turned to the west. Through the trees that teetered at strange angles to find root in dead soil, past roads littered with none save a single nag taking her master home rested his parent's abbey. His home.

His heart squeezed at the thought, of how if he were back there he'd be bundling up the haying to let it dry out. Then, after ladling cool well water onto his piping hot back, he'd be treated to his mother's cooking. In this heat, her favorites were a sort of summer squash soup and a bread made with millet and ground up corn. She told him once that her mother would make the same when she was a girl. When Gavin asked what his grandparents were like his mom went very quiet and changed the subject. It wasn't until he was older that he understood she didn't have an answer, because she didn't get to know them.

Home. The simple life.

Groaning, he plucked up a log of downed wood and placed it onto the tree trunk. It was practically routine as he lined up the grain, lifted the splitting maul onto his shoulders, and brought it down. The wood splintered right in half, one end collapsing to the ground while the other tipped over onto the trunk. Gavin knocked it aside and picked up a new log.

If he got the motion right, he could do this for a few hours. There probably weren't enough logs to keep him busy, but it'd take away his thoughts. His eyes on the stump, his arms with the swing, all Gavin's mind noticed save the fall of split firewood was the line of shadows lengthening as the sun stretched towards its sleep. Night was coming, which would leave him alone in his bed.

Which was what you wanted.

Was it?

Yes. You promised. You swore to yourself.

Two years ago.

What if you gave in and she hurt you? How could you stand to be around Myra after that? How could you stand yourself for letting it happen?

A laugh that used to bring a smile to his lips echoed through the clearing. Surprised, Gavin turned to find nearly an entire party broke out beside the river. There were dozens of elves, quite a few of the caravan, and her... She was smiling, her cheeks rosy as if from a run, and her hair loose. There was a soft knot at the bottom, a green ribbon trailing at the ends, but she didn't braid it. Was it too much work, or...?

Myra was standing beside two dalish elves, both male, and some of the girls that worked predominantly with the launders. He'd spoken to them on occasion, they seemed nice. One elf sat back a bit, his hips planted into a sawed off tree trunk as if he was trying to get as far from the festivities as possible while also belonging.

It was the other that had Gavin wringing his hands over the maul's handle. Hair bright as the sun, the blunt ends swished above his eyes -- which he kept batting away while focusing on Myra. She had her hands locked around a mug of something, but her body didn't lean away from the boy either.

Thin and wiry, as most elves were, his face was angular with cheekbones and large eyes that made the man look almost ethereal. As if one might blink and he'd vanish from view. "You have to try this," he laughed, his grubby fingers drifting near Myra.

She smiled in gratitude and accepted the second cup inside her first. Placing it to her lips, she tipped it back. The man's eyes lit up, his entire torso shifting closer while Myra quickly devoured whatever she was drinking. At the end, she proudly wiped the side of her mouth and smacked her lips.

"Blessed Creators!" the man cried, "you drank the whole thing?!"

Myra snickered and placed a hand to her hip, "Koomtra? I've been nipping that from my mom's stash since I was fifteen. This is actually good for Koomtra. Most of the alienage stuff tastes like ashes pissed on in old boots."

The trunk elf sneered, but the other one found it all delightful. He was smiling from the tips of his pointed ears down to his callous lips. As if absently trying to reach for a speck of dirt, his fingers bumped into Myra's elbow and then up her arm. She was too busy speaking with one of the servants to notice. Or did she notice and not care? Or worse?

It's not your problem.

Gavin hunkered deeper into his collar, wishing he had finished the blighted cloak even if it was too hot to wear. At least it'd be easier to vanish into instead of the linen flaps barely straining to touch his neck. Sweat glistened all along the nape of his neck and down his throat, practically pooling into a brown puddle in his collarbones. Despite the heat the Dalish seemed content, not even bending to it while they were dressed in full leathers.

They probably didn't sweat either.

Another silly laugh broke from the gathering and Gavin turned back to his work. He made certain to keep his head focused as far from them as possible. But even the swing of the axe wouldn't stop the voices chattering behind, all of them in high spirits.

"What about this?"

"Maker's sake, are you trying to get me blitzed? Cause if so, this ain't gonna do it."

"Charming," a voice rolled in sarcasm, but the next answered as if it was real.

"She is fascinating."

"Blessed creators, Fanti, tell me you've brought respite," the trunk elf cried, no doubt flapping a hand and begging to be rescued from the flirting.

Gavin growled at the thought, but that's what was going on. No doubt about it. The man was clearly interested in Myra and felt no reason to defer his affections. And why should he? She's as free as a bird, remember? You made it so.

His heart shattered against his mind, each beat reminding him that it wasn't broken but angry and growing more raging with each thought. The idea of that elf touching her burned in his eyes, and when it leapt to him attempting to touch her lips or... What if she chose him? Myra made it clear what she wanted, what Gavin refused against all common sense, and there was no reason it couldn't be some unearthly elf in the New Dales to offer it to her.

He couldn't decide if he wanted to scream, stab someone, or cry, when a hand landed upon Gavin's shoulders. The maul hung suspended above his head, about to crash down into...he now realized an empty stand. Still holding it up, he turned to find Myra with a cup in hand. Her bright green eyes blinked a moment and she winced as if staring into the sun.

"Uh..." Gavin glanced up at the weapon he had in his arms and blushed. Dropping it to the ground like a fool, it nearly crashed into his foot. "Sorry, I was...I didn't hear you. I was working."

"I noticed," she didn't smile but she didn't frown either. "Here," Myra extended her cup to him. Uncertain, Gavin accepted it and stared down at what looked like a thick black liquid. "You looked hot, er, sweaty from all the wood stuff. And I thought, it's supposed to, umbity bum." Her lips popped and Myra spun to stare up helplessly at the sky.

In the dark reflection he could see himself, the whites of his eyes and teeth the strongest to appear. But both looked broken and beaten, his eyes hooded and the teeth barely evident as no smile would raise his lips. "What is it?" Gavin asked, jabbing a finger to the concoction.

"Blackberry wineish, kinda like if you took brandy then mashed it with wine. It's good, if you like blackberries. I never thought to ask so this may have been stupid..." Myra reached over as if to take it back but Gavin nestled the cup to his chest.

"No, I -- I quite enjoy blackberries. Most berries." At her assurance he placed the cup to his lips. The first glug was sour, like vinegar stripping away paint, but after that a sweetness danced upon his tongue and down his throat. An aftertaste erupted that was as bold as a red wine but with a touch of almost meadow flowers in it.

"Most berries?" Myra folded a hand to her hips and cocked her head. "So are you saying there's one berry you really despise?"

Wiping off his lips and finding a strip of purple left upon his brown hand, Gavin shrugged, "More a matter of discretion. There's probably a berry in thedas I don't like, even if I haven't found it yet."

Her eyes lit up and a whisper of a laugh broke, "The poisonous ones, right. Hard to be a big fan of those."

"I don't know. What do they taste like?" he felt it too, his lips tugging up into a smile. He wanted to pretend everything was fine, his heart ached for it. But if everything was fine, he'd curl his fingers against her cheek and plant a purple kiss to her lips. Instead, Gavin helplessly patted the bottom of the cup while his eyes darted around the setting. It was a nice day. And that would be the line certain to end whatever thread they had left.

Myra tugged on the front of her hair, absently mussing up the part and tossing each end to a new side. She was as uncertain of what to say or do as he was. Staring down at the cup, Gavin suddenly thrust it at her. A pain burned through her eyes when he spoke, "Thank you, for the drink. It was...thoughtful."

"Yeah, you looked, I mean chopping wood is never..." Accepting it, Myra too began to knock her knuckles up and down the white clay of the mug. There was nothing left to say, both of them feeling the moment fade away.

With a shrug, Gavin hefted up the maul, when Myra spoke fast, "It's friendship wine, brandy, some elfy word I never learned." He turned to look at her over his shoulder, but she was staring off in the distance unable to look at him. A small burn highlighted her freckles which he never did have the chance to count. "I thought, wanted you to...hoped that. Andraste's tits I'm bad at this."

"You're not the only one," Gavin sighed. "I dare say you're doing wonderful. I'm the one who...it's all on me. It's my doing and..."

"Don't," Myra held a hand up, "I really don't want to go into the play by play of who did what and what led to it all. It's..."

He thought she'd moved on already, but the smile she wore shredded apart revealing the pain below. Myra wrapped a hand around her arm in a half hug and began to rock on her heels. "About my only consolation is that you look miserable as hell."

Gavin snickered at that, his head hanging flush with the ground, "I feel it twice as bad as I look."

Those gorgeous green eyes he wished would crinkle up in a smile honed in on him. But they too hung flat, lifeless, crushed by his stupidity and shallow lusts. "I don't hate you," Myra said.

"I'm certain you don't like me much."

"No," she spat out fast, then blinked madly. "It's not, it's...I don't know. I... Venheedis! Breakups are supposed to be all about wanting to kick the guy in the face and then burn something of his. That's how all the stories make them out to be, all my friends would get to that point after the crying but I..."

Myra let her fingers touch to his shoulder, softly cupping it as if he was a wounded animal needing to be saved. "I don't want to get mad. I don't... Okay, sometimes I do, and then I hate myself for it, but you're not... Blighted hell, I have no idea what I'm saying."

Shaking her head, she began to stomp back to her friends and the elf that was watching in curiosity as his prize shared an interest in another man. "Myra," Gavin called to her, "I don't want you to hate me either."

"Good, glad we got that all figured out. Because I'm not in anyway still confused."

"And," he had to cup his hand to his chest, his fingernails scratching through the thin shirt upon his skin while it curled into a fist. "If you wish to be...intimate with someone else, I promise I will not..."

She turned and fully stared at him, her jaw dropping. "Intimate? As in...? With who? Cause if you say Cal I will freaking punch you, I swear."

"No," he threw on a panicking laugh while wondering how often his trembling uncertainty quizzed her about the boy. "Someone such as..." Limply Gavin pointed towards the elves for a brief second. He meant it to be unnoticeable, but Myra swung her head over and glared before scoffing.

"Please, like I can't pick up on a fetishy elf who thinks dirtying himself with a half-blood will be freaky. I've been to the Alienage since I was a kid, thank you very much." Her voice was shrieking with annoyance, but he could see a smile bobbing in her eyes. Maybe she wanted him to care a little. To worry. To wish...

It didn't matter. It was too late.

"Then, I will trust your judgment."

"Good," Myra nodded her head hard before drawing the back of her hand to her eyes. "Because...you don't have to worry. Okay. I'm not just gonna run off to get it all over with in order to do that. I think, I want, bloody hell. You, go back to chopping, and I'll go back to drinking and...let's both pretend none of this awkwardness ever happened."

She spun on her heels, digging both into the dirt to join her friends by the river. True to her word, Myra downed another cup of the friendship wine while easily slicing through the grabby elf's words and attentions. Her smile was back on, Myra firing off a dozen jokes in rapid succession but every once in awhile she'd glance up from her friends to look over at the boy driving apart logs of wood to burn for the fire.

"As you wish," Gavin whispered to himself, even while his heart lightened a touch. Maybe he hadn't ruined everything after all. The hope tasted like blackberries ripe on the bush, and smelled of little yellow flowers opening on the meadow.

By the time he returned to his tent, Ferelden's sky was tinged with all the pinks and oranges of the Maker himself. His arms ached, but his heart felt softer -- the hard casing that formed around it seeping away. A sleep would do him good, and maybe he could think of some way to return the olive branch Myra extended to him. He could always finish the damn thing he kept putting off.

Lifting up the tent flap, Gavin caught his roommate sitting on the side. His head was tipped downward with a book resting limply in his lap.

"I spoke with Myra," Gavin began while yanking his shirt off over his head. Sweat clung tight to it but as he freed himself, a breeze whipped through to cool down his aching muscles and hot skin. "She's...she's not mad at me. I'm surprised, I honestly..."

His thoughts trailed off as he turned to find Snowy's head still dangling down. Strange. Surely the dwarf heard him. Did he fall asleep while reading? That was a terrible way to get a crick in the neck. Gavin crept along the ground, trying to not wake the dwarf he was about to wake. It made little sense but seemed kind.

Drawing a hand to his shoulder, Gavin gave a little shake when he smelled it. Copper in the air. The dwarf was cold, not cool from avoiding the hot sun -- his body was colder than a crypt. "Snowy?" Gavin whispered, peering down at the dwarf's face.

Milky white eyes stared out at nothing, blood dribbling from the tear ducts.

"Snowy!" he shrieked, lifting his dead friend's chin.

No. Maker's breath. He couldn't be...

The dwarf's head barely fell back, his body already locked in from rigor mortis. Because he was dead. He was...how? How could he be...? Gavin glanced over at the apple -- the core sitting upon a box where he must have placed it once he was finished.

Trembling fingers tried to reach for it, when Gavin noticed a glint of silver prodding out of Snowy's back. With a gentle hand to cup against his dead friend's chin, he moved to tug up the tent wall leaning in towards them only to find it wouldn't budge. Because it was impaled onto the dwarf by a dagger's blade jammed into the back of his throat.

He sat here bleeding to death, unable to call out for help and no one noticed.

Gavin swiped at the tears percolating in his eyes and he ran out of the tent. Before letting the flap fall, he glanced back at his friend's body and gasped. "I'm sorry I have to leave you." He wanted to sit with the deceased, to...to try and make him comfortable, but he had to know. In the back of his mind, the obvious culprit flared and pivoted but he couldn't be sure. Not without proof.

Staggering around outside his tent, Gavin's eyes landed upon the hilt of the dagger. Black with a wicked curve and a single scarlet ribbon dancing in the summer wind. Yanking it out of his dead friend's corpse, Gavin turned towards where the Princess rested and set off with vengeance pounding in his heart.

## Chapter Forty-Nine

### Wounds

The elves promised a fire dance for the evening, requiring Rosamund and her close companions to all dress in less flammable clothing than usual. She'd chosen her tighter leathers, and was sitting at the back of the tent watching all the rest of her ladies dash about trying to get rather too made up for such an evening.

"Has anyone seen Myra?" Rosie asked, glancing over at Tess who shrugged. "Well, if she wants to go she'll show up." Her sister had been damn near invisible for the past week. Rosamund knew she was still with the caravan by a flash of a gold braid or tales of her sister, the half-blood, entertaining the Dalish. But Rosie hadn't even spoken a word to her in all that time. Whatever trouble she was up to, at least Myra knew how to act properly around the elves better than most anyone else.

Fingers dipped across Rosie's shoulder and she turned right into Anjali's lazy smile. "This seems a bit excessive," she remarked, waving a hand to the two girls attempting to paint their upper arms with red and orange pigments. "It's merely a fire dance."

"You've seen them before?"

"Seen? You can't have a family picnic in Rivain without someone breaking out the sticks, fire oil, and flayed skirts."

She focused fully upon Anjali, Rosie picturing her in a thin silk shift cut tight to her body. An asymmetrical hem along the stomach that revealed her tattoo and the tops of her glorious breasts glistening at the plunge of the low neckline. How gracefully she'd spin on her toes, fire dancing with each hop and twirl as if it was a part of her.

A heat burned inside of the Princess that had nothing to do with fire. Too bad she couldn't skip out on this, the Keeper would certainly be cross and it would raise far too many questions with the handmaidens.

And Karelle. Especially Karelle.

Anjali dipped down, her breath tickling in Rosie's ear, "I'd kill to see you in that little outfit." She gestured towards the two handmaidens who tried to dress in the silks that barely shielded their chests and scrap of hips from the fire.

Rosie scoffed, her cheeks blushing as bright as her lover's tattoos at the thought of her trying to put it on. "I fear I'd be fully tumbling out of something so small."

"Exactly," her perfect grin lit up the room. But before Rosie did anything stupid like try to kiss it away, Anjali drifted from her side. She never went far, but seemed to fear crowding out the princess from her work.

Seemingly bored, the assassin picked at a pile of powders, sniffing each one before placing them back upon the makeshift vanity. A noise caught Rosamund's attention and she turned to find a new entry into their gathering. "Ah, Squire Gavin," she called, trying to wave to her sister's beau, but he didn't look over at her.

He was oddly shirtless, but what struck Rosie to the core was how his eyes glared murder through the world itself -- amber pinpricks hunting until they landed upon...Anjali. Placing down the pigment she was inspecting, the assassin turned and looked at the huffing squire.

"Ah, baby Knight...come to join us?" She waved a hand, her hip cocked back in celebration.

On steady legs, Gavin stomped through the tent as if he was trying to mash down the ground with each step. His eyes never wavered from the woman, breath shooting from his nostrils. The moment he reached Anjali, she pivoted her chin a bit in confusion. Her mouth opened, no doubt to ask what he wanted.

Faster than a snake pumping its prey with venom, Gavin's fist lashed out and clobbered Anjali in the face. She collapsed backwards, spilling the contents of the vanity all over the ground. Puffs of powder in every primary color erupted when the jars shattered, all of the fog trying to shield the assassin skittering back from the raging squire.

The handmaidens all shrieked, but nothing would slow Gavin down. He lifted up his fists as if he intended to attack Anjali again. The hand she had protecting her eye dropped down and she stood up. Both of them glared at each other through the air, each telegraphing if the other made another move it would end in an all out brawl.

Rosie was having none of it. "Squire!" The man wouldn't turn, wouldn't glance over. _What in the Maker's name was wrong with him? Had he been drinking?_ "Squire Gavin, what is the meaning of this?! You will stand down immediately! Tess," she tried to wave her friend over, but all the girls were petrified and trembling together. Only Anjali stood stock still, both hands ready to reach for her weapons. "Go and get Ser Daryan, now!"

"He's dead," Gavin grumbled, his eyes never breaking from Anjali -- who let hers dart to Rosie for a brief moment.

"Who?" the princess pushed, rising from her seat. A few of the girls gripped onto her to drag her back but she shook them off.

Gavin sucked in a breath and she realized there were unshed tears clogging his vision. "Snowy," he shouted, chewing on his lip, "Squire Snowy."

"Snowy?" Anjali scoffed, "What kind of name is...?"

His hand lifted again, Gavin preparing another attack, but Anjali reacted this time too. Her fingers reached back to her shoulders about to unsheathe her daggers -- all of which was the last thing Rosamund needed. Leaping forward, the princess attempted to yank Gavin back to his senses, but at Anjali's move he paused and snickered.

"Looking for something, assassin?"

The woman's hand hung limply in the air, flexing just above where her dagger would rest. With a sneer, Gavin reached towards his belt at the small of his back to unearth a blade. Rosie moved to stop him, but he tossed it to the ground and sneered, "I found this embedded in the throat of my dead friend. The man you murdered and left sputtering to death in his own blood."

At the word blood the girls shrieked again, helping in no way with the matter.

Anjali's eyes shot open wide and she stared down at the dagger -- an exact copy of the ones she always had on her back. "No, no," she shook her head, her hands slapping backwards, "that can't be."

Gavin lashed forward, intending to deal with this problem himself, but Rosamund managed to snag onto his bicep. "Squire!" she chastised in her commanding voice. "We do not..." When he whipped his lion's glare at her, Rosie's spine quivered a moment. It felt like the Maker's Himself judgment. "You are not the law here. Step back and behave as your order would dictate, or I shall have you apprehended and imprisoned until you have calmed."

The bicep she barely held in check with her fingers didn't soften from its stone force, but he sneered and stepped back from Anjali. Without the immediate threat of the squire about to bash her in, Anjali reached down to her dagger. "That's mine. I...I don't understand."

"Your dagger was found in the throat of one of our dead squires," Rosie repeated the facts, her voice numb. There had to be a trick, something someone planted it. To incriminate her. Or...she's an assassin. You knew that when you met her. But it didn't stop you from taking her to your bed, nor from falling for her.

" _Sapheela_ , please, I swear," Anjali clasped her hands together in prayer. "It wasn't me. I don't even know this...Snowfer."

"Snowy," Gavin shouted at her, his voice cracking in pain. "You can't even be bothered to remember the names of those you murder."

"I didn't do it! Why would I kill him?"

"That is a very good question," Rosamund said, her hands folding to her stomach. "Did you touch the body, Squire? Move it in anyway from where he fell?"

Gavin was glaring at the ground his fists clenching constantly, but he wouldn't lift them. Shaking his head, he spat out, "No."

"Then we shall investigate it. You," Rosie pointed at Gavin who gulped. "You," she added to Anjali.

"This woman should be in irons!" the squire suddenly shouted. "She's murdered seemingly at random. There's nothing to stop her doing it again!"

"And you attacked her out of hand, Squire," Rosamund said while trying to be the cool head, but when she glanced back she caught a lot of her girls nodding their heads to Gavin's words. It didn't look good for Anjali, and if she tipped her hand then they may come to question Rosie's judgment.

_You took her to your bed and you don't even know what she's doing here. Couldn't bother to get a real answer out of her. How do you know she hasn't been playing you the whole time?_

"Assassin," Rosamund spat out, "disarm, and give both your daggers to the Squire."

Umber eyes stared hard at Rosie, trying to delve past her political mask, but nothing could pierce it. Slowly, Anjali yanked out her remaining right dagger and pressed it into Gavin's hands. "I think you can handle picking up the other," she muttered at him.

The man growled back, but he did as she said, hoisting up the blade stained with a dead man's blood. Blessed Andraste, Rosamund, what have you done?

"If you're both finished, we shall walk to the site of the crime. Oh, and someone fetch Myra," Rosie ordered to anyone listening. A few dashed off into the night, not wanting to be near a would-be murderer and a punch happy squire. While Gavin and Anjali glared at each other and walked through the tents, Rosamund whispered to herself, "My sister might be the only hope we have."

Myra was less than happy about being summoned by a twitchy girl, repeating that her words were incoherent and sounded like a bad limerick. She was laughing to herself about how it sounded like Gavin hauled off and punched Anjali, until she spotted the black eye rising upon the assassin's face. Swallowing hard, she glanced over at the man poor Myra was in deep with.

Was she thinking the same as Rosamund? That her whole world was suddenly yanked out from under her because a person she thought she knew, thought she trusted, betrayed her?

But the squire wasn't the one to kill someone. He did as he should. He came to bring order, law, and justice for his dead friend. It was hard to see what excuse Anjali could make.

"Is... Gavin, what's going on?" Myra inched closer to him, but he whipped his head away, glaring at the ground.

"Squire Snowy has been killed," Rosamund said. She expected Myra to nod her head grimly at the news, but the girl's eyes shot open wide and she spun to Gavin about to console him. "Myra, I need you to determine who killed him."

"R...right," her lips trembled, the girl only having eyes for the one she cared for. Swiping a hand back to pin her hair behind her ears, Myra nodded, "I need...I have to see him. Fuck."

"Are you okay?" Rosie leaned closer to her sister, all four of them standing outside the tent in question.

"Yeah, yeah, just haven't," Myra rubbed her stomach as if making a wish upon it, "Mom always handled the personal cases, I never. I can do it. I have to. For Snowy."

Anjali snorted a moment and rolled her eyes, "It is a stupid name."

"Why is she here?" Myra snarled at the interruption and potentially her friend being disrespected.

Rosie opened her mouth to gently explain when Gavin blurted out, "Because she murdered him."

"What?" Myra's entire body snapped up higher, her arms locking in as if she intended to do something to Anjali.

"All we know is that her dagger was found upon the body," Rosie explained.

Digging into her eyes, Myra stretched her arms wide and took a few deep breaths. "Which could be planted. I have to...okay, give me a moment." Her hands parted at the sides of her face, seeming to form a locked barricade to block off her peripheral view. But every once in awhile, her eyes would dart over to the side to check on Gavin.

Without saying a word, Myra stepped into the tent. Rosie watched her sister, proud of her determination to face such an uphill battle, when Myra shouted, "Are the rest of you coming in here or not?"

It was a tight fit, Gavin dropping to his knees as he hung back, while Rosie paced around with her head bent down. Anjali was the one who stepped in last, and when her eyes darted to the deceased she mouthed something, but whatever it was Rosie couldn't read it. It could be shock from the image. She'd seen death, but only at funerals when the cleaned body was lain respectfully on the pyre. This was beyond morbid, the dwarf's body slumped over as if he'd fallen asleep save the puddles of blood splattered onto a book in his lap.

Myra, seeming to not care, sat right next to the hunched over dwarf, her fingers attempting to pick up the eyelids. She humphed at that and turned to look over her shoulder, but found no one there. "Right, forgot." Digging into her pocket, she unearthed a scrap of parchment and a small quill with its own tiny ink bottle.

With so little ink at hand, Myra seemed to be using shorthand for her notes, jotting down a few letters and numbers as she pried at the corpse. "Blood dripping from his eyes, serious internal trauma...which was probably the knife slicing through his neck and spinal cord."

Gavin winced at the description, the man barely able to glance over at his friend being picked apart like an animal at slaughter. "Did he drown?" he whispered, his eyes shut tight.

Snapping away from whatever she was doing to the dead man's lips, Myra looked at Gavin. "In his own blood? Did he drown in it?" he whispered as if that was the worst fate to befall someone.

Slowly she shook her head, "No, no this would have been quick. Instant death if it sliced right through the spinal column like that. Professional job. People who do this know what they're doing." As she said the last words, her eyes darted over to Anjali who grew silent while watching the proceedings.

"He died sitting here, not even knowing it was coming," Myra blinked a moment and suddenly her head shot over to the boy. "Gavin?!" she gasped, her lip quivering, but he merely looked over in confusion. "Um," whatever she'd been thinking faded and she jabbed a finger at the corpse, "did you move him? Shift him in any way?"

"No," he said.

"Good, good, that'll help. No defensive wounds on his hands, there's some blood on his book but that's probably from..." her fingers drifted near the hole in his throat crusted over with blood. "Rigor mortis has set in practically fully. I'd have to check on his liver to be sure, but with this heat I'd guess he's been dead for three maybe four hours. When did you last see him?"

"When I left for my chores in the afternoon," Gavin said, swallowing. "He was eating an apple, and...we made plans to," the boy paused, his hands balling into fists, "never mind."

"So you were the last one he spoke to," Myra said.

"I..." Gavin's lips fell open, "I believe so. I don't know, there could have been others. Why?"

Myra held up her hands, "Just getting all the facts. Trying to make a timeline."

"It is not my sword that perforated his throat," Gavin growled as if Myra had intended to drag him before a tribunal in chains.

"I know, I... Ah shit, you did not remove it." She glanced at the back of the dwarf's neck and Myra groaned, "You removed it. No one touch anything else, okay! This is blighted hard enough in here without any light. Where's the weapon?"

Gavin extended it to her and for a brief moment Myra drew her fingers across his palm. She was clearly attempting to comfort the man but he seemed in no mood for it. Snatching it up, Myra twisted the dagger around to her eyes.

"Exact same," she surmised, before jabbing it at Anjali, "I assume?"

"Yes, yes that is mine, but I swear by the Maker himself I did not..."

Myra waved it away, in no mood for confessions. Before anyone could think to stop her, she hobbled out of tent leaving the three of them alone with a dead man. A hollow wind whistled in the air, darkness beginning its ascent in the world while this dwarf's soul... What did a dwarf's soul do? There was something about the stone but, Maker's breath, what was she to do with his dead body?

Rosie turned to look at Anjali, the assassin in their midst. She should be acting repentant, throwing herself upon the mercy of the crown and doing her best to prove her innocence. But aside from a few small outbursts, the woman remained deceptively quiet. Did she fear speaking because any word could be used against her? Or did she have nothing to say to back up her innocence?

Suddenly, the corpse of the dwarf jerked forward, causing every inhabitant to panic. Rosie practically leapt behind Gavin for fear Snowy was about to turn undead. The squire was quick to form a blockade to protect her, his shoulder slotting in over her view. But the dwarf did not lift his rigid head nor rise, the movement was solitary and apparently involuntary.

Gripping onto the boy's shoulder, Rosie peered back to see her sister's shadow looming behind the dead corpse. "Myra?" she called loudly. "Was that you? What are you doing? Are you desecrating..."

"Taking measurements!" her sister grumbled. "This is what happens when people remove the murder weapons, sheesh. Do you want me to do this or not?"

"Please, continue," Rosie waved her fingers, though it was doubtful Myra could see. Her sister grumbled a bit, some of her choice words breaking loud enough to be heard, no doubt that was done on purpose but Rosamund had larger issues.

Realizing she was yet hiding behind Gavin for protection, Rosie tried to slide away, when it struck her. Danger presented itself and...she did not leap towards Anjali. In fact, she kept herself further away from the assassin. Umber eyes bored into hers, seeming to come to the same conclusion.

It was all conjecture at this point. There'd have to be a case drawn up. And what if Anjali is guilty? What if she came here to murder a random dwarf and nothing more? Or worse. What if she was some rabid killer the whole time who only pretended to be an assassin? A wolf in deadly sheep's clothing the entire time.

Rosie struggled to lick her chapped lips, her eyes darting over the woman's closed off form, when the tent flap opened and Myra staggered in. She didn't look at any of the gathered people, but dropped to a knee and drew a string from the ground up to the blade of the embedded dagger. "Hm," Myra mused, the end of the quill wafting against her lips.

"Do you have the proof you need?" Gavin hissed, his amber eyes burning into Anjali, "May we dispose of this murderer now?"

"Not, no, I'm gonna need time to mock up some... Ah shit, I wish my mother was here. Or Lunet, she was great at playing dead bodies. Mom got all snippy when I didn't do it right. Cause it's easy to figure out how someone fell when the dead body keeps moving to yell at you," her mouth was chattering away while Myra prodded at the dead dwarf.

"I don't understand, her weapon was found upon Snowy's...upon the dead man's body. Is that not enough?" He lifted his fists, clearly hoping to sink them deep into someone. A sympathy overwhelmed Rosie a moment as she looked over at Anjali's eye. For how great it was already swelling, it must hurt terribly.

Myra tipped her head back and forth, "Funny thing about appearances, they can be real tricky liars. What I don't get is the motive. Rosie," she turned from her squat to look dead center at her sister, "you know any reason why she'd kill him?"

"Why are you asking her?" Gavin interrupted, the hackles rising.

Her sister pursed her lips, her eyes darting from Rosamund to Anjali, but she didn't say the reason. It was clear though what Myra was thinking. Bedmate or no, if she did it, Myra wouldn't hold back any punches. And she'd get their father involved for certain if Rosie tried to.

"No," Rosamund said, attempting to find whatever bit of dignity she had remaining, "none that I know of."

"I don't get it," Myra banged her foot on the ground slowly, "why kill a random dwarf squire? You gonna fill in on any of this?" Now she stared hard at Anjali, who slowly shook her head no and crossed her arms. "Figured. Maybe someone owed him money or..."

Her eyes narrowed and she twisted her head around. Reaching into the grass beside Snowy's leg, Myra seemed to be digging for something under him. Rosie was about to request that she stop whatever was causing the dwarf's corpse to tip back and forth, when Myra unearthed her wanted object. It looked white with a silver blade at the end that was barely good for anything.

"Well this is something. Gavin, you seen this before?" Myra was in full on detective mode, barely caring about any pretense.

"Yes, it was..." he swallowed hard, his eyes dribbling in tears,  "It was his personal knife. He'd use it on occasion for small matters."

"What is it, Myra?" Rosie tried to lean closer to get a look, when her sister sighed.

"I was gonna ask you, actually. I don't know fancy vases from cheap clay, but this thing is ooold. You can practically feel the years clinging to the designs. What's a random squire dwarf doing with something this old in his pocket?"

Rosamund accepted the blade in her palm, her fingers tracing over carved images of what had to be dwarves facing off against some unknown foe in the darkness. "Perhaps he stole it," she said.

Myra shrugged at the possibility, but Gavin growled deep. He would hear no ill word spoken of his dead friend. But killing someone for stealing a prized possession could be motive. And not one Anjali would have anything to do with.

"Turn it over," Anjali whispered from the side. All three pairs of eyes honed in on her for those three words, but she only stared back at Rosie. With laborious movements, Rosie did as commanded and her breath caught in her throat.

While the other side was difficult to make out, this was clearly a dwarf at the top of their society guiding all the other dwarves to carve out and form the deep roads. The dagger grew ten times heavier in her palm as it struck her how both foreign and familiar this was.

Their family had something similar, not a dagger but a hairpin that showed King Calenhad himself binding together all of Ferelden's clans with giant hands. This wasn't just a dagger carved out of the bone of a great beast. It was a proclamation that whosoever used it, or owned it, was tied to the great line from which it spawned.

It was a royal dagger.

"Oh sweet Maker," Rosie gasped, feeling her legs give out under her.

"What? What is it?" Gavin tried to peek over, but he didn't understand. Myra seemed to be having a bit of trouble as well, her lips twisting into an o as she stared at the pictures upside down.

"What did you know of Master Snowy, Squire? Did he ever tell you his real name?"

"His real...?" Gavin's eyes whipped over to the poor dead dwarf before narrowing upon Rosie. "That was his real name."

"I fear not. Myra, I'm going to need you to go through his things and try to determine his real alias. But be respectful."

She rolled her eyes and muttered a duh, but Rosie wasn't finished.

Curling her fingers over the dagger, she shut her eyes tight, "Because I suspect this man was a member of the dwarven royal family."

Both Myra and Gavin gasped, their heads whipping to the dead man who'd been cut down without anyone in their camp the wiser of his origins. Except for one. Rosie honed in on the assassin who pointed it out, who knew what would be on the other side of the dagger.

Rising up to her full height, Rosamund ordered, "Myra, finish your investigation. I shall give you free run of whatever you need."

"Okay...?" Her sister said as if she wouldn't simply take what was necessary for her job anyway.

"Squire Gavin, assist with laying out the dwarf's personal belongings and categorizing them. I'm certain Myra will have questions about them all."

"Probably. You wouldn't believe how weird my mom gets about shoes."

Gavin had to have heard her, but his head hung limply off his neck, his eyes boring into this dead man he called a friend. Whom he thought he knew as a brother in arms, and perhaps a brother period. The man who in death revealed more about himself than he ever did in life. Rosie gritted her teeth, risking her inner thoughts to dart her eyes over to the woman who could have been playing her the entire time.

She cupped a hand to his arm and whispered, "If you can handle it. I will understand if..."

"No, no, your Majesty," his eyes narrowed upon Anjali. "If it will bring that murderer to the noose, I shall do all I can."

Rosie jerked her head to Anjali and both of them left Myra to do what she did best, and poor Gavin to grieve. Hopefully, her sister could comfort him while she investigated. Once out of the tent, Rosie halfway expected the assassin to kick her in the stomach and make a run for it. But Anjali stood quietly to the side, her hands folded together as in prayer while she stared at the sudden starlight.

"Well," the woman spoke but did not turn to the princess, "I imagine you have questions."

"Beyond counting, but that is my sister's domain. She will be the one to put you to them and word of advice," Rosie reached up on her toes to glare into Anjali's eyes, "I wouldn't play her as you have me. Myra does not go along well."

"I never," her lips flattened, the woman bending at the obvious weight of truth before her, "It doesn't matter what I say. You'll all make up your minds anyway. What shall I do now, _princess_?"

It stung. It shouldn't sting. Rosie should be the one doing the stinging, but she winced at Anjali's frostbitten tone. She didn't want to have her father be right, to have Gavin be right, but the assassin knew something. She knew who Snowy was, and that may be enough of a reason for her to kill him. Perhaps she planned to kill the dwarf, pin the blame on them for the death, then kill Rosie as well.

A knife right to her heart while Rosamund's lips pressed against hers.

Rosamund spun in place to find Ser Daryan huffing from whatever part of the camp she was roused out of. "Knight," Rosie ordered, "take this woman prisoner."

Daryan's eyes darted over to Anjali who wasn't putting up a fuss, but she kept staring at the night's sky instead of her future jailers. "Okay. Why now?" the woman couldn't help but talk back even as she snagged one of Anjali's wrists. Daryan's movements were teetering, ones the assassin could easily take advantage of, but she didn't. She let her hands be bound together, her eyes haunting through the encroaching darkness.

"We fear she may have murdered someone." Daryan snorted at that, as if there could be any other reason. Rosie watched with her wounded heart in her hand as Anjali was shoved into the back by the Knight. The assassin stood still a moment even through the assault, her eyes boring into Rosamund's.

"How long am I to be kept in chains?" Anjali asked.

It was truly up to the Princess in this matter. The dalish owning the lands cared not a whit about their problems. She could have her lover cut down without a thought. Let her anger boil over any sense of justice because it'd be easier than facing the fact that she'd been used.

"If Myra finds any reason to doubt it was you," Rosie bundled her fingers together in thought, "then I shall let you go free."

"And if not...?" Anjali couldn't stop from her cocksure posturing. She tipped her head with a smarmy smile on, but her eyes were those of a wounded and hunted animal.

Rosamund turned away from her and focused on Ser Daryan. "Take her away." The Knight scoffed, shoving Anjali along while Rosie turned to stare out across the purples of the land. She gave no answer because she couldn't think of one, her heart struggling to turn itself to stone.

## Chapter Fifty

### Justice

By day two, Myra had spoken with damn near every person who ever knew a dwarf, never mind the dead one she couldn't escape. Without Qimat around to do her doodlings, Myra was forced to make due with her paltry attempts and spend more time around a rapidly decomposing corpse than she'd like. Her sister talked something up with the Dalish and they spared a few cold runes to try and preserve their mystery dwarf for Myra's investigation, but even the best couldn't compete against full summer. Flies were always circling around the small wagon they loaded the dead man onto, a small tarp the only bit of respectfulness left to him.

Groaning, Myra pinched into her eyes but that wasn't enough to make her notes stop dancing in the weak candlelight. She knocked her hand into her forehead, hoping it'd focus something but there didn't seem to be much point. After two days, more or less, Myra was certain of two things. One, that Snowy was killed by someone no one else in the entire damn caravan could remember seeing. And two, it probably wasn't Anjali who did it. The circumstance was a bit more circumspect than she'd like given how everyone was on edge, but her mom would call it a shut case and have already moved her on to something else.

Yet she couldn't stop picking at the numbers, expecting for a different outcome each time. "Ugh," Myra muttered to herself, "this is getting so bad I'm seeing his dead body in my dreams."

"Excuse me," a voice called out from beyond her tent.

She whipped her head away from the traveling desk Rosie was kind enough to grant her use of. A shadow flitted through the thin canvas, taller than the night and more imposing than a forest fire. Then the hand rubbed against the back of the neck and she knew who it was.

"You can come in, Gavin," Myra called. She glanced around quickly, trying to see if there was anything to hide away but instead of underwear or other girly things she was swamped in murder paraphernalia. Not as much as she'd like, all the blood stain kits were at home, but she made due with some red yarn and a very angry handmaiden. Rather than explain, Myra just yanked off her embroidery of a fox jumping over a log -- real original there -- and used it to try and map the trajectory of the stabbing.

There was no reason to get so cross, Myra wiped most of the blood off before returning it.

When Gavin entered, he kept his head tipped low, his amber eyes wafting over the ground. It'd been a tense few days, no one really certain of what to do with the squire who hauled off and punched a woman. She wasn't really defenseless and she may be a murderer, but...not the best form. Daryan seemed to be hovering between wishing to punish Gavin while also thank him for dealing with the Anjali problem once and for all.

He really wasn't going to like what Myra had to say.

"What have you found?" Gavin began as he had been doing on and off since he helped to carry Snowy's body to the cart. He didn't have to, there were lots of other people willing -- even the other squires, but that damn fool had to do it. Even if it broke his heart while he did.

"Hi to you too. How are you doing? Me? Just great. Up to my elbows in clotted blood, but that's rather typical for a Tuesday..." Myra muttered to herself in annoyance to cover up for a stew of emotions boiling in her gut. Sadness, exhaustion, worry, and a bit of a broken heart. Damn thing should be fine by now, but looking at him like this somehow made it all worse. She wanted to comfort him, the man clearly swallowing down the pain like eating bottles of broken glass, but that would be unseemly.

"Yes," Gavin pinched into the bridge of his nose and lifted his face. He was beyond a wreck. More like an ancient ship crashed into the rocks that was covered in centuries of seagull shit and left to rot by the ocean's salt water. That kind of a wreck.

His eyes sunk in deep, black circling under them as if he hadn't slept in weeks. The color to his cheeks was more grey than his supple brown, and his fluffy lips dangled haphazardly off his mouth as if they were incapable of lifting. "Forgive me, I'm... How are you?"

It was heart breaking to see, the boy doing his damnedest to cling to normalcy while the world went belly up on him. Myra wanted to reach over and hug him, but she kept her hands locked to the desk. "Sorry, it's been a long day. Talked to all the servants and the squires again."

"Why'd you have to speak to them twice?"

"Found a new bit of information, needed conformation. Also to check and see if stories change. Trick my mom..." Myra paused in her boasting, "one of those things we do. A lot of this job is talking, and looking, and so much writing!"

She turned to her piles of scribbles, all of which should really be translated to long hand by now. But Myra was stuck doing this on her own. For a brief moment she thought about recruiting Cailan to help her, but having the interviewer seduce half of the potential witnesses was the opposite of useful.

"I wish my mom was here."

"Me too," Gavin whispered, his arms crossed against his chest.

Myra whipped over at him and she knew he didn't mean Reiss. Forgetting their damn breakup and how fucked up it all was, Myra walked over and put an arm around him. "Gavin..."

"I am fine," he insisted, though his broken voice said otherwise. "I...I merely wish for this to be over. Tell me you have the proof. That we can end the cursed assassin and," the fire blanketed in an instant, Gavin sliding back down, "and put Snowy to rest."

"It's..." she groaned, well aware of how this would go over. To buy her time she sighed, "I can't believe I didn't figure out that Snowy was an alias. Who names their kid that? Shoulda, I should have known. You don't use a false name unless there's more there. If I'd just figured it out, called him on it then maybe. Maybe I'd have been able to..."

"Myra," his hands, unnaturally cold, cupped against her arm. Had he been standing guard over the body again? "It's not your fault."

"I'm supposed to be able to do that shit. To read people. To know what they're going to do or if they're keeping secrets. But no, I was too busy being me. Flitting little butterfly with her head in the clouds. Can't pay a damn lick of attention."

"You didn't kill him," Gavin insisted, his voice dipping to rolling thunder, "The assassin did. Present your evidence to the princess and we can move on."

"Yeah," Myra twisted out of his half hug and turned to her piles of papers, "about that. See..."

"What? What have you found."

With her eyes on the dozens of drawings and mockups she made, Myra spat out fast, "I don't think Anjali did it." When no noise answered her, she risked glancing back to find Gavin's eyes broiling in his skull. He looked like he could tear a hole through her tent just by staring.

"It was her dagger."

"Which can be stolen, planted. Honestly, that makes more sense than an assassin foolishly leaving her marked weapon behind. Practically screams set up, really."

"She could have been interrupted," Gavin's voice was dropping colder than his hands and Myra's spine trembled. At least he wasn't drunk, though his body was teetering a bit.

"I talked to people, no one knew, no one suspected a thing. It's as if the murderer appeared out of nowhere and then poof vanished."

"Like an assassin."

Maker's breath, this shouldn't be so damn hard. Picking up her drawing and best proof, Myra turned to Gavin. "Look," she instructed, jabbing at the parchment which rattled in his grip. "I measured it. I measured freaking everything. Angles, heights, grass depth. There is no way Anjali could have stabbed him, she's too freaking tall. She'd have to have been hunched over like in half. No, more than that. I tried, didn't work. Nothing would work."

His amber eyes of fire darted over the drawings all of which ended in a big fat x over them. Myra had to have Bryn stand in as her dead dwarf, the girl not happy about the morbidness but she feared anyone else would have fucked it up. At least Bryn knew how the agency worked. She did them all, even the idea that Anjali somehow threw the knife while standing. The force wouldn't work and it'd be a one in a million shot. Possible didn't equal probable.

"What about on her knees?" he insisted, not willing to give up on his crusade.

Myra rolled her eyes, "Right, you think this deadly assassin walked on her knees up to the tent and then jabbed her dagger right through an unaware man's spine and throat? People would have spotted her instantly. It'd be hilarious to see."

"She could have done it."

"It doesn't add up," Myra insisted, "I'm sorry, I know you don't like her but..."

"No," he tossed her evidence away and roared, "She must pay for what she's done! I will not allow a murderer to walk free!"

"Nothing I've found, nothing I've seen can point me to her. Only that dagger which was fondled and moved so much I have no idea whose hand it was in that did the deed." It was a long shot but sometimes they could use smells on the grips to give a hint. All she got off that one was leather.

Gavin growled in Myra's face, "She is a monster, dangerous to everyone here. You're not looking hard enough. You're not doing your job right!"

"Fine!" Myra hefted up her piles of work and notes, "You think I'm so bad at this, you do it!" With a shake of her hands, she plopped all the scraps of paper and evidence in his arms.

He sneered at the mess, thumbing against what had to be 16 hour days. Myra was constantly eating while working, bathing while going over numbers, and barely taking the time to go to the bushes. It was a mess in her loopy script and private shorthand but it was all there. Nothing pointed at Anjali. Nothing said she did it. And as much as Myra might not like her, she wasn't about to doom someone to the gallows without proof.

"She...!" Gavin reared up as if he could scare Myra with his stature, but she wasn't backing down either. More than just her reputation was on the line with this, her mother would kill her if she found out she flubbed this one. Suddenly, Gavin's body waned, his arms slipped as all the work tumbled free in an avalanche. Steadying himself before he too hit the ground, he mumbled to himself, "She killed my friend. He's dead..."

"I know."

"There should be justice! A man is dead and...and no one knows, no one cares."

"I blighted well care, about the truth. For the love of the Maker, you cannot want to send an innocent woman to her death," she was pleading with him, her hands clasped together in a prayer. Rather hilarious since the closest Myra came to believing was thinking the chantry robes were kinda pretty.

She knew Gavin was different. He didn't make a thing about it, but he'd pray sometimes with her around. Little ones, thanking the Maker or asking Andraste for guidance. Maybe that was what he needed now, the cool head of a chantry sister to calm the fire in him.

Closing his eyes he breathed, "There is no way that woman is innocent, blood is on her hands."

"But it's not your job to punish her for it. Can't you see, Maker damn it all! You're too close to this, too close to him. There's something else going on here, something big. And if we hang Anjali, which seems to be what the real killer wants, then they win. They get off free. Is that what you want?"

He turned away from her, his head hung low. Myra risked skirting her fingers along his shoulders. Gavin didn't react, or twist around to maul her in his pain. He sunk deeper in regret. "Snowy will be avenged but by doing it the right way."

Gavin snorted, "I don't even know his real name. What right do I have going around calling him my friend?"

"People keep secrets. Sometimes to protect themselves, sometimes to protect others," Myra muttered. There'd been more than a few cloaked individuals who spent a night at the agency before being shipped off to their new home out in Ferelden's boonies. She wondered sometimes just how much her mother shielded her from, the darkness always thicker outside the door.

"It doesn't mean he didn't care for you. Snowy was...he liked you. He wanted to help you, all the time. He..." Myra choked up a moment, her memory trailing back to the dwarf that was often smiling at the side of his eyes. He seemed so full of life and without a thought, without warning, he was dead.

Gavin turned to look at her over his shoulder. Blinking madly, Myra tried to shake away the tears, but he was too busy staring at the mound of evidence at their feet to notice. After taking it all in, he breathed, "I...I apologize for my outburst. You are doing what you think is best. And I should remember that. If you have your reasons for protecting Anjali then I..."

Skirting her fingers along his cheek, Myra tried to lift his eyes to hers. "Gavin? I don't give two figs about her. It's you I'm worried about. You're mad right now, I understand. But when that fades, and it will, how will you feel if you learned you doomed a woman that didn't commit the crime?"

His face melted in her grip, the eyes that'd been of fire quenched to honey while his lips risked a rare rise from the etched on sneer. Sliding a hand to the back of hers, he whispered, "Thank you, for caring enough." This would be the time to kiss him, to make him know that she...she hadn't moved on. Somedays Myra wondered if she ever would.

But Gavin slipped his hand free, Myra's tumbling off his cheek to land to the side. Bleary eyed he began to shamble to the door, but his torso swayed worse than before. "Are you all right?"

"Hm?"

"You're more tipsy than anyone should be unless they finished off the bottle of koomtra and got the slug."

"Ah," he tried to steady himself by drawing his fingers down his chest but that only increased the bobbing. "I have not been sleeping well. At all, really."

"Nightmares?" It wasn't too surprising, he was taking this really hard.

He took in a slow breath and shut his eyes, "I try to not see it, but it's always there, even with my eyelids closed."

"What?"

"The blood stain. The tear where the dagger struck through. I see it and I remember that he's, that I... It is no matter." He tried to wave it off, but Myra snatched onto his hand, her hackles raising.

"Wait? You mean the actual blood stain? Snowy's blood?" Gavin limply nodded his head to her questions. "Blighted hell, why are you still in that tent?!"

"There were no other openings available and Ser Daryan did not deem it worthy..."

"Fuck her!" Myra shouted. Gavin winced at her either cursing or cursing out his knight but she didn't care. To leave him in the tent where his friend died? To have to sit there watching with his imagination as Snowy bled out over and over and over. She was a monster.

Glancing over at her bedroll, Myra said the first thought to pop into her head, "Stay here with me."

His eyes flared open wide, Gavin trying to scoot back. "Myra, I know that things are complicated but..."

"Not like that," she rolled her eyes at the thought, then softened her tone. "You look like the walking dead. You need sleep. There's plenty of room here. I doubt Bryn will mind and you're rather clean for a boy."

He snickered a moment at that, "Thank you."

"Stay, for the love of the Maker, sleep. You need it badly," she could see the marks now. His eyes kept drooping when he wasn't about to rip someone's throat out, and his hands hung limply at his sides. He looked about to fall onto his ass with a single push.

"Here," Myra tugged on his hand and he dutifully followed, "take my pallet."

"What? Now? I'm still in..." he looked down at his soiled livery and sighed.

Myra would brook no excuses, gently shoving Gavin to the bedroll that waited for him. His backside struck first, practically forming into the blanket she made her own. With a sigh, his head tipped back onto her pillow. Instead of her ocher-gold hair spilling off it, it nestled his felt-like black curls. Nodding, Myra stepped back while he curled up into a potential bliss, when Gavin suddenly cracked open an eye.

"Where will you sleep?"

"I have a ton of work to do, and I'm sure I can figure something out. My sister's kinda in charge if you didn't hear," Myra smiled bringing a flitting one to him. It didn't last long, Gavin struggling to maintain his grip on the waking world. As she walked away, he slipped off to the fade hopefully where the dreams would be pleasant. He deserved a good night's rest.

Shuffling up her papers, Myra hefted it all back to the desk. In the morning, she'd make her presentation to Rosie. Her sister would be easy to convince, it was the advisors, Karelle in particular, and that bitch of a knight who'd make it difficult. Good thing her mom and dad raised her to do what was right even if everyone around her was a blighted idiot.

"Myra," his voice cut through the dark air. She didn't turn to it, but she did lift her head. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"I mean about me and you..."

A sob stopped up in her throat and she bent her head down over her work. For a moment she glanced back at the boy in a man's body stretched across her bed. "Yeah," she whispered. Perhaps he was already asleep, perhaps he'd never hear her response. "Me too."

## Chapter Fifty-One

### Cold Truth

"And that's the long and short of what I found. The end. This is where you all clap or gasp in amazement," her sister finished her presentation with her eyes darting over the assembled group of most important.

Rosie sat upon her throne attempting to appear in charge while her head throbbed. Against all common sense she was up late into the evening trying to foolishly dig through information while someone was kind enough to refill her goblet with wine. Over and over and over. She didn't realize how drunk she was until she stumbled straight on into Cailan's tent, nearly knocking it over.

"So," Rosie began, shifting her feet as if she was thinking of rising but flinching against the idea, "you have no evidence to point to Anjali as the murderer of...Blessed Andraste, do we know his real name yet?"

She whipped her head over at Karelle who was very pinched mouthed from the moment the full breadth of the problem was brought to her. It was obvious she wished to get the King's attentions, which Rosie wouldn't argue against, but time was of the essence and Denerim was weeks away. They were on their own.

"I suspect, based upon age and general descriptors of the young man's appearance that," Karelle sighed, her fingers darting over the piles of papers they managed to scrounge up on the royal dwarven family, "he was Vedrick Harrowmant, third son to their Queen who currently leads the remaining dwarves upon the surface."

"Oh no," Rosie groaned, tipping her head back.

"Yes, my Lady. I fear we have inadvertently caused the death of a dwarven prince."

She feared such a possibility the closer and closer they grew to a solution. The dwarven royal line was larger than hers, but the great number of cousins seemed less and less likely to be invested with such a dagger. It screamed high royalty as all things did with the dwarf caste system. And anyone who dared to touch such a weapon might be stripped of their title and cast out.

"It is possible that he received it as a gift, or even stole the dagger," Rosie began, hoping to talk her way out of this huge mess.

Beside their prisoner growled the dead eyed squire. Gavin was often darting around Anjali to keep an eye on her, clearly hoping to take his pound of flesh for the loss of a companion. It was surprising that Myra pointed only to another guilty party out there, instead of backing up her lover. Perhaps she was taking after her sister in this matter.

"The real issue is not who he is, or how close to the crown he may claim, but who killed him in the first place," Ser Daryan sniped. It was a wonder she hadn't already built a gallows to dangle Anjali from. Her eyes cut over to the assassin who had spoken little since Snowy was found dead. The fact she refused to even explain what could have happened froze Rosie to the core. Only the guilty behave in such a manner, but Myra...

"It was a...cute performance by a wanna-be guard," Daryan began, extending a hand to Myra who hissed like a cat. "But the fact remains her dagger was found impaled through the victim. It's been nothing but a farce pretending it could be anyone else."

"For the love of..." Myra cried, "Do you want me to go over all the evidence again? Cause I can. See, first off timing. Most everyone puts Anjali with the royal court...or whatever you all call yourselves out here. The royal flush? At the time of the murder."

Daryan folded her arms, her head cocked to the side as if she was waiting for Myra to finish talking before she'd gut Anjali herself.

"Second, the angles are all wrong. No way a woman of her height did it. I'd guess someone three and a half to four feet tall."

"Yet no other dwarf was wandering around our caravan. You seem to be plucking assumptions from thin air," Daryan interrupted.

"Thin air? Thin blighted air? I've been... Here," Myra stomped down from her little platform to the knight. "Give me your dagger, I'll show you just how it works." She waved her fist at the knight who merely chuckled from the thinner girl's threat.

"Myra," Rosie chastised, her sister whipping to her like a viper.

"What?!"

"I believe you," she said, her sister's bile dampening a moment as she bobbed her head. Rosie knew how much work Myra put into this, and the seeming miracles she and her mother could perform. If Myra thought Anjali was innocent then... She didn't kill the dwarf. The idea of her being truly innocent of the entire issue was proving harder for Rosie to swallow.

"Do you, Squire Gavin, accept Myra's evidence and my ruling?"

With no family to stand in for Prince Vedrick/Snowy, Gavin volunteered. He would be the one to rail hardest should the proof not stand up. "Yes, your Majesty." His shaggy head tipped down in a minor bow, "I do."

"This is..." Daryan began, but Rosie cut her off.

"And Karelle, I assume you share the same thoughts as my father on the matter."

"He'd trust his daughters if that's what you're getting at," the chamberlain snickered.

"Then, it is my duty to declare Anjali not guilty of the charge of attacking and murdering our squire. Please, Ser Daryan, release her from her chains."

The Knight grumbled deep in her chest, no doubt wanting to lash forward to browbeat Rosamund until she let her use her fists to the solve the problem, but she was wise enough to do as told. Lifting up Anjali's wrists, Daryan jabbed a key in to unlock the manacles.

"There is yet one matter, on the case of Squire Gavin assaulting a member of my court," Rosamund began, her eyes narrowing upon the boy who looked as if he'd already had the world split on his shoulders. After a breath, he lifted his head and stared dead ahead for his punishment.

"Pst," Myra began, hopping towards her.

"For attacking with limited cause..."

"Pst, Rosie," she waved a hand and dipped towards her ear.

"Yes Myra, what is it?"

Myra tipped down to whisper right in Rosie's ear, "Go easy on him, okay. He...he took Snowy's death real hard. They were really close, like brothers and...I think he went a bit loopy at having to be the one to find him like that."

Spinning over to her sister, Rosie sighed, "I understand you want to protect your boyfriend, Myra, but..." The thought died at her sister shrinking deep into her collar, the color in her cheeks paling to an ice white. "What is it?"

"We're not, it's...we're not a thing anymore. Weren't before the dwarf got ganked. I'm not asking because of that. Just," her lips whiffled in a sigh, "he's had a hard week, and I don't think he deserves to be hurt for it."

"Myra..." she began, reaching to try and comfort her sister. How did she not know that they sundered? Did anyone else...perhaps no one even knew they were a couple before it ended.

But her sister was in no mood for it, her hands sliding behind her back as her voice lifted in a joke, "I mean, she hit him first, right? Only seems fair. That's all I'm saying." Ending her thoughts, Myra strolled away from Rosie towards the circle where she presented her evidence.

"Squire Gavin," Rosie rose out of her chair now to look upon the man. Myra was right, he did appear as if someone eviscerated him and left the innards dangling in the trees out of reach. Pity swirled inside of Rosamund and her tone melted, "you shall be punished by being required to keep a guard upon Prince Vedrick's body."

"Ma'am?" he tipped his head, so lost he forgot all the honorifics afforded to her.

"Make certain he remains safe until, until we put him to rest. However one does that for dwarves. This is a punishment for what you did to Anjali without cause. Understand?"

"Yes, your Majesty," he bent his head low in a bow, but from the corner of his eyes he glanced over at Myra who was smiling at him. Whatever caused their breakup the two didn't seem to be fully on the outs. A curious question. Exhausted and wishing to curl up under a wet cloth, Rosie turned back to her seat, when a voice called out.

"The stone," Cailan was perched upon the writing desk, having absconded it back from Myra the moment she no longer needed it. "Dwarves are returned to the stone, though that doesn't really work up here."

"My lady," Karelle began, causing the dread in Rosie's stomach to rise. The Chamberlain had known them all too long to go throwing around titles without cause. "We have no rights to decide what to do with the man's corpse."

Rosie nodded her head. They could burn it, give him a proper Andrastian funeral and conveniently forget there was ever a Snowy squire in the ranks. Perhaps let a rumor slip that he vanished on the road from the caravan. Bury the dagger, or sell it to a merchant in another country. Leave the family wondering what happened to him with no answer from anyone.

"We need to return him to his people," Rosamund said, the easy answer leaving her mind instantly.

"Your Highness," Karelle gasped, her head shaking at the enormity of it.

"Are you out of your flipping mind?" Cailan glanced up. "You want to waltz right into dwarven territories, who are not happy with anyone ever, and present the dead son of the Queen right to his people?"

"His mother deserves to know," Rosie turned to her brother whose eyes were practically bulging at the thought.

"This is preposterous," Daryan shouted. "They will cut you down the moment you approach. There is no recognized sovereignty within their stolen lands. They care nothing for Ferelden's law nor its throne."

"Then," Rosie twisted her head, trying to suck in a breath to steady herself, "it is up to you to find us a safe way to present the body. I will not leave a people wondering what happened to their prince, nor a mother crying for her lost son."

She shouted the last sentence, the words ringing through the tent struggling to keep out a misting rain. With a throbbing head and jaw, Rosie glanced around at her people. Karelle was silent but locked off, Daryan looked as if she wished to rip her princess' throat out, Cailan as always seemed pensive but game, Myra and Gavin were both smiling and proud. Anjali was the only question, her head dangling down and eyes shut while she let the words wash over her.

"Rossie, I don't know if..."

"What if it was our mother?" she turned to Cailan, needing at least her brother on her side.

He sighed and shrugged, "All right, we're gonna go say hi to the dwarves. Delightful. I so look forward to the neck cramp."

Relaxing the grit in her teeth, Rosie turned to Karelle, "Can you make it happen?"

"My Lady..."

"Can you?"

"Yes," Karelle said, "but we'll have to move fast. Anymore decay to the body could make it appear as if we were waffling about doing the right thing. And I will be informing your father."

"I'd already intended to send a few ravens. Hopefully they will meet us on the road there. Squire Gavin," she turned to the man still staring limply at his bruised hands, "Can you prepare the body for travel? Make it as respectful as possible, please."

"Yes, your Majesty. Right away!" he moved to dart from the tent, when Daryan snatched onto his arm. It would have been no problem for him to shake her off, but he froze in his tracks.

"This is madness, you are aware? Marching into an unfriendly's fortified camp with the dead body of one of their leaders. Who, I might add, was murdered by our negligence. They will kill you on the spot."

Rosie locked in her spine, doing her best to not appear at all scared by the proposition before her. The dwarves used to be rather amenable to the occasional diplomatic visit. Then their entire city crumbled, their civilization split in half, and they were reduced to scraping away within Ferelden borders. Rather than flee to the cities, they set up where the deepest hole emerged -- most of their people keeping locked away from any intervention.

Still, it was within both the King's and future Queen's rights to visit their own land. The dwarves were never granted it, only took it by right of...of having nowhere else to go. Rather than face the headache, her father let them have it, even if the only response he got for his troubles was a lot of spit and an axe with the words "Go Away" carved in it. Maybe it was time to change that. They'd have to work together eventually.

"The only way we will know, Ser Knight, is if we try. You have my orders," Rosie ordered, glancing around at her people. Karelle was first to scoop up her work while Myra and Gavin both vanished -- perhaps to help prepare the dwarven prince together. Maker, she hoped this was the right call.

While all around her turned into a flurry, with Ser Daryan cursing under her breath and marching towards her people, a lone tree stood still. Anjali finally lifted her head, her eyes cutting through Rosie as she took a deep breath. Right. There was _that_ discussion to be yet had. Tipping her head to the assassin and her lover, Rosamund walked away from her throne and out into the misting rain. She knew Anjali would follow without having to say a word.

Water beaded up on her skin, Rosie regretting her choice to forgo a cloak the longer she stepped away from her tent. She needed to speak with the assassin, with the woman she let into her bed without a thought, but her eyes kept hunting through the sky. There was no thunderous roll, no crash of lightning. This was a storm that clung to your skin and smothered you in its wet embrace.

The forest came alive, woody smells of the trees and blanket of leaves awakening in the pressing rain around them. Rosie turned to smell that, getting a hint of a flower in the mass, when she spotted Anjali with a set to her jaw and her eyes hooded. Her tongue fumbled as she spat out, "I had no choice but to keep you imprisoned until..."

"No," the assassin tipped her head and began to knot her headscarf tighter, "it was a good one. After all, wouldn't want anyone to wonder now, would we?"

Rosamund glared at her, "Is this the part where you try to infuriate me by acting as if it's all my fault because you're too cowardly to confess what part you really had to play in it?"

She breathed in fast a moment, her eyes darting around in surprise at getting called out so quickly, "Your sister..."

"Says you didn't wield the dagger, true. But you came here under the pretense of protecting a royal family. You knew, didn't you? You knew who that dwarf was."

Rosamund spotted the change in her the second Anjali's eyes fell upon Snowy, her sneer from Gavin attacking her changing to one of quiet contemplation. She didn't even make a fuss about Daryan tying her into a sitting position for the whole night, just let it happen. No smart ass comments, no biting wit. The fight was sucked out of her before anyone even tried.

"No," Anjali said, her lips pursing in the water, "No, I didn't know who he was. Not until he wound up dead, then it..."

"Tell me about the murderer," Rosie leaned closer, her breath fuming in the high humidity. It smoked out of her nostrils as if she was about to breathe fire upon Anjali. She was getting very tired of people making a fool out of her. She never imagined it'd be her...whatever she was who'd do it as well.

Clearly not wanting to talk, Anjali leaned back and groaned. But Rosie was tired of it all. The posturing, the playing, she should have pressed upon this from day one. "You know her, she clearly means something to you. More than you're letting on." Rosie tried to hide the hurt in her voice but it was obvious, her eyes stinging in the sleeting mist.

"Sapheela, it is not what you assume," Anjali began to reach for her, but Rosie backed away. The fingers she'd delighted in before were razor wire to her mind now. "Yes, she is important but the way a friend is. Nothing more. I am capable of having friends I am not involved with."

"No," Rosie shook her head. "No more of your half truths or your non answers. She is more than a friend, otherwise you wouldn't have been protecting her this whole time. Talk, now."

The woman spat out a string of Rivaini which ended with, "You are lucky you are so beautiful or my head would split in half. Very well, as you cannot stop pecking. Yes, she is...important to me, but not in how you assume."

Anjali began to pace back and forth, her boots wearing into the muddied ground and tearing up sod. Their entire campsite would be a mud pit if this rain continued any longer. "Tenna is, was, my...ah, underling? Apprentice? You don't have a comparable word. I found her when she was nothing but skin and bones, not even a coin to her name. She was scrabbling in the dirt, taking whatever filthy job she could, and I...I pitied her. I wanted to help her."

Umber eyes bored into Rosie's, daring her to call her on that, but she acquiesced. A mentor/apprentice relationship was possible, though those could become love just as easily as anything else. "So, I taught her, trained her in the only thing I knew."

"You know more than killing."

"Ha," Anjali laughed a moment, her skin beading up like black diamonds in the rain. "Yes, a dwarf would work well as a Seer. Perhaps she could have taken my mother's place, though they'd have to take in the robes a bit."

"Why didn't you tell us she was a dwarf? We could have been on the lookout for one."

Anjali shrugged, "It did not matter, you'd never see her. That's Tenna's speciality, she vanishes. I don't really know how she does it myself, and I've worked jobs with her. She's just there one minute then gone the next. But it was me who taught her how to hold a blade, how to scissor quickly through spines. To leave a mark mute so as to draw as little attention as possible."

Her story paused as she tipped her head up to the rain, her eyes closed while water beaded upon the lids. "I may not have wielded the knife, but that man's death was my fault. If I'd never taken Tenna in, nursed her back to health, invited her to the Scarlet Ribbons then...Blessed Andraste, none of this would have happened."

"She chose it, she did it. Not you," Rosie insisted but Anjali's eyes opened to smile dolefully at her childishness. A burn rose upon her cheeks, Rosie shifting uncomfortably from the knot in her stomach. "Why? Why do that? Frame you? Is she trying to strike back at you?"

"You think there was a falling out. No, I wish. Perhaps I'd have been faster to stop her."

"Then why steal your dagger? Why use it to kill Snowy?" These were all questions Myra should have put to her. Rosie paled and turned away. More than likely her sister did, but Anjali wouldn't speak to anyone. She should have been the one to ask her these things, weeks back.

"Because she needed me out of the picture. The love, I'm afraid, only goes one way. I didn't even realize she was using me for her own plans until I saw the dead dwarf. Truly, Sapheela, I swear I thought she intended to harm you or your brother. I feared she intended to begin Chaos."

"Chaos?" Rosie pinched into her eyes, growing weary of all this cloak and dagger business.

"In the event one decides to destroy all of civilization, an old concept drawn up by the great thinkers of our lands. There are plans out there for who to take out and in what order to cripple thedas. Seed fear and distrust, then let it grow. Ferelden happened to be first on it."

"Well," she smiled wider, "that's surprising."

"I would not take it as a compliment. The lesser houses are offed first so there is none to provide succor, nor complaint when the greater are bumped off." At that Rosie sneered at Anjali. "Do not blame me, I didn't create it."

"So it's not me she's after, nor Cailan, or even my father." The thought rattled Rosie. She wasn't in any danger, and hadn't been this whole trip aside from the darkspawn. That should make her smile and lift a weight off her chest, but her heart felt languid and a new concern marred her brow. If this other assassin did not care about Rosamund, then why would her assassin stick around?

Anjali began to fiddle with the lockpicks under her headscarf. Rosie could have ordered them removed but she figured if the woman wanted to escape, it was better to lose her than keep her around. "No, I...I guessed wrong. I suppose I saw the beautiful princess and assumed...I don't know why. There was only one thing Tenna ever wanted, the only thing she ever talked about."

"What?"

"Vengeance," Anjali shook her head. "Assassins, proper ones, are supposed to be above such things. They'd prattle on about it in Orlais nonstop, but in the Ribbons anything that gets you up in the morning is fine by us. We didn't, no, I didn't notice. Didn't care."

"On who? Who is she after? The dwarven royals?"

"Yes. Because," Anjali's eyes darted around the grey sky, her lips popping as she breathed, "they're her family. Tenna's one of the seven children of Harrowmant."

"Why? Why would she want to kill her...her brothers and sisters?"

"And mother, she was very focused on that one. Damn near every night it was whispered plans on how to destroy her mother," Anjali groaned. "I was such a fool."

"You didn't answer my question," Rosie folded her arms, growing exhausted with the constant run around.

"Because I don't have one. I didn't ask. I didn't care. I thought I'd teach her to kill, she'd find a new home with the Ribbons and forget all that vengeance shit. It was on the other side of thedas, for Andraste's grace! Why would anyone be so driven to blow up their life for...that."

Somewhere out there was a murderous, assassin-trained dwarf who could vanish in an instant that planned on destroying the entire dwarven royal family. Was it so she could be Queen? That seemed a stretch, no one would follow her while she was covered in her family's own blood. And why was she even banished in the first place? Why was there one that wound up a squire hiding inside their army? Rosamund kept winding up with more questions than answers.

"Sapheela," Anjali shook her from her thoughts as she cupped their hands together. Even with rain pelting from the frozen clouds, heat radiated up Rosie's prickly fingers while umber eyes stared right into hers.

"This is a problem," Rosie said, her mind churning over potential answers.

"Yes, mine."

The princess' mouth dropped open in shock, her eyes widening as Anjali began to step backwards. But Rosie didn't give up easily. She dug her fingers in and followed, "What do you mean yours?"

"Tenna is...I fear she might be beyond redemption. I'd hoped to make her see reason, but she killed him. She stabbed her own brother in the back without thought, without pause, and no one here stopped her, saw her."

"So what? We work together."

"See the light not the fire," Anjali muttered another of her Rivaini idioms to herself. She shook her head and groaned, "It is my fault, my problem to fix. Not yours. If you become involved, if she were to hurt you..." Anjali cupped her hand around Rosie's cheek, her fingers tugging the princess closer. She should fight it, be mad, but Rosie let herself stumble forward, her forehead pressing into Anjali's lush lips.

After a long kiss, the assassin whispered against her skin, "I could not live with myself if I put you in that predicament."

"And I have no say in that? In any of this?" Rosie snapped back, yanking her hands free. Rain water was beading up so thick she could feel it dripping in rivulets from the top of her head down her cheeks. The chill radiated up her spine that could only be broken by a fire rising in her gut.

"Sapheela..."

"Stop! Stop using words of...you cannot treat me as if I am something special in one breath, then walk away in the other."

Her eyes closed tight, Anjali wincing as she whispered, "I am walking away because you are special."

"Horse shit!" Rosamund cursed, causing the woman to snap back in surprise. "You're scared, and you think that if you do this alone it will turn you into a hero or a martyr, but that's stupid. Idiotic. Foolhardy! Work with us, help us. Give us direction to flush out your friend. If we go in with a plan, we can protect the royal family. We can stop her before anyone else is hurt."

Anjali paused, a hand to her lips as she watched Rosamund practically begging. She had the princess of Ferelden nearly on her hands and knees pleading with her to stay because...because she didn't want to go back to the emotionless, frozen heart she had before. She couldn't lose her.

"You are excellent at debate, but know nothing of this dirty business," her head hung down. "I thank you for your time, Princess, and your attentions." With her torso bent in a bow, the assassin began to walk backwards away from Rosamund.

"Anjali!" Rosie shouted, but the woman didn't rise. She didn't turn from watching her either, umber eyes honing in on the Princess that kept shouting her name louder. In the misty fog of the rain, it only took another four cries of her name before the assassin vanished from Rosie's view.

She should go after her, drag her back, make her help.

She'd hate you for it.

Good. So what? What's a little hate if it protects the royal family?

_Anjali...  _

Closing her eyes tight, Rosie tipped her head back to the sky. Rain built its house of water upon her face, the purity cleansing away tears rolling off her. You knew it couldn't last. It was a moment, a tryst in the woods. Nothing more.

Certainly nothing more to her.

"My Lady," a voice called beside Rosamund and she snapped her head down fast to turn to it.

Karelle stood there far above her, extending a towel to protect Rosie from the rain. "Your father would have a fit if you caught your death in this. Come, let's get you inside before you freeze."

She nodded, her heart buried deep inside a locked chest where no one would touch it, and no one could see all the cracks shattering it to pieces. "Karelle," Rosie spoke while clinging to the old Chamberlain's arm for guidance.

"Yes?"

Turning over her shoulder, Rosie tried to pierce through the mist to see a brown shadow but all that remained was grey fog lapping against the desolate horizon. "I want us on the road by tomorrow. We need to warn the dwarven Queen that she's in terrible danger."

## Chapter Fifty-Two

### Wolf's Bite

All she could hear through the swishing of the trees was a voice calling for something. There were no obvious words, but the intent was there -- wanting attention and growing more indignant for not receiving it. Rosamund didn't much care at the moment, her fingers drifting up and down a small sprig of herbs. She wanted to pretend she wandered away from their caravan to pick them, but in truth she had no idea they were here.

At least her selecting a knife off the rack served some purpose, as she exhumed the thick and sticky stems. With a quick slice, Rosie lifted the fragrant herb that smelled of licorice and bore tiny, white flowers. At that she paused, her lips falling into a frown while she glared at the poor sprig as if it too betrayed her without thought.

The voice was growing closer, more easily finding her. She could move on, deeper into the woods to have a few more moments to herself. For three days she had to act as if everything was fine. They'd allow a bit of concern about whatever political maelstrom they were about to walk into, and maybe even a tear or two for their deceased squire but anything more drew questions from those around her. In particular, they wondered why the princess' dour turns seemed to coincide with an assassin vanishing into the fog.

"Rossie!"

Blinking off her hazy focus upon the white flowers, she whipped her head up in surprise. No 'My Lady' or 'Your Majesty.' That could only mean two people were chasing her down on foot. As she turned away from the dip into an underground cave, Rosie eyed up Myra with her cheeks pink and hair tugged back tight in ribbons.

"My," she began, before scrunching up her face and trying to lift her voice to something approaching happy. It wouldn't reach that high, but anything was better than eternal sorrow. "What are you doing out here?"

Her sister skidded to a halt, a hand wrapped around a stick she must have plucked from the ground. "Er, I was gonna ask you that. Wait, did you do that on purpose?"

Rosie shrugged, but couldn't deny a small smile at the thought.

"You know too many trixsy moves from all those fancy political schools."

"Not enough, I fear," she mumbled, her heart barely thudding in her chest. The tears festered inside of her rotting like rancid milk because she couldn't let them out. If anyone knew, if anyone cared, they'd care a great deal about this. And they'd be...disappointed in her choices. For certain.

Myra, as flippant as a sunbeam, drifted around the small glenn. She jabbed at a few of the similar herbs with her stick before turning to Rosie. "Are you taking clippings? What in thedas for?"

"Every little bit helps," she whispered, already bent over to slice off another.

"Well, yeah, but you know what that is?"

"Elfsbane," Rosie smiled from her botany lesson before turning over to her half-blood sister. "It's...it doesn't really hurt elves."

"Duh," Myra sidled closer, "be right silly if a tiny plant could do something to a full grown person. Unless it's poisonous, but then... Why's it called that?"

"Superstition. People thought that hanging it around your windows and doors would prevent elves from breaking into your home."

At that she snorted and rolled her eyes harder, "Sure. It's the elves ya got to look out for. Not like the humans are gonna take all your stuff and kick you to the alienage and be all -- you should be grateful! I mean, um..."

Rather than let her dangle, Rosie sighed, "I understand. Though aren't you more human than not?"

"Sorta-ish. I forget how it all is supposed to work. Doesn't mean I can't care, though."

"You have that luxury," she muttered rolling the elfsbane into her pocket to save for later. It wasn't good for much beyond adding a bit of spice to tea. Whatever affect it supposedly had on elves must have been back in the old days because none cared now.

"So..." Myra bounced back and forth on her heels, "I can't help but notice there's someone missing from the ol' royal train coming 'round the mountain. If we had a mountain, aside from the Frostbacks. We should get more mountains."

Rosie wanted to whip her head away in annoyance, but it was difficult with her sister. Perhaps that was why, despite Myra being the bastard, born of the only woman the King loved, that Rosamund and Cailan couldn't hate her. She was so much like their father not just in face but thought, words. He'd have done the same in her place here, obfuscated with some silly comment about nothing in particular. And all his children adored him for it.

"What of you?" Rosie tried to turn the scrutiny back, but Myra didn't understand.

"Pretty sure I'm still in the caravan, unless this is your way of kicking me out."

She said it with a laugh, but there was always that otherness clinging to her. Neither elf nor human. Neither legitimate nor hidden bastard. Myra was confounding in so many ways. "I mean...your heart and it's," Rosie sucked in a breath at the word. "I should not have brought up the heart."

"Yeah," Myra thudded a fist to her chest, "feels like I got kicked by a mule. And a healthy one too, not like the sickly thing Bann Loren had when I was little. What about you?"

"I'm fine," Rosie said so fast Myra folded her arms and glared. She may have received many things from their father, but her glare was not one of them. Hers cut to the quick like green acid. "As well as I can be."

"What happened?"

"In truth, I don't know," she'd gone over it numerous times in her mind, trying to understand where everything fell apart. What she could have done differently, how she could have convinced Anjali to stay. With her? With the caravan? Why? Because she...

"You were in pretty deep, huh?" Myra asked, her normally flighty voice weighed down in its mirrored pain.

Rosie began to shake her head no, but with each twist it pivoted until she was emphatically agreeing. She didn't want to be. It was a moment here and there, nothing more. Not as if she'd dreamed of umber eyes examining her naked body, or waited in anticipation for each touch of soft crimson lips. That would be foolish.

Congratulations, Princess Rosamund. You crowned yourself the fool.

Wiping a hand under her nose, she focused on her sister instead, "You were as well."

"Yeah," Myra flinched, not happy about having herself so exposed to anyone, "I guess. I dunno. I just..."

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Rosie extended a hand she should have before. How long had her sister been hiding the breakup from her, from everyone?

"Not really."

"It's good to cleanse the soul."

Green eyes rolled at her, her sister glaring at the phony aphorism. "Maybe, but...it's complicated stuff."

"He didn't," Rosie reached over to wrap a protective hand around her sister, "there wasn't any pressure?"

Snorting, Myra laughed, "From Gavin? Because he's sooo the type."

"Then you...?"

"No, he did it. Sort of. It's...complicated, okay. Look, I get you're trying to be all big sister to distract yourself but I'm good. Not great, but fine. Talked it all out with Bryn."

Myra was trying to smile it away, but Rosie frowned deeper. Her elven friend wasn't even kin, but that was who Myra treated as her sister. Even called her as such. So while Rosie was left in the dark, Myra ran to her friend and bared her heart and pain.

Staggering back, Rosie tried to brush off a silly tear clinging in her eyes at the thought. Myra caught on quick, her locked off stance fading to concern, "Shit, Rossie, what is it? Her?"

"No," she licked her lips, feeling more wounded than it should be possible for a heart to be and still remain beating. "I thought...I understand, no I don't. Do you think me so cold and uncaring that I wouldn't care to talk about you -- help you when you're in pain?"

"Ah shit, no, that ain't it at all." Myra stamped around, easily kicking apart a few seedlings that barely took root. "It's just, you were busy with stuff. You're always busy with stuff, important crown stuff, and I didn't want..."

Six years was a great gulf of difference for the two. While Rosie was figuring out schooling and forming friendships, Myra was mastering walking and how to put food in her mouth. By the time Myra reached the point of talking and building her personality, Rosamund was off to various finishing schools. Though their father would sometimes stop by and bring his other children as well, it was for brief spurts. And Myra, the little girl with the big blond curls was always running off and getting into trouble.

She hoped that as they grew older the differences would shrink, and maybe she'd be more than an occasional groan and object of authority for her sister. Perhaps that was never to be the case no matter what she did.

"I can't," Myra sputtered out, breaking Rosamund from her glare, "talk about what really happened. It's...it's--"

"Complicated?"

"Yes, and also bad. Not that he did anything bad, or I did. Just...a secret, kinda thing."

"Does your elven sister know?"

"Some of it," Myra confessed before wincing, "but not all. I don't, just trust me, okay. I didn't think you'd want to have to listen to me bawling my eyes out, or going on and on in despair, so..."

She drew her tongue over her teeth seeming to count them in thought. "I figured you were too busy with your girlfriend to want to simmer in my sadness."

Rosie gulped in the air, her head dropping low, "The Maker has a way of humbling us."

"Shit, Ros, you didn't need no humbling. Ah crap, do not tell me you're taking this as a sign."

"Why not? Is that not how I should read it?"

"What? Fucking no. Come on, you were with one girl. One. There's like...okay, I don't know how many girls are out there, but a lot. I could ask Lunet when I get back to Denerim cause she'd know, much to her wife's consternation."

Rosie couldn't stop the laugh at her sister's attempt to race in tell her to buck up. It was so genuine, Myra truly thinking that all she needed was another pretty face to revive her heart. "The old there's plenty of fish in the sea routine?"

"Okay, a mermaid might be tricky, but I heard of a guy up north..." she began before cracking a smile. "Don't, just keep out here with us, okay."

"Myra, I don't have a blighted clue what you're talking about."

"That's fair, I'm not sure myself. But I'm tired of crying, of curling into a ball and doing my best to not act like it feels like someone slapped me in the side of the head."

"As if all the color of your world's been drained."

"Your stomach's trying to puke itself," she nodded.

"And happiness is as impossible as walking on a cloud."

"Ya know," Myra jabbed at the air, "you could try to walk on a cloud, but I think you'd get one step before woooosh. Aaahh. Boom."

Rosie sighed, wanting to throw her arms around her sister. She knew Myra's thoughts on such family contact and settled for a half hug instead, "There are other boys out there too."

"Maybe," Myra muttered, "none as cute as him though."

"On that I shall have to take your word."

"You have to at least give me he's got pretty lips. Super pretty lips, that are warm and squishy, but strong too..." her head hung down to her chest and she groaned, "And I just made myself feel worse. Great."

Crimson tattoos that crisscrossed her body, hips that curled outward towards a supple bottom. Calves thin but powerful that ended in long and lean feet with surprisingly cute little nails, rounded like plump kittens. Oh Maker. She was in deeper than she feared.

"I wish I could mourn, cry, do all that stuff you mentioned," Rosie blubbered, wanting to be free of all of this mess, "But..."

"Are all them standing around ladies giving you shit for it?"

"They don't know, aside from Tess, but she's playing along with the others."

Myra extended a hand as if she had plans to take over the entire forest, "Here's what we do. First, we steal a bottle of booze from the stores."

"I'm princess. I don't need to steal."

"Psh, and I'm the bastard daughter who the King let's get away with murder. I could walk right up to the steward and say, 'give me that bottle.' The stealing's the fun part. Then we get drunk, cry over some really treacly story. Bryn has a few."

Rosie snorted at the thought, "My ladies in standing are practically drowning in them. Which heartache do you want? Chevalier who is promised to another, Chevalier who's a total arse the whole time but she loves him anyway, or Chevalier who dies just after their consummation and of course she winds up pregnant?"

"I knew the court reading was bad, but...what's with all the Chevaliers? Don't tell me they got a thing for horses up in the higher stands cause..." Myra began to chuckle at the thought before shuddering. "No, what we need is one of Bryn's old elf stories. Everyone's bonking everyone before a fight breaks out and kills half the cast. Lots of eye gouging to get through though."

"Sounds..." Rosie scrunched her nose up, not in a particular mood for graphic violence. But maybe that was what her sister needed at the moment. "Like a plan," she amended with a smile.

Myra snickered and sighed. Together both sisters began to move out of the clearing, when a low growl erupted from the trees. Myra froze, her head swiveling around in concern while Rosie tried to follow suit. Another growl broke, lower and to the left.

"Uh, Rosie, you have any idea what noise wolves make before they're about to attack?"

"No, why?"

Her sister's eyes bugged out and she pointed towards the underbrush, "Cause we just found out."

Snarling from the dark shadows of the forest emerged two wolves. They looked battered, mange having rotted their hair to reveal scabs of grey skin below. Ones ear was ripped off but both mouths were full of fangs being bared down upon what could be the first sign of food in some time.

"Myra," Rosie tried to slide in front of her younger sister, but they were pinned by the wolves. They could try to run, not that it would help. Her heart pounded, Rosie glancing quickly from both rabid mouthed beast to try and keep them in view. Together both sisters stepped back, slowly, as if the wolves would suddenly realize they didn't want to eat them.

"Nice doggies," Myra whispered in a calm voice, when one snapped, its jaws biting through the air where her hand had been. "Okay, not so nice. They looking a little...bad to you?"

"Not the time to care, Myra," Rosie muttered. She drew her fingers tighter around the knife in her hands, but it was at best five inches long. It would strike, but not without putting her hand and arm right in the wolf's biting range. Why didn't she take her sword with her?

"P..." Rosie tried to swallow the shake in her breath, "please tell me you have a weapon."

"Stick," Myra raised her little stolen switch as it could do anything. She lifted the branch up a bit and waved it towards her wolf, the notched ear. It didn't even blink at the leaves and twigs scraping near its eye. Something was very wrong with them.

"Oh," Myra smiled wide, "and this." While the wolf was distracted by her stick attack, she lifted up her fist boiling in red fire. Rosie had only seen her use if effectively once, and even then it ended in disaster. What if she set the woods aflame? They'd be trapped here in the middle of a forest fire.

Sliding to the side, Myra waved her burning fist right in front of the wolf and a lick of flame more controlled than usual, leapt from her fingers and right onto the mangey fur. It shrieked in pain, forgetting the food before it and scrabbled into its brother. Fires danced from one wolf to another, both now panicking as the stomach churning scent of burning hair filled the air. Smoke billowed from the attack, tinging the crisp forest air and making it hard to breathe. Both wolves were dancing on their paws, eyes wide in terror, while Myra kept her hand raised and fingers out.

"Myra!" Rosie called, coughing into her fist as smoke burned its way down her throat.

"I...I can't close it off." The wolves were shrieking now in pain and fear, both slamming into trees and underbrush they'd no doubt set on fire. Twisting around fast, Rosie slammed her hand over Myra's flaming fingers. Heat singed her flesh, as if she foolishly touched a griddle, but when her sister's fist closed it vanished along with the flames.

Alive but burned badly, the wolves yelped and scattered into the woods. If they were lucky, they'd find a river to leap into. And why do you care about mangy wolves that were about to kill you? When your sister and her need to show off nearly...

Rosie twisted to Myra, about to berate her for letting the spell get out of hand, when she spotted fear rising in her eyes. She didn't mean for it to happen. It was an accident, just like at the party. "My..." Rosie moved to wrap a hand around her to calm her down, when she heard a new growl. Louder, deeper, and moving at top speed.

This wolf was white as a ghost, its paws barely treading through the ground as it lopped into a run right at the two that tried to kill its pack. Rosie spun from Myra who was struggling to find a spell, but there wasn't time. She could barely think save stepping in the way of her younger sister.

Ice blue eyes glared murder at Rosie, the wolf's lips ripped back to reveal fangs about to plunge into her neck or stomach. It was huge...the wolf easily 200 pounds and longer than Rosie herself. She had no hope, and no chance. Sensing the blood in the air, the wolf leapt off its paws, jaws extended to sink right into her flesh while its body would crush both girls under it.

Her hand lashed out, the knife jamming upwards just as the wolf was about to bite down. It slipped up through the mouth, teeth scraping against Rosie's wrist as the blade, guided by the wolf's body, impaled itself through the skull and struck right through its brain.

A scream ripped out of her throat, her arm throbbing in pain as the wolf's body crashed into both her and Myra. Without anything to brace them, they both smashed into the ground under two hundred pounds of white fur and bone. Dear sweet Maker! Her back cried out as it bounced into Myra's bony body. Oh no. What if she crushed her sister?

"Myra?"

"Still alive," she gasped. "You?"

"Yes," Rosie laughed, her arm literally down the throat of a wolf. A dead wolf whose hot blood was scorching out of the knife wound and down her wrist and forearm. Very alive, and slowly being crushed. "Trapped a bit, but the creature's dead."

"This is a bit?" Myra groaned. Rosie could feel her sister trying to push from inside her prison. "You have to shove it off, Rossie. I can't. I can't get you off me."

Okay. She could do this. Or she'd die under a wolf's carcass. Rosie tried to yank her knife out, but it was stuck inside the skull. Abandoning it for later, or someone else to retrieve, she placed both her hands upon the wolf's still chest and began to shove. Its own blood stained the snow white fur, and as foolish as it was, she felt a tear rising in her eyes at such a beautiful animal being ended.

Not the time, Rosamund. Get out, then mourn. "Ah! Come on. Come on. Come on!" she cried, twisting the bones and warm fur with everything inside of her. It barely budged, the dead head flopping onto her chest, its bloated tongue lolling close to her cheek.

"I can't," she gasped. She wasn't the warrior in the family, she played at it. Little Rosie and her little sword, running around pretending she could take on an army but she knew the truth. Her parents kept her out of any real combat because she...she was terrible at it. She was too short, too slow, too bottom heavy, too...

"What the shit are you talking about?" Myra shouted, mercifully still breathing even with her sister compressing her lungs. Don't stop. Maker, her father would end her if they lost Myra. "You so can."

"No, I'm not--" tears burned in her eyes.

"Yes, you are. Whatever this are is. Wolf wrangler. For shit's sake, you kicked that Lord Eldon's ass and made it look like you were barely even fighting."

"That was..."

"It's not different. You get mad, you get scary, same as the rest of us. So get scary!"

It was a foolish peptalk, but Rosie did as told. She thought of all the people who talked above her, who treated her like pretty furniture, who...walked out on her and left her heart crumpled in the dirt. A feral roar erupted out of Rosamund's throat, her fingers digging into the meat and fur of the wolf as she shoved with every muscle in her body. It lifted a bit, allowing Rosie to fill her lungs before the damn thing finally slid straight off of them and onto the ground beside.

"Ah, ha ha ha!" Rosie laughed, jabbing a finger at the wolf, "I did it. I conquered you."

"That's great, now..."

"Oh, right," she tumbled off of her sister who looked rather flattened. "Myra are you--?" Rosie reached over to try and help her, when Myra sat straight up.

A great laugh rumbled in her chest as she drew her hands back through her hair. There was a little shake at the end of her fingers, while Rosie's heart was beating so fast she feared it might explode. "Damn, Ros, that's..." she looked over at the wolf and whistled, "you did _that_. Ain't no one gonna mess with you when they see that. Ooh, you should call yourself the Wolf Queen. Maybe make a crown out of its head. Or a cape."

"My..." Rosie waved a hand through the air and took in a deep breath, "I'm just glad we're both alive, and I'd really like to throw up now."

"Bushes are over there," Myra laughed, jabbing towards them.

She wasn't kidding, her stomach churning at the thought of how close she skidded towards death. But instead of giving in, Rosie got to her feet and offered a hand to Myra. As the two of them stood, Rosie reached over to give her sister a pat on the back.

But Myra surprised her. Not caring about awkwardness or their strange family ties, Myra wrapped her arms fully around her sister in a great hug. It stilled Rosie's heart a moment, her forehead meeting against her tall sister's shoulder while they thanked the Maker and each other for surviving.

"Maforath's spotted pecker!" a voice called from behind them. Rosie wiped off her tears and moved to look at whatever soldier found them, only to have her jaw hit the ground.

Anjali stood there, her eyes wide as she stared in shock at the dead white wolf, before they whipped back to Rosie. Not caring that she walked away, or what she did to her, the assassin ran over and began to babble, "Are you hurt? There's blood. Maker's sake, I...I ran as fast as I could, but..." Her fingers curled up Rosie's gore caked hand, slathering it in love, almost as if they didn't want to leave.

But she did.

Rosamund ripped her arm away from hers and glared, "What are you doing here?"

"I saw the fireball and feared that...I knew she'd be here," Anjali jabbed a finger at Myra who had both her hands digging into Rosie's shoulders. "But you were here and if..."

"That doesn't seem to jibe with what you said earlier. I thought you had no more use for me," Rosie glared at the woman while she felt it in her heart. The part terrified that she would die in this glen wanted to curl up in Anjali's arms and babble incessantly about how grateful she was to see her. The princess refused to bend.

"I never..." Anjali froze a moment, her fingers twisting around her daggers as if to help her think.

"You left her!" Myra spat out, suddenly jabbing right at the assassin. Anjali glared, her lip rising but there was no denying the truth. "Make stupid faces all you want, I don't care. I won't let you hurt my sister again."

"Again? It wasn't supposed to be..." the woman broke down, her head collapsing to her chest.

Rosie tried to take command of the situation, her voice cooling as she eyed up her ex-lover, "What are you even doing here? I thought you were going to track down your friend alone?"

"I...I thought about it, then I realized--"

"You had no idea where she was," Rosie filled in, but Anjali's tear filled eyes snapped up to hers causing the princess to gasp in shock.

"That I couldn't stand the idea of you being in pain, in danger, or worse. What if she...? She could pull some trap and you'd be caught in it, and...and I couldn't live with myself."

"Have you been following us the whole time?" Rosie cried, her fingers digging tight into her palms. For once she wanted to hit something as much as Myra did. All this time she mourned silently to herself, while Anjali was just off in the distance watching like some demented ghost.

"What in the ever-loving void is wrong with you?" Myra spoke up for her. "You don't dump someone then follow 'em around. That's what creepy stalkers do. Who I help put down."

"I bet you do, flint strike," her eyes hunted over Myra who took to the nickname about as well as Gavin did.

Rosie didn't need this. She could let her sister have a crack at Anjali, no doubt it'd end about as well as the squire fighting her did. But it wouldn't solve the problem. "Myra," she turned to her sister who was snarling more than the wolves, "Let me handle this."

"I ain't leaving."

"Just...give me a few minutes with her? Please?" Rosie begged, her hands clasped together.

Her sister grimaced at the look and sighed, "Okay, but just a few, and I'm going to stand right here ready to fireball her at the first word."

"Thank you," Rosamund said, while mentally praying it didn't come to that. She didn't touch Anjali's arm but walked away from her sister and the dead wolf.

By the time she reached beyond Myra's hearing, Anjali whispered, "You won't really let her set me on fire, will you?"

"No," Rosie shook her head, "she's more likely to catch the forest in doing so." The assassin didn't laugh at her joke, probably because it wasn't one. "Why? Why leave? Why make it such a huge issue about how only you can stop Tenna? How you're the only one to put an end to her dastardly plans? Only to wind up hanging around on the edges of our caravan?"

She expected a smart ass remark, probably due to her life around her father and Myra, but Anjali folded in on herself. From the moment they met, she'd been larger than life. Always right on the edge of Rosie's vision, not in a creepy slinking way but a comforting sort. The woman seemed unbreakable, but she crumbled now right at Rosie's feet.

"When I abandoned my mother's place for me in this world, I turned my back on everything that life entailed... My family, my friends, my own village."

"You can't return?" she gasped.

Anjali simply shrugged as if she made peace with it long ago. "It happens. A life without boundaries, I belonged to no one and no one belonged to me. I thought in Tenna I found a similar soul. She couldn't return home either and she was less than pleased with her mother."

"Wishing her dead certainly counts," Rosie mused to herself.

"I didn't think it was... No, I suppose there were times when I was sporting bloody blisters in my shoes and hungry from a lack of work that I spoke of killing my own as well. Desperation can choke out empathy rather quickly."

"Why are you telling me this?" she glanced over at Myra who was prodding her stick into the dead wolf.

Anjali breathed in deep, her fingers wrapped around herself in comfort, "Because I was wrong. Tenna is a dark mirror of what I could become. I'm tired. Tired of running from town to town, job to job, hoping that somewhere I'll find a distraction long enough to hold my attention. A moment here or there to make life worth waking up for."

Swallowing the heart spun words, Rosie shifted in her stance, subconsciously mimicking Anjali's pose as if she was about to embrace her dangling hands. The assassin pawed at her cheek and sighed, "I've done a lot of bad, I know it. I...will own it when pressed," her head lifted and Rosie started to find tears dripping out of those umber eyes, "but I couldn't let you get hurt. I couldn't bear the thought of you...of you chipping a nail much less, for the love of our Lady, what were you doing out here near a nest of blight wolves?"

Rosie blinked in surprise at the sudden change in venom as if Anjali transformed into her personal spirit guardian, "We didn't know..."

Anjali threw her hands up in the air and spun around in anger, "What's the point of having knights if they can't even suss out a blighted wolf pack running around? Hm? And," her anger faded in an instant to pure sympathy, "your arm." She reached towards Rosie's blood soaked one and she let her lift it. "Your beautiful arm with those stark blue veins."

"It's not so bad, most of it's the wolf's," Rosie tried to explain turning towards the dead creature, but Anjali wouldn't stop stroking her fingers up and down the blood encrusted skin. Maybe she couldn't. Maybe she was already blaming herself for not being close enough to stop it.

"Why are you really here?" Rosie whispered, her eyes honing in on Anjali's that kept staring at Rosie's barely scraped skin.

"As I said, if Tenna hurts..." the assassin began before she lifted her gaze and fell mere inches into Rosie's.

"No," Rosie flexed her fingers in Anjali's grip, causing the caked on blood to splinter and flake. With her clean hand, she drew them towards the back of Anjali's head, "Why are you here?"

"I can't leave you," Anjali gasped, her lips trembling as the words fell free, "I tried and..."

Tugging into the nape of her neck, Rosie plunged those plump lips onto hers. They fluttered a moment, tears still tumbling inside of them, but as the kiss lengthened Anjali melted into the woman she knew. The woman she wanted to trust again. Lapping along Anjali's bottom lip, Rosie pressed another kiss -- more succulent than before -- to her salty mouth. She'd been sweating in the run to save her life, or crying at the thought of failing.

"You did, and it hurt me," Rosie said, their foreheads brushing tight to each other. "More than I thought possible."

"I can't ask you to forgive..." Anjali whispered, her eyes shut tight while her tongue licked against the lips Rosie drank from.

"You can try, Anjali," she curled both her hands against her cheeks, the crimson of the wolf's blood matching against the scarlet tattoo. "Stop running from your problems. Stay with me, help me."

"Be with you?" she asked, her eyes filling with hope.

The answer caught in her throat. With their bodies pressed together, an image Rosie never thought would happen again, she wanted to shout yes. But she remembered the pain of Anjali walking away. She wouldn't change overnight, she'd still be startled by the smallest setback and want to run. It'd take years for her to find the bones to settle down somewhere safe and build a home.

It would be smart for her to cut Anjali out of her life now. To let her return home, or go back to her days of flitting from job to job. For whatever reason, Rosie turned back to Myra and her sister's advice flashed in her mind. She risked it once, what was once more?

"Give me time," she answered. "I have to trust before I can..."

"Earning a beautiful princess' trust," Anjali tried to smile through her tears, "I'm not even certain how I managed it once. But I will try, for you, Sapheela."

She wanted to kiss her again, but Rosie stepped back. Time would require a cooler head, and sex would only mess with it, convince her to fall deeper than she should. Wiping a hand over her forehead, Rosie paused at the sight of the dried blood still stuck to her skin. "We should return to camp," she ordered to Myra who hopped to her feet.

"We ain't leaving this thing, are we? Be a waste of a good pelt, and meat, and an awesome crown. Come on, you know you want to," she darted back and forth on her feet in excitement at the image. As if the rest of thedas didn't already think of Ferelden as barbarians, imagine the titters if their princess began to wear a wolf's head upon hers.

Anjali walked closer to the wolf, causing Myra to narrow her eyes, but she didn't attack. "Nothing?" Anjali laughed.

"I knew Rosie'd take you back, she's a soft touch like that. But you do it again and..." Myra didn't raise fire on her fingers, but jabbed to the dead great wolf.

"Noted," Anjali muttered. She bent over and lifted apart the wolf's jaws. Reaching deep in with her own arm, she gave a great grunt and extracted the knife Rosie embedded into its skull. "Here," she tossed it to the princess who barely caught the bloody blade. "Adds to the story if they see how tiny your weapon was to take down the beast."

Myra cracked up a moment, her laugh splitting the trees. "But not if you're a boy, eh? Tiny weapon, cause... Oh come on, it's funny. Don't glare at me, Rossie, it's funny."

"As you say, sister," Rosie smiled, barely able to suppress the laugh Myra was digging for. "If you wish to keep the wolf, how do we get it out of here?"

"We could carry it together?" Anjali threw out, staring at the massive thing, its gnashing teeth and stabbing claws all dangling at the ready to swipe apart skin. Rosie sighed at the idea but it seemed to be all they had.

It was Myra who popped up and groaned, "You're both daft. There's an entire caravan of boys whose job is to carry shit. I'm gonna go get them to help."

That...made sense. Rosie turned to Anjali who shrugged, seemingly impressed at the logic in Myra's words. Her sister began to run out of the clearing to their camp when she suddenly shouted, "And try to refrain from snogging 'cause I don't know who all will be coming with me!"

Rosie's cheeks turned beet red at the thought, her eyes darting over to Anjali who had a soft smile on her lips. They didn't kiss, the princess serious about taking it slow, but Rosie let her fingers slip into Anjali's for the duration of their time alone with a snow white wolf.

## Chapter Fifty-Three

### Bring Him Home

A deafening silence stampeded down the caravan as they rolled up to the entrance into the dwarven kingdom. From a mile back, the deep scar into the earth was evident, near on fifty acres of ground shattering into the deep roads. Pillars and statues rose out of the depths, heads leering just above the edge as if the dwarven paragons were bobbing in a pool. Circling all around their claim was a wall already ten feet tall and, knowing dwarves, likely to get larger and more indestructible the longer they were on the surface.

The Princess marched at the front, her hands dangling to the side, while Daryan formed up beside her. The Knight was armed, while Rosamund chose to wear only the mail of peace. A few scoffed at the idea, but Gavin had to give it some merit. There was no way the dwarves would be welcoming to what was about to happen, why instigate them more?

He glanced down at the sheet draped over the wagon he and a few other squires were pulling. Snowy's nose prodded it upwards, sometimes the lights of a lengthening day giving the illusion that he'd twitched or breathed below. After years growing up in a hospice, Gavin knew the truth, though it spooked his fellow squires something awful.

As one, the entire caravan paused right outside the great gate. There were no guards outside, no one wanting to greet them. The dwarves truly wished to be left alone. Rosamund's eyes darted around trying to get anyone to give her ideas.

"Should I knock?" she asked, waffling on her feet.

"We should have brought a battering ram," Daryan sighed, staggering onto her feet.

"Do not even speak such things," Karelle whipped her head at her before turning to stare up at the great wall. "We could wait for someone to...?"

Fire leapt up into the air dancing straight above the barren lands before erupting into a red and orange flower in the sky. Every head spun over to Myra who smiled and curled her magic fists up. "That should get their attention," she said smugly while bundling her arms behind her back.

"Your father will hear of this," Karelle whispered towards the wayward daughter but Myra was unimpressed.

"Course he will. You tell him blighted everything. It's a wonder..."

"Shut up," Rosamund hissed, her eyes whipping up to the gate beginning to slide open. Every back and head snapped in place to watch as the great stone door began to roll inward. It was slow, the thing seeming to only be capable of moving a few inches a minute.

Gavin's heart thundered harder in his chest, his fingers digging into the wood of the wagon while he kept glancing down at the body already rotting to bone without any runes around. It was probably horrifying to look under the sheet, the smell difficult even with burning herbs around to mask it.

After some time, a dwarf slid out between the small gap in the door. He was fully armored, a beard trailing down to his knees. The dwarf twisted a halberd back and forth in his hands, his eyes sizing up the fifty or so people standing on his doorstep.

"What do you want?"

"Good sir," Rosie stepped forward, "I humbly request an audience with your queen."

He glared at their Princess a moment before grunting, "No."

"Wait! We have a reason to..."

"I don't care. We're not talking to any of you. We don't want no treaties. No bargains. No trade agreements. Not even any of your Knight cookies. Now piss off!" the dwarf snarled fully, about to spin on his feet.

"Please," Rosamund was not about to give up, "I beseech you. This is an important matter of life and death."

The guard rolled his eyes wide, the whites evident under his helmet, "As if I ain't heard that a million times before. What'd I say...?"

There seemed to be nothing the Princess could say. She turned to Karelle and Daryan, both who remained useless and trapped by protocol. "You will regret this," Rosie began, dipping into a threat.

"I already do, gel," he muttered, reaching for the door to yank it back.

Gavin barely thought, his eyes honed in on the body of his friend who would be left to rot unmourned in this heat. He didn't care if the dwarf wasn't Andrastian, if they didn't believe in the Maker or His Bride, Snowy deserved better. "Wait!" Gavin shouted in his booming voice. It carried above the Princess and guard bickering, causing both to whip back to find him.

"Oh, what now?" the guard whined, about to insist he wasn't paid enough for this no doubt.

Standing up, Gavin carried in his outstretched arms the body of his friend. The sheet dangled precariously close to his toes, so he stepped carefully lest he rip it off on accident -- or fall. Dropping the body, which would probably cause it to split apart in the tumble, would doom them all. Maybe start a war. Please don't be clumsy now.

"I have come to return a lost son of Orzamaar," Gavin began, stepping through the people who all quickly turned away.

The dwarf didn't release his grip to the door, but he was clearly interested now. "Don't know if you heard, but we're all lost sons now. And daughters."

"This is..." Gavin swallowed hard, aware that every person in the caravan suddenly shifted away to leave him right in the line of sight of the guard, "We believe this to be Prince Vedrick."

Snapping to attention, the dwarf's entire stance changed in a blink. "You," he glared at the tall human and moved to lift up the sheet, "you think that's our Queen's son in your hands?"

"Yes."

"And you brought his dead corpse to our doorstep?" the dwarf was staring hard at him, trying to find the madness lurking inside.

Gavin nodded, unable to speak out of fear of his lips trembling. No doubt a dozen archers were standing along the battlements ready to perforate him in arrows at a moment's notice.

The guard rubbed his hand over the helmet as if he was trying to scratch the head below. "Why?"

"He was my friend," the emotion struck him hard, tears of frustration, exhaustion, anger, and sorrow all building into one.

No arrows flew from the sky, the guard didn't attack with his weapon at Gavin's response. He hopped back, quickly whispering with someone else inside. Gavin tried to keep his arms steady even as the muscles began to ping from Snowy's weight. The smell was worse, and breathing through the mouth caused the stench of decay to wring down his throat. It was best to hold his breath as long as possible.

"Alright," the guard turned to the caravan, "you come on," he pointed at Gavin, "with the...body. Rest of you remain outside."

Everyone dashed forward a step, voices insisting that was not going to happen. Myra's was the most vehement of them all, "Like Andraste shitting in a hamper he will." But this may be the only chance they had.

Gavin glanced back at her first, before he let his eyes wander over to the woman in charge. "Let me do this."

"Squire," Rosamund folded her hands tight to her stomach in wariness. Suddenly, she honed in on the guard, "I should accompany him. I am the Princess of..."

The guard waved her concerns away with a shake of his halberd. "I don't care if you're a paragon. Only him. No one else until we're certain."

Gavin could hear the threat hanging in his words. If they weren't certain, whatever that meant, there was no chance of him making out of this alive. Still, he had to try. He moved to take a step forward, when Myra made a bleat. It was a near perfect replica of a goat crying and enough to cause him to whip his head back.

Her cheeks were bright red as if she hadn't meant to make the sound, but she shrugged, "I didn't know what else to, just...Gavin, please..."

He could read every concern in her eyes and it oddly soothed his own fluttering heart to see them. Tipping his head down, he said, "I will be fine."

The dwarf snorted at the thought and moved to open the gate for him. "Ah shit, he's a big one. Crack her open wider," he commanded, his head tipped up to the sky. Gavin looked heavenward as well to find a massive gear that led to whatever straps were operating the gate.

It opened more smoothly than before, giving just enough space for him to walk through with Snowy in his arms. The dwarven compound was not at all what he expected. People knew the roads collapsed and that dwarves set up residence, but he always assumed they lived in tents hiding away behind their walls. There was one building on the surface, its doors closed to whatever hid its workings. A few of the armored dwarves so covered in metal as to barely appear alive walked around on the surface, but there was no one else. No houses, no tents, not even a single fire cooking food for them.

Was there no one left of the dwarven kingdom but a few crazed dwarves who ran around in their armor pretending it wasn't gone?

With a great bang, the gate slammed behind him. Gavin leapt at the sound, his head spinning back as he realized he was fully cut off from his people. Possibly trapped with a few mind addled dwarves who, rather than face the truth, would rather pretend their society remained in tact. What did he get himself into?

"This way," the guard dwarf jerked his head and Gavin began to walk. He felt every eye peering at him from under the helmets at first taking in the tall human, but eventually they turned to whatever was hiding under his sheet. He could hear a few voices whispering to each other, but none of it was coherent. His blood was pounding too hard for him to have any hope of translating the dwarvish. _And your mother never thought it'd be that useful._

What were the chances a squire or knight would wind up in a dwarven kingdom? Let's focus on elvhen instead, a far more fascinating language. Too bad practically everyone in the New Dales happily spoke common on the trip, and the few who didn't really had nothing interesting to say.

His guard guide paused before the great doors of the only building. It was well sized, perhaps a small house, but could have no hope of housing more than a dozen dwarves assuming they slept in shifts. Even the guards on display would have troubles fitting in.

While the dwarf rapped upon the door, Gavin tried to shift his arms which were already crying in pain. He could do this, he had to. Be respectful and...and hope they don't kill you.

Another sound of gears grinding against metal broke the air, and the doors to the house parted. It wasn't a house inside, nor even a straight floor. The walls and ceiling protected the very center of the cave in, torches lighting the way down into the deep roads themselves.

The dwarves weren't living on the surface, they remained down below even if it was exposed to the world above.

"Let's go," the guide commanded first to Gavin, before turning to one of the doormen, "Fetch Queen Nerazda, immediately."

The doorman bowed and scuttled away while Gavin had to duck to make it inside. For a moment the dwarf noticed how tight a fit it was, but didn't say anything. Picking up the lead once again, the dwarf walked Gavin down the incline and into the deep roads.

It wasn't easy, Gavin unable to provide any ballast against his sliding heels, the weight of Snowy dragging him downward, but he managed to make it down the shattered ceilings of the roads without falling on his ass. At the bottom, the dwarf jabbed a finger to the right and he began to follow.

With only the light of the lanterns to guide him, Gavin could feel dwarven eyes poking out from behind every crevice and break in the rock. The gate on the surface was impressive, this looked as if a bunch of squirrels built their homes inside an old ruin. Doors were thrown in front of what looked like alcoves, statues were toppled over to create barriers where... He glanced deep into the darkness and thought he heard scrabbling. Darkspawn?

Maker, his parents would both kill him if they knew.

At least the dwarves weren't crazy, but now he was realizing he was carrying the dead body of their prince into a lair swarming with their people. Gavin wished he'd said some sort of goodbyes before following. Written a letter to his parents, at least.

There was little time to concern himself as the dwarves kept leading him onward. More appeared, these dressed in crimson armor and without helmets. They looked a lot grumpier than the guard, as if that were even possible. And all were very evidently armed.

Lava erupted suddenly, sparks of red and white hot light blinding Gavin as it sputtered off the side of the road but the dwarves didn't even blink. He reared back instinctively, causing his body to slide a bit. But armored hands gripped into him, holding him up. He wished he could have as much help with Snowy. The dwarf was growing heavier with each step, Gavin uncertain if he could go on any further.

He was about to ask how long it would take, when the guide dwarf turned and pointed into a room. It looked no different than the others, dark walls coated in black soot, a few lanterns attempting to put out light, tall blocky statues standing towards the back. The biggest difference was an altar sitting smack dab in the middle of the room.

That was what the guard guide pointed to, "Place the body there."

Gavin nodded, grateful to have Snowy out of his arms. He tried to be slow, to keep his movements respectful and also to not startle the guards swooping in around him, but he was fighting a losing battle. An inch off of the stone, Snowy finally slipped, the body bouncing a bit as it struck its final resting place. Gavin winced at the foolish move, but none of the crimson guards swarming him drew their weapons tighter.

They were aimed upon him, a ring of swords that would end his short existence in a moment, but they gave him a bit of breathing room. Digging a hand into his eyes, Gavin muttered, "I'm sorry." He tried to adjust the sheet to cover his friend properly, but it bunched in the drop. One of Snowy's hands emerged from below, the skin a mottled grey-green and swollen so thick it looked like a pillow with nubs for fingers.

He moved to tuck it back in safe, when every guard suddenly snapped to attention. "Well," a voice oozed confidence, deep as bedrock and more stable than the bones of thedas. Gavin turned around slowly to find a dwarven woman dressed not in a long gown decorated in pearls and jewels, but armor. This was; however, fancy armor -- a house crest set in rubies and diamonds sparkled upon the breastplate. She bore no weapon, but she didn't need it. With a single look, every single guard lifted their swords up and pointed them directly at Gavin.

"This is a surprise," Queen Nerazda tipped her shaved head to him. "We asked that no humans tread upon our sovereignty, yet here you are."

"Your Majesty," Gavin bowed down his head, before realizing there was no way he could get anywhere close to lower than her without sitting on the ground.

Her blue eyes, as sharp as Snowy's, cut through Gavin who could feel them without looking up. "Why have you come to me? Requested an audience no less."

"Because," he glanced back at the body and his voice caught.

"I see," Nerazda folded her arms, the gauntlets clanging together as she did so. "You gain entry by claiming to have one of our sons under your sheet. And if you are lying...?"

"In truth, my Lady," Gavin dug a hand into the side of his trousers, "I wish I were."

She didn't back down, her shoulders poised, her head high, but her eyes softened. No doubt they told her why he was here, she probably allowed him entrance. But she must have hoped the same, that there was a mistake and the dwarf he carried all the way into the deep roads was not her son. Nerazda took a deep breath, her lips parting, but she remained stoic in face.

"Lift the sheet," she commanded.

"It's been quite a few days, your Highness," Gavin began, his fingers trembling at his side.

"I am well aware of what death looks like," she spat. As Nerazda stepped closer, each of the guards lifted their swords away to allow her entrance before honing them right back upon Gavin. Because he had any chance of escaping this.

"Pick up the sheet," she ordered again, stopping right above Snowy's bloated face. "Slowly."

Gavin nodded his head, he had no other choice. Thumbing the top of the ivory linen, he tugged it down to the dead man's neck. Every dwarf in the room gasped. Despite the road and the heat, death hadn't fully rotted Snowy's visage. Gavin had struggled to get the lids closed, having to rely upon stitching them down. The lips were sucking back towards the skull, making it appear as if the dwarf was hissing in the afterlife. And his skin, even by the low light, had taken on the unearthly green and yellow pallor of rot and decay.

He glanced away, unable to take the sight, while the Queen drew closer. Her eyes brimmed in tears, her voice softening to a whisper, "My Vedrick." Despite the smell, the bloat, the decay, she dipped her forehead against Snowy's and spoke to him. "Blessed Ancestors, protect my boy. Stone accept him."

A single tear dripped off her cheek to land upon Snowy's forehead, but when the woman pulled back all sorrow was wiped from her face. "Tell the people that our Prince Vedrick is lost to us forever," she ordered, her voice barely warbling.

"Yes, my Queen," one of the guards at the entrance bowed and scuttled off to do as commanded.

For a beat, only candlelight moved inside this tomb. It danced over the glint of the blades all trained upon Gavin, shifted the shadow of a mother mourning her son across his corpse. Time stilled to nothing, each thump of his heart slowing to match a held breath.

"You come to my home, bearing the body of my dead son," Nerazda's voice rose in a hiss, every guard tightening at the sound. Gavin swallowed, wishing to latch onto a hilt at his side, but he was unarmed and defenseless. They'd cut him to ribbons in a second.

"This seems a very foolish move on your part, human," her head whipped over at him and all the guards stepped forward. Metal glinted in every direction, ready to slice him to pieces in an instant. "Why? Why risk your life in such a manner?"

"Because," Gavin bit down on his lip and turned from the burning hatred in a vengeful mother's eyes to Snowy's body, "he was my friend and...he deserved proper rites. Even if..."

Nerazda lifted up a hand, the fire dimming in her eyes, "Even if it cost you your life?"

"I," Gavin shrugged and choked out a laugh, "I hadn't thought of it that way, but...I guess?"

The mother and Queen tipped her head and stared up higher at him. "You're not very old, are you?"

"No, well, I'm seventeen," he said, uncertain what counted as old for a dwarf.

Nerazda smiled painfully a moment, her eyes darting to the body, "The age when Vedrick... He seemed so young then. He still was." Her armored fingers caressed Snowy's cheek. "What is your name?"

"Gavin," he answered, tipping his head lower.

"That's the whole name?"

"Ah, no. Gavin Rutherford," he finished before glancing around at the dwarves. They knew nothing of the surface politics, of what occurred years before his birth, of why his mother had to hide. And something in this woman's shared pain made him not want to lie even by omission.

"Amell, Gavin Rutherford Amell."

At that the Queen honed in hard on him. "Amell? As in...?"

"Yes, the Hero of the Blight. She's my mother, though she doesn't like a lot of people knowing that."

Nerazda snickered at the thought. "Vedrick was the same. Always throwing around his aliases so none would know he was of house Harrowmant. What did he call himself on the surface?"

"Snowy," Gavin said and the woman tipped her head in confusion. "It's a thing we have on the surface...when water freezes but rains."

"You mean ice?"

"Not exactly, more white and fluffy. And..." Maker did he feel stupid trying to explain snow to dwarves while standing beside her dead son's body.

Nerazda watched him, Gavin limply banging his hands together while he stared down at the eyes he poorly sewed shut. His hands shook the whole time from the cold of the runes and...it felt wrong, even if there was no other option. To puncture his friend's skin over and over with a needle and thread.

A small, metal-encrusted hand gripped onto Gavin's elbow. He glanced down to find the old woman staring at him. "You cared for my son?"

"He was...a friend, a close friend, though he never told me about his past."

"That is unsurprising given how he left," she tipped her head to her boy and frowned. Despite being a dwarf, her face was more angular than round, even the nose prodding out rather far. Was that age or grief sinking in her cheeks so deep?

"Tell me something, Gavin of House Amell," he winced at someone calling him Amell. His mother would scold him to next Sunday for it, even if it felt right. "How did my son die?"

"Did you know anything of his life on the surface?" Gavin asked, turning to her.

"No," she admitted, "nothing."

He could tell her anything he wanted. Say that Snowy died heroically trying to save an entire village. Or that they were fighting off darkspawn. Surely the dwarves would believe a story about darkspawn. Anything but the truth that the caravan of the Princess got him killed.

Gavin sucked in a breath, "He was a squire, operating under the King's banner. The King of Ferelden not..."

"Yes, we have been without a King for some years. I assumed not ours," Nerazda said with a dry wit. "Please, continue with your tale."

The darkspawn, they'd believe that. They're everywhere and everyone hates them. A common enemy. It could bind the dwarves and humans together, perhaps open up negotiations. No one could argue with him for the lie.

"He was stabbed in the throat by an assassin," Gavin said, turning away from the poor woman. "His back was turned to her, he had no idea it was coming... I don't know if that helps at all."

The Queen blinked a moment and closed her eyes, "An assassin? Do you have any intention to catch this murderer?"

"Every," Gavin closed his fist, the knuckles popping white as he thought of the justice burning in his heart. All the swords shifted closer at his threatening move, but Nerazda chuckled a moment.

It was so out of place, he blinked rapidly and released his clench. "Thank you, young man, for the truth. It is very rare to receive when you have no good reason to give it."

"I..." he look around, hoping for some semblance of sense to arrive, "I just did what I thought was right."

"You are very rare, and very much your mother's son," the woman said, confusing Gavin. What would she know of his mom beyond the name and reputation?

"Heely," the Queen raised her hand higher, "open the gates. I believe it is time I take commune with the...?"

"Princess," Gavin answered, "Princess of Ferelden."

"Her and her advisors."

"Your Majesty," Heely gasped in surprise, "Is this wise? They're surfacers..."

"Who returned our lost prince to us. And I suspect may have more to tell. Come," she lifted her head and began to walk out of the room. Gavin stood confused beside Snowy. Should he leave or would taking a step cause all the guards to attack him as one?

A few dispersed with the Queen automatically but most remained with their swords trained upon Gavin. At the exit, Nerazda turned back to him. "Men, we can trust our friend here. Stand down." In one slick move, all the swords returned to their scabbards, the air sliced into a thousand pieces. "Would you," she leaned closer, her eyes only upon Gavin as if no one else was there, "sit with Vedrick until we are ready for the ceremony?"

He knew it wasn't a queen ordering him, but a mother asking. Nodding slowly, Gavin bit into his lip and turned to Snowy's bloated visage. Behind him he heard the tramp of booted feet as the Queen and all her guards vanished leaving him alone with his dead friend. Slowly, Gavin slipped the sheet back over Snowy's face, then he dropped to his knees and prayed.

## Chapter Fifty-Four

### Worry

"Cease pacing."

It grumbled out of Rosie's mouth straight at her assassin, but the woman barely acknowledged it. She was pointing around the walls, muttering things under her breath in her native tongue while her dominant hand kept itching back towards her weapons.

They stood there before the shut gate for what was quickly feeling like an eternity, Rosie stock still while Myra was quickly coming to Anjali's side. "He's been in there for a long time," she said, her hands wringing together while she wished she had a staff.

She couldn't do a lot with it, but even just the appearance of one could startle some people who were freaked out by mages. No doubt a few dwarves would be put off if she started slinging fireballs around. "I should get their attention," Myra lifted her palm, the veil splitting, when Rosie grabbed onto her.

"No," she insisted. Everyone was getting twitchy, well aware of what it looked like when one of their own walked through the big scary gate that slammed shut and didn't come back. But not their Princess. She stood frozen the whole time, her hands locked in place as if she was waiting for someone to lay a blanket of rose petals at her feet before she could start walking.

Myra sneered at her sister and tried to shake her hand off, "What if they're mad about the dead dwarf? What if they're hurting him right now? We need to do something."

Her sister sighed and shook her head slowly, "We must trust in diplomacy."

"Sod that," she managed to yank her fingers free, practically slapping the Chamberlain growling behind her. "I can get in, I think. Stone walls, not too high. Down might be an issue if I'm spotted but..."

"Blighted hell, Myra, you are not climbing their walls. We cannot be seen infiltrating the dwarven compound," their princess was practically shrieking in exhaustion.

"And if he's in trouble? I'm not gonna sit around with my thumbs up my ass while Gavin's hurt!"

It wasn't Rosie who responded but Anjali that sighed, "More than likely, given how much time has passed, if they wished him dead he would be."

Myra spun her head fast at the twitchy assassin and snarled, "I can see why so many people want to punch you."

Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath, probably whispered a few prayers to her version of Andraste before glaring. "My concern is the assassin."

"Tie yourself up, problem solved," Myra hissed.

"Helpful as always," Anjali groaned.

Rosie turned towards the tall walls and patrol's heads barely bobbing along the top. "If we can't get in, neither can she."

"Eh..." Myra bobbed back and forth on her feet.

"What?" her sister circled around her, suddenly very interested in Myra's outbursts.

"Just, I wasn't kidding. Stone walls, easy as spit to climb. Don't even need a rope. Well I wouldn't. Most others would probably jam a piton in there or something. Scurry up. Problem is the top, but kill a guard, steal the uniform, slip in..." Myra could see how rather flimsy their defenses were. Patrols moved, but not enough. There were gaps if you were clever and quick. Though, it was hard to say if this other mysterious assassin was.

Anjali turned to follow Myra's line of sight, "Tenna may already be inside, could be causing trouble right at this very moment."

It made some sense, though given how cautious this Tenna seemed to be Myra doubted it. She was waiting for them to get inside. She wanted the confusion of humans mixed in around dwarves. Easier way to stir up the nest. But Myra wanted in and if she had to side with the assassin for it, she would.

Rosie, however, was having none of that, "If I, or any of you in my care, even attempt to lean against those walls, all of Ferelden will be tossed into..."

Her doom and gloom faded away as the gate opened smoother than before. This time it wasn't one guard standing in the gap but a multitude fanned out in a V form. At the lead stood a lady dwarf in shiny golden armor. Her cheeks and forehead sagged like parchment you dropped into water, then let dry in your pocket. A helm as flat as a river rock perched upon her head, keeping the woman fully in shadow. As she stepped forward, so did every single guard who looked very very armed.

Myra staggered up on her toes, foolishly trying to peer behind the line of short dwarves to find the impossibly tall Gavin. If he was there, he'd be standing out like a sore thumb. She got a quick view of the inside workings before nothing, the gate slammed closed behind what had to be the Queen of the dwarves and her retinue.

By the time the woman got close to Rosie, every single squire and Knight shifted tight on their heels, hands gripping onto grips with gripitude. Tension whipped through the ranks so thick, even Myra wanted to reach for a blade or two.

"I am Queen Nerazda," she spoke, her voice booming through the pitted ground stripped of all green save a few pitiful leaves on dying trees.

"Your Majesty," Rosie grabbed onto the sides of her dress and curtsied deep. As she reached the near bottom of her dip, Rosie's eyes shot over to glare upon each side. Slowly, the advisors, knights, squires and Karelle all took a slow bow to the dwarven Queen. Anjali remained rigid, her arms crossed and head whipping through the guards as if she expected to find an assassin hidden amongst them. Myra didn't give two shits, and felt like making that obvious.

"For all you have done for us, I am granting you an audience," Nerazda said, barely blinking at Myra's obstinance.

"Thank you, your Majesty," Rosie moved to take a step forward as if to pull the woman into a polite conference, but every dwarf shifted and pointed sharp weapons at the Princess. Not taking kindly to such an idle threat, Daryan and her mass of squires unsheathed their swords across the void.

"We come not to fight," the only cool head said, before glaring back at Daryan's move. The knight acknowledged it, but didn't call her people off. "But to give you a warning, you and your family are in danger."

Nerazda eyed up Rosie slowly, crystal blue beams of light all but dicing up her sister as if she could read truth on her face. Only the wind whipped past them, carrying specks of black and brown dirt on it. Every voice faded to nothing, every breath held tight in the chest. No one wanted to break this sudden stalemate.

Except for Myra.

Launching forward to stand next to her sister, Myra's movements were so surprising the dwarven guards forgot to twist their blades to her. She got close to the Queen's face and struck a finger out. "Where is he?"

"Who?"

"Who?" Myra gasped, "The boy that went inside your gates and hasn't come out. That'd be who. Cause you better not have done anything to him."

The dwarven Queen tipped her head a moment in thought, "You are concerned for him?"

"Damn right I am. He's ours," Myra thudded a hand into her chest, while Rosie grabbed onto her shoulders as if she was about to throw her sister back.

"Please," the diplomat in the family cajoled and begged, "forgive her. She's...rather mercurial at times. You rarely know what to expect when it comes to Myra."

The royal fingers kept trying to tug her away, but Myra wasn't budging. "No, I want to know now. Before things get bad. So help me if you killed him..."

"The young man is safe," Nerazda chuckled a bit as if she found the whole thing humorous.

"Oh yeah? Prove it."

"Myra! Maker's sake," Rosie was already waving Karelle over, trying to find anyone that could corral her sister into a collar. "Your Majesty, you do not need to..."

"All right," Nerazda tipped her head to the side and shrugged.

"What do you mean? Just...what?" Myra gasped. She expected a drag down fight, perhaps having to scale the walls quickly and fight to find Gavin holed up somewhere near death or chained to a wall.

"Someone," the Queen turned to her entourage, "Ah, Heely. Take this woman to her young man," she instructed, pointing a finger at Myra.

Her tone struck hard and Myra couldn't stop the stupid blush rising on her cheeks. "He's not mine, just..."

The older dwarf blinked a moment before sighing, "My mistake. But if you wish to learn the truth," she waved towards what had to be Heely who looked as cookie cutter as the rest of the guards.

Myra turned to her sister whose eyes were wide, but she had no idea what to say. It could be another death trap, the dwarves skinning humans for whatever dark purpose they wanted. Whipping her head over to the Queen, Myra nodded hard, "Yes. Take me to him." She felt Rosie clenching at her commanding tone and Myra tacked on, "Please."

While Heely guided her through the opening gate, she heard Rosie begin her spiel about an assassin coming to take out the dwarven royal family. Myra didn't care, she'd heard enough to piece the bits together. It'd depend on Rosie's skill if she could convince the Queen the truth of it. All in all, it seemed rather far fetched, if you ignored her dead son and the other assassin they had in tow.

Whether it worked or not, that was Rosie's problem. Myra was too focused on finding Gavin and making certain he didn't get himself into trouble. Heely was as chatty as one expected from a dwarven guide -- grunting when Myra lagged behind, stomping if she was pressing too close, and farting to really seal in how annoyed he was. Maybe she should have been impressed with the runes lighting up as they dipped into the deep roads, or been slightly panicking that she was in the deep roads, but her head was too busy pivoting back and forth to try and pierce the darkness.

More dwarves came to gawk at the lanky human stomping through their home, heads prodding out of hidey holes and the like. By the time her guide stopped, Myra was fully turned around and walking backwards so she could keep a line on all the dwarves scurrying around. She didn't realize Heely stopped until she ran into him.

Grunts erupted, practically on top of each other, and the dwarf spat out, "He's in here."

Shoving open the door, Myra's breath caught as her eyes tried to adjust for the even more limited light. A single torch lit upon the back of Gavin's shirt and head. He was upon his knees, the torch giving the illusion he was moving. What if he wasn't? What if they killed him same as Snowy? While he was in prayer?

What kind of bastard would you have to be to do that?

Myra scampered across the floor quickly, hoping to solve the problem, when she got close. Most of her was certain he was fine, just distracted. Really distracted. To the point he wouldn't hear a clumsy human hopping along the sidewalk. But a small part in her heart was shrieking in a panic. Her hand cut across the dark void, trembling like a ship in a storm.

What if he was cold? What if his body already went rigid from death's grip? What if she got him killed?

Warmth radiated up her grip, and her hand shifted as Gavin took in a breath.

Thank you sweet Maker!

She was acting like an idiot and nothing more.

Gavin seemed to be started out of a trance as he tipped his head up from her touch and then glanced over to find her. "My..." he stuttered, attempting to rise to his feet. "Myra?" It wasn't going so well, so she fished an arm under his to help.

Blessed Andraste, the man was like trying to heft up a druffalo. Her arms squealed at the weight but as Gavin got his own legs under him, he took it all back. "What are you...?"

"That Queenie of theirs is outside with Rosie right now. And I...um," Shit. There was no easy way to spin this.

Gavin blinked a moment, and an unnaturally sly smile lifted his lips. "You were concerned?"

"Walk into some dwarven compound no one's breached since they broke out of the ground without anyone following to watch your back? Yeah, I was 'concerned.' Hard not to be, really. I mean..." her heart caught in her throat from the look he was giving her and she whipped her head away. This was over, remember. Done. Dead. Then why did her stupid cheeks burn like dad trying to roast rabbit every time he glanced at her?

Untacking her tongue, she muttered, "Lambert was real concerned, all pacing back and forth. Uh, threatening to climb the walls to find you. That sort of stuff." Her eyes honed in on her languid fingers pawing through the air. It kept her from stupidly staring dumbstruck at him.

"That sounds exactly like...Lambert," Gavin whispered. He was kind enough to not call Myra on her shit, for which she was eternally grateful.

Getting her bearings in place, she turned to him and finally asked the real important question, "What are you doing here?"

"Sitting with..." he began before biting on his lip and pointing towards the altar she just realized was holding up a dead body.

Maker's breath, Myra. Just because there's a cute boy in the room doesn't mean you shouldn't be able to see a corpse! She could hear all of her mother's tongue whacking for that one in the back of her head. It only happened once, and they didn't lose the suspect because of it. Just had to chase him down on horseback...outside of Denerim, for a couple days. Not a big deal in the end.

Turning away from Gavin as much to try and pin her stupid fluttering heart down as anything, Myra focused on Snowy. If that even was his name. "Is he really...?" she began.

"Yes. I don't know how I missed it," Gavin whispered.

"You're not the only one. By the void, a prince. Right there, the whole time. And I didn't get a thing, not even a whiff that he was... He seemed so, I want to say common but that's not right." She knew dockworkers who walked about like sophisticated gentlemen and Arls that ate their own nose gold and thought farting to be the height of hilarity. Common was one of those words people used to define a category that they got wrong.

Myra glanced over from her mad musings to see the boy that'd been sleeping in her tent -- not like that -- for the past week. He was better from that first night, but not by much. "How are you doing?" she asked.

To her shock, Gavin slipped his fingers into hers and squeezed tight. Myra's mouth hung slack, her tongue all but dangling free in surprise, but she at least thought to return the grip.

"That good, huh?" she deadpanned, the pair of them staring at the sheet above a dead body because it was easier than facing each other.

"I am tired," his words mumbled as if acorns were stuffed into his cheeks. "I thought... Why would anyone want this life?"

"What? The life of living?"

"If I'd never left home, never become a squire then..." Gavin groaned, a heel of his palm rapping into his skull, "none of it would have occurred."

"Destiny's not something we choose, it isn't lain out before us in a fancy book, or set in stone by people from ages back that lived on mountains and subsisted on nothing but yak feces," Myra took a deep breath, aware she was veering off topic. "It's not what happens to us, but what we do with it that matters."

"What have I done with it?" he asked, his voice broken as he pointed towards the corpse of his friend.

"You brought him home," Myra tried to wipe away the tears in her eyes but she couldn't. "No one else would have."

Gavin snickered a moment, his amber pools welling up but he blinked it all away. Rubbing into the back of his neck with his free hand, he tried to distance himself from the truth, "I'm certain someone else, if it happened, would have thought to...to do the right thing?"

"You walked into a line of blades, faced down a wrathful Queen to give her the body of her son. Ain't a damn person in that caravan, maybe all of Ferelden who'd do that without blinking."

"I was afraid," he whispered, "that...that I made a grave mistake. That I'd not return from wherever we are underground."

Myra gripped tighter to his hand, "Show's you're brave and not stupid."

"I feel far more the latter than the former right now," he muttered, his body waning from the confession. Myra released her hold on his hand, Gavin glancing down at the loss and his eyes stinging in regret. But she swooped her hand around the small of his back and perhaps foolishly tucked herself under his arm for a hug.

Gavin's hand hung suspended just above her shoulder, his mind weighing if this was wise or not. Rather than tell him it was fine, she knew better than to read anything into it, Myra waited. Slowly, he curled his palm against the top of her shoulder and gently tugged her to him.

"Who told you that," he spoke softly, "the bit about destiny?"

"My Dad, though it was a lot more mad rambling when he said it."

"Funny," Gavin snorted, "because my mother says the same. With less yak feces, of course."

"But the yak poop is the best part," Myra said and the boy who looked as if he'd been dragged to the void and back laughed. It felt hollow in this living tomb, but it was a sliver of hope in the darkness. Maybe he'd make it out of this, maybe he'd become that great Knight he was striving for. Settle down with a lovely lady with huge tracts of land, rule it justly and fair. He'd be a great Bann or Arl, no doubt.

And she...she'd bumble on, doing whatever she did. Not of the crown, not of the commoners, not of the elves, not of the humans, not of anything but herself. The girl of nots.

"Myra?" his voice cracked through the chilled air, rattling away her dour thoughts.

She turned her head to him to find Gavin's face pressed closer than she anticipated. "Yeah?" Myra gasped, uncertain what to do.

"Thank you, for...for worrying."

A breath exhaled from her lungs, Myra's body urging her to kiss those morose lips. To try and bring just a moment of bliss to him in this never ending river of shit. She blinked madly, her cheeks burning as she whipped her head away. "It was Lambert, remember. Lambert that was worried."

"Right," Gavin nodded, his own head turning to the side. But he squeezed his fingers tighter to her shoulder. "How could I forget Lambert."

## Chapter Fifty-Five

### Old Sins

Anjali's breath held tight in her cheeks as she paced outside the handful of tents the Queen allowed them to set up. Not many were inside the gates. Rosie, her sickening handlers, the brother, somewhere around here was the bastard sister. That knight with a sword up her ass -- she brought along a few squires for good measure to more or less get in the way. And that was all.

The dwarf Queen made damn certain any and all advisors or politicians remained far outside their walls. Whatever her endgame was, Anjali barely cared to guess. For awhile, the princess vanished into the deep to observe the final rites of the deceased, or so Nerazda claimed. It left everyone on edge, Anjali unable to stop pacing like a jaguar trapped inside a cage. Every lap, her eyes would dart to the door to their under-city, her fingers itching to yank out a dagger strapped to her back. Perhaps it took no time at all, perhaps hours. She couldn't tell, her body so on edge the concept of time itself vanished.

When Rosamund emerged unhurt and humbled, with her sister in tow, the princess glanced once at the uneasy assassin. There were volumes written in that single bat of her beautiful eyes, most of which Anjali barely understood. She knew why she left her, it was what she was trained to do. It was the returning, the promptly not only leaping to save this foreign woman but begging to stand by her side once again that inverted Anjali's heart.

She was an assassin. They, by default, did not form attachments easily. Certainly not quickly. Port in a storm and all that rot that gussied up a life with no home, no security, no...love. Anjali ran because...because she'd been wrong before. So very wrong it beat upon her brain every time she looked in the mirror.

Why were the feelings prickling against her fingers and toes? The sap seeping down her lungs and into her heart? Wasn't she supposed to learn from her mistakes and not repeat them?

Turning from the Princess attending court, or whatever the royals did when surrounded by nodding heads on thin bodies, Anjali began to walk deeper into the darkness of the wall. With the sun cresting fast, shadows seeped into the compound as dark as her flesh. The dwarves paced back and forth on their wall, but she knew that she couldn't be heard, her steps silenced out of habit as she vanished from sight.

It took surprisingly little convincing from Rose that an assassin was coming for the Queen -- the woman merely shrugged. Perhaps receiving her son's body was enough. But the idea that the assassin would actually kill her, and soon, was a different matter. Nerazda waved them away with her hand, insisting that she required no guards, no help from the human princess or her tricky assassin. All she needed was to be left alone until the morning while communing in prayer over the corpse of her child.

Anjali doubted she'd survive the night.

Her fingers itched, her tongue practically tasting how perfect an opportunity this was. The camp in turmoil, most too busy watching the newcomers both inside and out the walls. Even if they didn't open the gate one more time it didn't matter.

"I know you're here," Anjali whispered through her teeth, her head whipping back and forth in the encroaching darkness. She knew it because she taught it to her. Trained Tenna in how to use people against themselves. Sew questions, confusion, regrets -- make the target emotional and they miss the obvious until it's too late.

She should have known. Tenna was...it was a foolish choice to elevate her. To rescue her. To, to fake finishing the contract and invite her into the fold instead. She thought she saw potential in the dwarf's crystal blue eyes, but all that lurked inside was madness. Tenna hid it well, masked it under obvious pain and fear. Spoke the right words, bided her time with the best of them, until Anjali was too stupid to see the truth.

She created the viper in their midst, and Anjali feared the only way to stop it was to take the brunt of the poison on herself.

Rosie hadn't spoken much to her since accepting the assassin back into the fold. Poor Baby Knight looked as if he wished to flay her flesh off instead of the dead wolf's, his eyes narrowed to slits while the knife tugged apart meat. And Rose, her Sapheela, her... They lay near each other, the Princess insisting that the assassin be watched in case something else bad happened. That was her reasoning and she gave no other, not even to Anjali.

But she let her sleep in the same tent, along with all the other handmaidens. Those flippant girls with minds of fluff all faded fast but Rose twisted and turned in the night. Anjali couldn't see her, but she could feel her the way she knew her own heart. When Rosie landed upon her side, her emerald eyes tearing through Anjali, the breath stopped in the assassin's throat.

"I'm sorry," was all she could mouth, her mind reeling at the implications of what was to come.

Beautiful Rosie, a woman whose outer form was as soft and warm as her perfect breasts, but with an inner core of pure steel, turned over. She slapped both her hands under her head, the grey shadows lifting higher, before she muttered back, "I know."

That was all Anjali had. Perhaps all she ever deserved. They were in this mess because of her, because she didn't...she didn't trust the princess enough with the full truth. Maybe she didn't trust herself with it either.

Rubbing a hand along the scarf in her hair as if that might restart her dribble for brains, Anjali froze at a shadow darting from one edge of the wall to another. It leapt not like a dwarf on a patrol, but someone attempting to blend from one dark corner to another. But in doing so, a glint of moonlight lanced upon the dwarf's black and red outfit.

Anjali hissed inside her mind, "I see you."

She unsheathed her daggers silently, a breath tucked tight in her lungs while she chased after Tenna. The woman must be growing careless so close to her goal, the moonlight easily highlighting her far too black clothing. Hunched tight, the dwarf stepped behind the back of the dwarves little house atop their under-city. Her head tipped back, eyes sizing up the possibilities of how to break in.

People thought they could make their homes impenetrable using the thickest stones, hardest woods, and largest locks. They forgot that the easiest way to slip in was often by greasing the right palm. Was that how Tenna returned? It seemed unlikely she used the sister's assumption, no matter how certain she was in being able to climb the walls.

It doesn't matter, focus on the here and now.

Slipping into the darkness behind her, Anjali eyed up the dwarf as she unhitched a rope off her belt and began to swing the end. When the hook caught on the roof, Tenna gave a tug. She moved to place a foot onto the wall, when Anjali sighed.

Tenna's shoulders locked up tight, her head whipping back to spy the woman with both daggers extended to strike her down. "Well," she let go of her rope and fully turned towards Anjali. "Here I thought they'd have strung you up by the neck by now."

"You," she narrowed her eyes, the blade Tenna stole to kill her brother reflecting back the murderer's own eyes. White as the sky before a storm rolls in, Tenna kept both trained upon Anjali. "What are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious? What I've been planning since my people fell," Tenna hissed, slapping a hand into her chest.

"Don't do this," Anjali shifted her weight onto her back leg, her eyes trailing the dwarf who let her hands drift into her coat. "Forget your schemes here. Revenge, it's...it's hardly worth it."

"You were the one to teach me, to hone that fire. That was your favorite little aphorism, yes? Let it kindle something in you. Well, Anji," she tipped her head to the side and, smoother than butter, Tenna unsheathed her blade. "Come, revel in what your hard work has accomplished."

She leapt forward, her dagger clanging into the sword. Tenna had the reach, but Anjali had the height. It would be easy for her to draw the dwarf out and stab her right through the neck, same as she did to her brother. Easy...

"Stop this," Anjali said, her hands vibrating from the sting of bouncing off the dwarven made sword. It was a wonder anything could stand up to that craftsmanship.

"Stop it?" Tenna cracked a smile, "Whatever for?"

"You've bloody well lost. Get out of here! I can...I can cover for you. Say that, that I spooked you away. Lead them on the wrong path."

Those hard blue eyes, colder than the tips of a mountain, flattened in rage. Tenna snarled at the option put before her, that fire Anjali was often stoking threatening to burn them all to cinder. Suddenly, she froze and began to laugh. "Silly Anji, you think you can fix this. Same as in Kont-Arr. Two brothers look so similar, can you blame me for getting it wrong?"

Anjali struck fast, her arm slicing towards Tenna's exposed wrist, but the dwarf surprised her. Moving with a speed she never saw in all their travels, Tenna slashed upwards right towards Anjali's heart. It was only a breath's save that the woman danced backwards, the blade biting against her side and nothing more mortal. Tenna wasn't going to go easy, she wanted everyone dead. Even those who...who called her friend.

"I don't want this fixed. I don't want it waved away. I want vengeance," Tenna hissed, her slashes growing more erratic as the rage took over.

"Vengeance helps no one!" Anjali shouted, barely blocking the last. This was getting out of hand. She knew all these moves, but she was too chickenshit to take the woman down. You wanted to help her, to protect her. You would have lied for her, even to...

Tenna paused in her attacks and snickered, "Call it justice, then. Whatever helps you sleep at night, madam assassin."

"I never tried to kill my mother," she gasped, well aware of the hot blood slicking up the skin of her stomach. It wasn't much, yet, but if she kept dancing around it'd get worse.

"So it's my fault you never had any backbone to do it? I don't want you to rescue me, Anji. I never did. I just needed you to help. And I was more than happy to let it at that, but not you. No, you had to go and wedge yourself into the middle of my shit."

Silver lashed out of the darkness which Anjali deflected without thought, Tenna's blade patterns beginning to show. Despite the training, and her being an excellent student, Tenna was never the best at one on one. She fell back to three or four moves, certain that was enough. An overhand would come next.

Sure enough, Anjali caught it with her crossed daggers and shoved the blade's edge away. The move sent Tenna teetering back, her sword tumbling towards the ground. "I had it. I found the bastard who..." she rubbed her chin ruthlessly before spitting on the ground. "But you were there. What were you doing, I wondered? How much did you tell those people guarding my brother? How much did he figure out? Bastard was always quick and careful."

Tenna yanked off her hood revealing her ice white hair that glinted almost as silver as her sword in the massive moonlight. She quirked her head to the side like in a laugh back at any old drinking hole countries away, "So I figured, I'd get you both in one shot. There were so many times I could have taken Vedrick down. The whore house, those ladies know how to dispose of an unwanted body. The lake, someone drowns no surprise there. But you'd say something, you'd figure it out. And then they'd know and warn _her._ "

Spinning on a heel, Anjali lifted her dagger high. It'd stick right into Tenna's eye, but the dwarf predictably raised her sword to stop it. At that Anjali lashed out with her spare foot, knocking right behind the dwarf's knee. Tenna clattered to the ground, her sword crumbling to the dirt. Fast, Anjali lashed her foot on top, pinning it in place.

Tenna gazed up, her ice blue eyes staring through to Anjali's soul as the mentor, the friend, the woman looking for a similar soul in this world drew her blade against the dwarf's throat. "Let it go," she breathed, "or I will finish this."

The dwarf swallowed a bit, her lips pursing tight before she glared dead set at Anjali. "No," she shouted, her fist flying through the air.

Smoke exploded from the ground biting into Anjali's exposed eyes that'd been trying to keep track of the assassin. She stumbled away, pawing at her face but the wretched stuff clawed its way up her nose and into her lungs. Breath sputtered in bursts, air unable to make it through the rising fog. Her brain screamed in fear that she was going to suffocate, and her eyes popped from her skull in the struggle to find a single breath of useable air.

Before she could even begin that trip down memory lane to find where all in her life went wrong, the white smoke began to clear. It didn't fully vanish, but through the tears Anjali could look up fast enough to see that Tenna was gone. She glanced at the rope left dangling on the roof. There was no dwarf trying to scurry up it. The blighted thing was a decoy. Tenna was going to force her way in -- right were Rosie was!

"Fuck!" she cursed. Forgetting the burning inside of her lungs and veins, Anjali broke into a run. Both daggers spun in her fingers, the curve trailing her arms as she whipped them into place. There was no more playing nice; if she had an opportunity to take Tenna down...she had to do it.

The little Ferelden camp was rather festive, a few paper lanterns hanging off the sides while girls all sat curled up on straw-bales. They were singing a happy song about trees, or turnips, or whatever, it was hard for her to translate, when every voice faded at the sight of a bleeding, gasping, mad as hell assassin running into their small party. She glanced from one gasping mouth to another, trying to ferret out the traitor, not that the girls were helping.

"Anjali?" a voice whispered in concern.

For a moment, the assassin all but dropped to her knees in prayer. Rosie was safe. She stood beside her little planning table right before the big door. If they could just barricade it, then...

A shadow lurched out of the darkness, its blade swinging fast for the Princess. Anjali didn't have time to explain, or even think. She leapt forward. To all watching, it appeared as if the assassin snapped and was planning to mow down the princess with her own daggers. Even Rosie lifted her hands, her face wincing at the inevitable, when Anjali just caught Tenna's blade and wrung it back.

Reverberations of metal smacking into metal made the very air sing, Anjali staring deep into Rosie's emerald eyes. "Are you...?" she began to reach for her _Sapheela_ to make certain she was okay, when Tenna lashed back again.

Anjali spun in place, prepared to finish this once and for all, but the dwarf was cackling. "So, this is your new play thing?" Tenna tipped her head at the princess who increased her glare as she slid further away. "You always did have a type. Innocent. Pliable. With big, batting eyes, and bright cherry lips."

"Shut your lying mouth," Anjali snapped, lunging towards Tenna to silence her.

The dwarf easily skittered back, not about to be waylaid by such a simple attack. "Best be careful there, princess," Tenna turned to the woman who was pawing through her belongings to find something to help. "Or you might find yourself in more than one place."

Rosie's fingers froze right above a pile of canvas she was about to yank free. "What are you speaking of?"

"I've been following your kind for days, weeks really. Hiding a few dozen or so barrels of gaatlock is child's play," Tenna laughed before honing her sword right upon Anjali. "Step away from the door, and I won't strike the match."

"She's lying," Anjali hissed, her eyes narrowing on Tenna. She knew these tricks, even the smoke bomb was something she taught her. You could only lie and bluff your way so many times before you were faced with nothing but the wall and your own skills. On that matter, Tenna didn't stand a chance.

A warm hand landed upon Anjali's shoulder and gripped tight. She glanced back fast to find Rosie standing close. "We can't take that chance." All the girls standing under a tent of pretend Qunari exploding powder began to cry. It was as if the void itself sundered apart, the souls of the damned left to wail incessantly for their crimes while they trembled in fear.

"I can stop her now," Anjali twisted in place, wanting to drive her dagger into her friend.

"Then we all go boom," Tenna unearthed a flint from her belt and moved to strike it as if there was anything to catch a spark near her. But the threat was enough to cause the dithering handmaidens to panic more. "Not one step!" she shouted, watching the girls all dashing about like headless chickens.

"Anjali," Sapheela's breath wafted against her ear like a summer's breeze, "step back. Please."

"Smart and pretty. No idea why she'd even suffer a moment with you, Anji," Tenna jerked her sword at the two women while sliding closer to the door. No doubt she thought she had the Princess under her spell, but Anjali's shoulder nearly collapsed from how tight Rosie dug in with her hands. She was mad, they all were.

Tenna banged on the door with her foot, her sword held out while Anjali glared murder. "Tell them, tell them to let me in, pretty pretty Princess, or hiss, explode -- oh the... What are you all, humans? Oh the humanity."

"I can end this now," Anjali cursed.

"Trust me," Rosie whispered behind her, her fingers flexing for another hold. Raising her voice, the princess called to the guards inside. "This is Princess Rosamund. I require counsel with the Queen. Immediately."

It didn't take long for the doors to shift, the dwarf guards inside foolish enough to not care they were being played. Tenna raised up her hand in a salute of thanks, both women snarling. "Ah, and so you don't follow," she snickered and, launching back her arm, lobbed something round and black through the air.

Shit! Anjali wrapped her arms around Rosie, tugging the princess tight to her chest when the ceramic grenade shattered upon the ground. Sparks erupted, but puny ones that could only scare and startle those already on high alert. More smoke poured free, but this time Anjali kept her nose and mouth covered, while she attempted to do the same for Rosie.

"Don't breathe it in. Just hold and wait for it to pass," she shouted, causing herself to take in another dose. Damn, this stuff had better not be poisonous or she was going to kill Tenna extra hard.

It took a few whips of the wind before the acrid fog finally gave way. There was no explosion. No barrels of powder that caught from the sparks. Nothing but a lot of smoke and no fire. "Are you okay?" Anjali turned to the princess clinging tight to her.

Rosie's green eyes were red at the edges from the smoke daring to sting something so beautiful. But she waved away the pain and nodded her head against Anjali. Glancing out at her people, the princess asked the same. "Is everyone all right?"

"My lady!" some of them gasped, struggling to come back from their own near death experience.

"Why did nothing happen?" another asked, seeming to want to have been blown to tiny pieces and rather sad at the limp outcome.

"I told you it was a lie," Anjali hissed. She moved to release Rosie and chase after Tenna, but the princess kept her hands wrapped around Anjali's back. In the moment of fear where Tenna may have been right and they faced an end, she didn't even notice Rosie curled around her too.

"Have a bit of faith," Rosamund pursed her lips and ever so slightly brushed her cheek against the bottom of Anjali's jaw. It was subtle enough by the low light no one could have noticed save the woman left gobsmacked at such a sentimental moment. Stepping away, Rosie turned to whatever she was reaching for. When she spun back, she lifted her prize, the pink hue glowing by torchlight, "And bring your blades. We're going to need them to stop Tenna."

By the time they got inside, they found two guards left moaning. She must be in a hurry if she wasn't taking the time to kill. "There!" Anjali jabbed a finger at a dark figure racing deeper into the under-city. Tenna didn't even glance up at her, the dwarf facing a choice before her. Turn right and she'd be on the path towards the Queen, left and...

"She's going after her siblings," Rosie cried, rising from one of the guards she attempted to staunch the bleeding for. "We must stop her."

Why? Her taking out her brother was as much a way to get in as a warning to Anjali to stay out of it. But all she really wanted was to finish off her mother. Or was it the entire family the whole time? How far gone was the dwarf?

"I'm on it," Anjali shouted, rising up taller and beginning to run down the steep incline.

"As am I," the Princess' voice reverberated against the walls so fiercely, Anjali froze and spun around.

"Sapheela, please, don't..."

"This is my matter as much as it is yours," Rosie waved her unsheathed sword before herself, lining it up for a strike. "She did threaten my ladies in waiting."

Anjali stared daggers at the woman -- barely taller than a bintu tree but as unmovable as a mountain. She should insist Rosamund return to her people, leave it up to the assassins, remain safe. But Tenna could weasel out somehow, come after Rosie. As long as she was with Anjali she could protect her.

Which is all you want.

Which is why you never left.

"Very well, who am I to argue with royalty? Since my head is yet attached to my neck, I clearly don't have much practice." She reached up to take Rosie's hand. It was a breath before the princess slipped her fingers in with Anjali's, their palms locking tight, when the assassin tugged her down into the deep together.

Dwarves were flinging themselves out of the way, not all of them fighters, while the mad one swung her sword with impunity. Tenna cared nothing for who was caught in the blast just so long as she got her vengeance. "There!" Rosie called, pointing towards an open door at the end of the hall. The unhooded assassin spun back a moment and caught sight of Anjali standing a long run from stopping her. She touched her blade to her head for a laugh and salute, then moved to yank back the door.

Metal sliced through the air right above Tenna's head. She dodged just in time for someone's sword to miss decapitating her. Fingers falling off the door, Tenna vanished deeper into the room while that Knight slipped into view. Anjali's jaw dropped and she stared at Rosie.

"I suspected she'd make a play tonight and took precautions," she explained with a shrug. "But Daryan may not be able to hold her off forever. We need to stop her now."

Nodding quickly, and unable to hide the swell of admiration for the curvy woman beside her, Anjali took off into a long run towards the waring Knight and Assassin. By the time Anjali slid in, Daryan was trying to overwhelm Tenna by using the proper etiquette of dueling. It'd probably work on someone like baby Knight, but there was no such thing as fighting dirty for assassins. Any move counted as long as you survived and your target died.

"Look out," Anjali shouted, but too late as Tenna stumbled to a knee. It appeared as if she was done, her remaining brothers and sisters all huddled around the edges of the bed filled rooms and peeking down in horror at their murderous sibling. A smile lifted upon the black sheep's lips, and she lashed a rock right up into Daryan's face. It struck her nose hard, the Knight flinching and tumbling back from the blood pooling on her hand.

"Maker take you!" Daryan cursed, when Tenna slashed through the air.

"I do not answer to your Maker, nor any other god you choose to throw around. I am of the stone, as we all are, as we all should be!"

Giving no shits about the rules of combat, Anjali pivoted on her foot to slide a dagger right in and disrupt Tenna's attacks. The dwarf cracked her face to the side and smiled, "Anji. So nice of you to join me. Wasn't expecting the big one here. Deep roads ain't really their style."

"Put it down, Tenna. Step back. You're out numbered," Anjali hissed, the dwarf shrinking deeper into the room while her sword remained raised.

"Maybe so," she nodded her head around at the dwarves who'd been attempting to sleep. Every eye narrowed at their long lost sister returned to them, every hand twitched to find a weapon. Survival came in many forms.

"I see you brought your little princess too," Tenna tsked, "Not smart Anji."

"Why?" she stepped closer, prepared to knock her out with her blade. Slice her hamstrings to force her into place. Anything to end this once and for all. She'd crossed countries, lost months of her life, and it all hinged on this one moment. Forget your hope that you could save her, finish it now.

"Because," Tenna laughed and drew back her sword, but not to swing.

Oh shit! Anjali recognized she was about to throw it the moment the blade left her fingers. She whipped her head back to find Rosamund right in its path. Leaping without thinking, Anjali dove right for Rosie's stomach. Her shoulder bashed into that soft curve she'd cupped with her palm while they pretended to sleep next to each other. A few brief moments of normalcy wrapped in bliss. A farce but a kind one. The force bashed breath from Sapheela's body, a gasp breaking as the pair shattered to the ground beside a bedpost.

With Rosie safe in her hands, Anjali whipped her head back to try and finish off Tenna, and the dwarf wasn't where she left her. Tenna slid past the door with a smile on her face not even looking at where her sword landed. Her eyes darted over to Anjali scrabbling to get to her feet, then she winked. Which was when the entire wall exploded.

"Fuck!" Anjali cursed, debris raining against her body, dust clogging into her already battered lungs, while she tried to curl Rosie safe under her. A ringing knocked through her ears causing all sound to vanish in an instant, but she could feel her love trying to scramble out of Anjali's tight grip.

Rosie's face, streaked in dust and tears bobbed in Anjali's sight. Her mouth was moving but she couldn't make out any of the words -- only the unending ringing banging inside her brain. Whatever had Rosie stirred up, she kept jabbing at the door Tenna escaped through. Anjali was supposed to be listening, or understanding, probably looking, but she refused to turn from her Sapheela. It was so close, if they'd fallen backwards the doorway would have collapsed right onto Rosie, perhaps them both.

Cupping a hand against Rosie's chalked up cheek, Anjali's lips fell slack. The touch caused the princess to stop speaking, her emerald eyes softening from the hard glare of the trap. Caring not a whit for the dwarves surrounding them, Anjali drew her tight and planted a kiss to the impassioned mouth she nearly lost. At that moment, the ringing pierced apart by voices.

"Shit, we're trapped!"

Anjali slid away from the beautiful princess to eye up that where once there was a door a wall now stood. "How in the blighted hell did she...?"

"Lyrium sand," one of the dwarves explained, "must have hidden it there and knew disturbing it enough would cause a cave in."

"It could have killed her!" Anjali thundered, struggling to rise up to her knees. "Killed us all."

"At this point, I doubt she cares much of anything but her plan," Rosie seemed strangely calm for being locked in with no easy means of escape while the killer was on the loose.

"She's going for her mother. We have to warn the Queen," Anjali turned to the dwarves who were famous for their digging. "Come on, don't you want to save your mother? Get that door apart!"

A few stepped forward, their hands struggling to pry apart the rocks at the top. It was slow going and while they'd eventually be free, it gave Tenna more than enough time to finish off her mother. Probably even for her to escape. She had no intentions of sacrificing herself for her vengeance, and set this whole thing up to trap Anjali and anyone else coming for her.

"Damn it!" Anjali punched a fist into the rocks causing them to shudder a bit but remain obstinately in the way.

A hand landed on her shoulder and she turned to look down at Rosie. The princess with soft, pink lips smiled a moment before turning to shout, "Myra?"

_What? But that's..._

One of the blankets thrown over a bed lifted to reveal the blonde visage of the bastard daughter. Anjali stared down at Rosie in shock. _She expected this?_ Put not only Ser Daryan in here but her mage sister as well? Maker, she was never playing chess against the princess that was for certain.

"Yeah, yeah," Myra said, struggling to her feet. "Waiting for your word while shit exploded was really not fun, by the way. Get off, Rin!" She tried to shove away one of the dwarves left standing near the back with hands wrapped tight around a pillow in shock.

"Can you break this?" Rosamund asked.

Her sister paused before the workers barely making a dent in the wall. "I can break anything," she said, "trick is doing it without killing us all in the process."

"Yes, I'd prefer to avoid dying today if it's all the same," Anjali muttered. She wasn't terrified of all magics the way some thedosians were, but Myra unnerved her. There was a power there that was uncontrolled, almost wild, and it seemed doubtful the girl barely had a handle on it most times.

The sister stuck her tongue out a moment, her freckled cheeks puckering to emphasize her annoyance, before she turned to face the wall. No fire lifted on her fingers, for which Anjali was grateful. Their air was already low. But Myra formed a fist with her hand and ever so lightly bounced it into the rocks.

Every breath in the room held, eyes watching as the girl barely punched the wall. When she pulled it back, Anjali glared up at her, "Was that it?"

"Nah," Myra shook her head and the pressure of the room inverted straight towards her fist. Anjali had to grip onto the beds to keep from tumbling towards the mage's fingers as the girl made another go at punching towards the rocks. This time they exploded outward, boulders bouncing nearly a hundred feet or more down the roads.

"That was it," the girl snickered even while she gasped in a breath and moved to shake off her power. She was about to laugh at Anjali when the room's ceiling began to crack, ready to shatter over them. "Uh, we might want to move, all of us."

Anjali escaped first, Rosie hot on her heels. Myra remained back, guiding the dwarves she must have spent a few hours with while hiding under the covers. A few she nodded her head at as if this was all perfectly normal. It was obvious the others wanted to stay to help and make certain no one was injured in all the attacks, but there wasn't time.

Hopping forward, Anjali reached for her dagger only to remember she dropped them both when rescuing Rosie. It didn't matter. She'd stop Tenna with her bare hands if need be. Breaking into a jog, then run, Anjali whipped past runes, statues, torches, all of it fading to a blur while she could see her prey in her mind's eye.

"Tenna!" Anjali shouted, giving away her position. She needed to find her, fast. Rattle her.

Turning to the right to follow the corridor, she spotted her once friend standing right outside the last door. It looked impenetrable, bearing a golden lock nearly the size of Anjali's head which was what Tenna had her hands inside. The dwarf didn't turn away, didn't care that the assassin was advancing for her. Catch up, grab her, pull her from this madness and finally talk some sense into her.

It could still work.

Anjali struggled to assure herself while she watched Tenna with her tongue slightly out as she worked the lock. She looked as if they were on any regular old job, her dwarven companion perched on her knees jabbing at the tumblers while silently cursing up a storm. Anjali once found it cute, now it made her guts roil. She couldn't let her win.

Suddenly, Tenna stood up and -- shit -- yanked open the door. Anjali was a good fifty feet away. She couldn't make it. She had to make it. If she'd brought her damn dagger she could have thrown it at the dwarf. Damn it all!

A single ice-blue eye darted up to Anjali's steaming face, and a smile broke upon Tenna's lips. _She was so close,_ the breath hitching in her cramping chest _, she could just..._

The door slammed, Anjali's hands both banging right into it to stop her from plowing into it. No! No, no, no! She cursed herself for being slow while grabbing onto the handle and yanking with all her might. "Damn you, Tenna!" she shouted, her fists pounding into the door in the hope she might warn the Queen of the danger coming. "Don't do this! Stop before you regret it. Please!"

Behind her, Anjali could hear footsteps struggling to catch up with her lanky run. One voice in particular caught her attention, "What's happened?"

"We're too late," she gasped, wanting to run as far from her failure as she could. But Anjali remained rooted on the spot when Rosie gripped onto her shoulder.

"We can still try. Someone, get this door open before your Queen perishes."

"Ma'am," a dwarf wheezed through the dust cluttering the air. "That door can't be opened except by a key."

Rosie turned from staring at the impenetrable door to glare at the dwarf, "Then bloody well find a way, and fast." The dwarf yelped, all of them hefting up axes and attempting to chop their way through the door.

Placing her hand to the door, Anjali prayed. She wished she had her mother's powers, to have known that this would happen. To never have trusted Tenna, trained her, cared one whit about her. But she didn't. She was born as normal as anyone else in the village, no spirits there to guide her through the fates pressing upon the world.

Tenna. Do not do this. Don't...don't end a life because, because once a lonely, foolish assassin took pity on you.

Dropping to a knee, Anjali unearthed a lockpick out of her headscarf. She reached deep inside the lock Tenna broke into and got to work.

## Chapter Fifty-Six

### Returning Home

Light burrowed into the creases of her face, each flicker of the candle lengthening the years and pain etched into a woman who wore both with a weakening grace. Queen Nerazda sat upon her knees as she had for the past three hours. Her hands were clasped together right beside the body of her youngest son. He'd been cleaned as best they could manage and dressed in a suit of fine silk, bluer than the frost runes that once circled his body. All that was left for him now was the stone to come and claim their lost son.

All that was left for her was to wait.

Behind, a shadow crept over the weeping candles. It seeped into the breadth of the stones themselves, snuffing out light and hope with each cautious step. Nerazda didn't rise from her forehead pressed into the altar, the Queen's neck perfectly stretched to be sliced in half.

The stone shifted, shadows feeling from a gust of wind. It should be soft as a newborn's breath, barely a whisper releasing as the knife slid out of its sheathe, but the candles knew. Every burnt wick danced closer, wiping away the darkness surrounding the altar. Still, the Queen did not raise her head.

What creature of the night dared to disturb this refuge, this tomb of a lost son? It cared nothing for the anguish weeping from a broken mother's heart. Slipping its silver fang to a fresh hand, it gripped onto the grieving woman's shoulder.

"Welcome home, Tenna."

Her fingers trembled, the assassin swallowing hard as she faced down her mother's head rising from the stone tomb. Slowly, Nerazda turned to eye up her wayward child. "So it is true, then. You have returned only to...to break your family."

"Me?" Tenna hissed, a hand slapping to her chest before she gripped onto her mother. "How dare you blame me. I wasn't the one to doom us to this treacherous life. You did, mother. You turned your back on everything we knew, everything we held dear and for what?"

Nerazda took a deep breath, her weary eyes struggling to focus on the daughter clinging to her shoulder as if she were hoping for a piggy-back ride. "To keep us alive."

"Alive?" Tenna spat on the ground, "We are not alive. We are nothing. We have been cast from the stone. Parade about down in your pseudo-pit all you like, pretend to claim back some lost glory, but it is gone. All is lost because of you!" She moved to swing her dagger, but Nerazda wouldn't look away.

"Why?" the mother's questions froze Tenna. "Why kill your brother?"

"You know," Tenna hissed, tears burbling in her words.

The Queen shut her eyes a moment and groaned, "He was a boy, he didn't...he chose to live. For all of us."

"He doomed us, he opened up the deep roads."

"We were dying, Tenna. We could not have survived without..."

"He made us casteless!" she shrieked, jabbing a finger at the man who'd long left the world of caring behind.

Nerazda sighed, "It depends on how you look at tradition..."

"No, mother," Tenna sucked in a sharp breath, too focused on the task to notice anything amiss in the darkness. "I will not let you warp dwarven tradition, the shaperate itself, to fit your vanity. We are here, on the surface. We have seen the sun, walked under it. Suffered from it. I know what it is to have my skin burned upon my bones while dust coats my tongue."

"That was your choice!" she turned to her daughter, a wrinkled hand struggling to catch the assassin's as if she could wrestle the dagger away. "You were not banished. You were free to remain."

"As a fraud, pretending to be a dwarf while all of it seeped away from us. Everything that made us what we were lost in a single earthquake. What we were, what we are was buried under miles of stone as we should have been."

"Tenna, please," the Queen begged, "we can rebuild. We can become stronger, and you can be a part of this still. Stay with us. Help us."

She stared longingly into the Queen's ice blue eyes, her fingers itching up and down her mother's shoulder as if she was waffling away from her decision. "No," Tenna spat out, shaking her head, "No, this is a farce and I will not play it. I am finishing you, finishing all of this."

"Then we will die."

"And something else can grow. The dwarves as we were are gone forever," Tenna hissed. "Turn around."

Nerazda tipped her head in surprise. "No."

"I said turn around! I will not..."

"You will not murder your own mother while she stares you in the eye? Well, I refuse to look away, Tenna. I birthed you, nursed you, taught you, and when your father passed led you. All of you. And now, in this dark turn of yours, I shall not look from you."

The Queen lifted her chin, glaring her daughter straight in the eye with a dare. Tenna's lips began to whiffle, a breath wheezing in and out of her nose. Her form started to wilt, the armed hand drifting limply down and she took a step back. Nerazda breathed a sigh of relief when Tenna lifted her arm up again.

"Fine," she hissed, and drove the dagger straight for her mother's heart.

Out of the shadows, a sword swung right between mother and daughter, deflecting the dagger from its target. Tenna spun on her heels, her hands gripping tighter as she spied the secret watcher stepping out of the shadows. She blinked a moment, no doubt expecting it to be the assassin. "Who are you?"

Gavin shifted on his feet, getting a feel for the dwarven lower sense of gravity. "The man chosen to stop you," he said. Tenna sighed and rolled her eyes at the dramatics, when he struck. She whipped her dagger fast in an attempt to block the blows but it had nothing on his blade. The sword had the reach, and with his arm length it was a matter of time.

Scrabbling backwards, both combatants drifted away from Snowy's corpse and the mother pinned beside it. Gavin swung wide, his eyes drifting from Tenna's sharp dagger to her free hand. At the last second, he swung hard left, then reached out to slap her hand down. A small ceramic ball helplessly tumbled to the ground. Whipping his foot out, he kicked it away into the darkness where it crumpled against a wall.

The dwarf hissed in rage at him. "Your last one, I take it?" Gavin guessed.

Tenna dug her foot in and prepared to leap up, her dagger slashing for Gavin's exposed stomach. Its silver bite cut right above his flesh, the air wooshing past, when he twisted backwards, spun his sword, and sliced right into Tenna's arm. The dagger clattered from her fingers, blood welling up at a cut deep enough to do real damage. It was doubtful she'd lose it, but her chances of picking up a weapon again greatly diminished.

But she wasn't out yet. Even weaponless, the dwarf hissed and tried to swing a punch at him. The first struck into his hip, crumpling his stance, but Gavin swung wide. Air was all the blade caught, but it kept Tenna off balance. She was exhausted, out of all of her clever little tricks, and had nowhere to turn.

Backpedaling, one hand clinging to the blood gushing from her arm, Tenna found herself pinned to the altar of her dead brother. A man she couldn't bother looking in the eye before she killed. The one she decided to murder even though he saved her life and all the other dwarves. Tenna moved to kick him, but Gavin easily deflected that. He bashed the pommel of his sword into her nose and, when Tenna dropped her head, grabbed the top of her hair.

Exposing her neck, Gavin drew his blade right beside her traitorous hide. One flick of his wrist and she'd bleed all over the floor, right before her brother. His heart slowed, the anger in his veins switching from a roiling boil to instant steam. It was so simple, it'd take almost no work for him to rid the world of this mistake. For a beat, Gavin let his eyes roll over to the corpse of his friend. There were so many things Snowy didn't have a chance to teach him, to share, to grow with. And she stole them all.

With a growl, Gavin pushed his arm forward. Blood began to wick against his blade, bleeding against the edge like rose petals.

"Stop!" a voice shattered the thunderous nothing in his ear. Fingers tried to pry into his arm, but he wouldn't move or budge. It wasn't until a blade drew against his neck that Gavin rose from his vengeance filled tunnel to find Anjali about to cut him down.

"You..." he hissed at her. Of course, they were in this together the whole time. How could he not...

"Please," she didn't yank her dagger away, but tears bubbled in her eyes, "please, step back."

"Let her go, after everything she's done? Everything she tried to do?!" Gavin inched closer, Tenna's fingers wrapping around his sword. Not caring how the edge sliced into her flesh, she tried to lift it away, but Gavin was stone.

"I didn't say let her go," Anjali whimpered, before rolling her eyes towards someone in the back.

Gavin let himself glance behind quick to find Princess Rosamund standing there. Her lips were pursed and hands folded to her stomach while she watched the display. "Squire..." she began as if this hadn't all been her plan. As if they didn't figure he'd be the last line of defense and the most likely to finish this once and for all.

Dust exploded in the low light and Myra skidded to a stop beside her sister. Her eyes hunted over the scene, Tenna about to bleed to death all over her dead brother, and she grimaced. If he'd killed her a few seconds earlier there would be no waffling from any of them.

"Sapheela," Anjali was in near hysterics, her own blade bobbing closer to Gavin. At that Myra hissed and flexed her fingers, but Rosie grabbed them up to stop her from launching any magic. "Please. Let me...stop this, before it gets too far."

The Princess locked in tight, her head lifting. It looked to Gavin like she was about to give the order to kill, when her eyes wandered over to the last woman in the room. "Your Majesty," she addressed Queen Nerazda. "This is your daughter."

"So it is," she drifted closer to Gavin.

"And she was attempting to kill you and your other children."

"So she was," the Queen's blue eyes burned into her child on the brink of death. With her pinkie finger, she batted into Anjali's dagger, "I don't think that's required." The assassin whipped her head back at Rosamund, as if the princess would come to her side, but she slowly withdrew her threat to Gavin.

Slam forward. Finish this. Bring justice for Snowy -- by killing his sister.

Fingers raw from digging stone, flesh dry and cracked from this dark underworld covered over the ones Gavin had wrapped around his sword. He twisted his throbbing head towards Nerazda and she in turn looked deep into his soul. Vengeance. It drove this assassin to depths beyond reasoning. It burned in the soul like pitch, never ceasing until everything around it was ash.

Running his tongue over his teeth, Gavin released his grip on the sword. Nerazda was quick to snatch it up, sliding into place to look upon her daughter. On trembling legs, Gavin slipped backwards, his eyes never leaving the scene or the assassin, when a hand grabbed onto his side. He didn't need to look over to see who it was, Myra steadying him.

"Tenna," the Queen murmured, "my baby girl." Even with a hand holding the sword to her throat, Nerazda gently pulled at a tendril of hair that fell into Tenna's face. "You chipped your first tooth on the stairs of the proving grounds. You kept two nugs hidden in your bedroom, and if anyone questioned you about the squeaking, you'd mimic the cries yourself."

Tears rolled in the assassin's eyes at her mother's gentle touch and sweet words. She drew in a breath hard and lifted her chin higher. "Finish it, mother. Finish me."

"Very well," Nerazda said. Tenna shut her eyes tight, everyone holding their breath, when the sword clattered from the old woman's hands. She wrapped both her arms around her daughter and pulled her into a hug.

Shock erupted off of Tenna's face, her hands locked in tight to her sides by her mother's embrace. In a steady voice, Nerazda said, "I can never kill one of my children. Not for dooming us to the surface world in order to save us, nor for...for letting such hatred fester in your heart because of that choice."

"What...? What the hell do we do now?" Myra whispered in shock.

"Give her to me," Anjali spoke up, every eye turning to the assassin. "I can...take her back. Return her to Rivain where... There's a life if you'll damn well take it this time, Tenna."

"No," the murderer whipped her head back and forth, "no, I will not..."

"Ten," the Queen whispered, her fingers drawing against her daughter's cheek. She glanced down at the hand laying limply beside Tenna's side. "Your arm is beyond salvaging, you will never be welcomed here or anywhere within a dwarven community again. Your life, your vengeance has failed. Take what is offered to you, or spill your blood now and get it over with."

"I thought you said you wouldn't kill me," Tenna laughed.

"I wouldn't," the Queen turned cold as ice, a viper's tongue darting from her mouth. There were dozens lined up to do the job, no doubt, Gavin certain to be the first. "Take her," Nerazda turned to Anjali, who sheathed her dagger and began to knot rope around Tenna's arms and legs. "Find a use for her, somewhere beyond these lands."

"Mother..." Tenna began, about to be tugged away by the assassin. Myra's hand locked in with Gavin's, the pair struggling in a breath but clinging tight to each other. It was Rosamund who was glaring at Anjali as she dragged Tenna by her arms and out into the night.

"And," the Queen raised her voice to be heard by the scrabbling of her daughter's boots, "if you are ever seen by any dwarves in this land or beyond, you will be killed on sight."

## Chapter Fifty-Seven

### Three Weeks

By morning, the tomb for young Vedrick was locked away. _Sent to the stone_ was all they'd tell the pushy surface Princess who need not know anything else. She pursed her lips but inquired no further because she had far bigger problems on her mind. Walking with Queen Nerazda towards the surface, Rosie tried to strike while the iron was blistering.

"Your Majesty, if I may..."

"I normally refuse when anyone begins as such, but you did save my life. I suppose I owe it to you."

She sighed at the obvious hostility appearing so quickly. Even with Tenna in chains but alive, the dwarves remained unhappy with these humans perched on their doorstep. "You keep yourself isolated in an attempt to cling to tradition, but that is killing your people as surely as the earthquake would have."

"Interacting with you surfacers is against everything we dwarves believe in."

"Yet that didn't stop your son from breaking apart the doors and thrusting you all into the light of day. From saving you."

The Queen paused a moment, her head bent to her chest in thought. "Vedrick was a brash boy, but even in doing what he thought was right, he broke the laws. He had to be banished from his people, from his home. What little remains. It was my duty to command it."

"How could you do that to your own son? Knowing that he saved so many?"

Her ice blue eyes whipped over and Rosie shrunk a bit at the glare, "You walk the same thin line, I assume, Princess. Tradition, duty. When disaster befalls your people, do they not cling to it like an axe before the darkspawn swarm? If you think I enjoyed shunning my son, you are making wild and unfounded accusations."

"No, your Majesty, I am only..."

"If I'd gone against my people's traditions in such a time of upheaval, we'd have splintered even worse. Factions would form quickly, each fighting the other until our people were truly destroyed. Nothing rallies people together in tragedy like the banner of the familiar. There are few of us remaining, if we lose anymore it will spell the end of everything we ever knew."

Rosie slapped her palms together, causing a few guards to flinch. "That is precisely my point. Queen Nerazda, your people are on the brink of disaster every day. Allow us to assist. Form an alliance with Ferelden, nothing more. We can provide food for your shortages, aid in times of storm, assistance with matters on the surface you are unfamiliar with."

The woman tipped her head up in pride, but her shrewd eyes darted over what the princess was offering, "And there must be something Ferelden hopes to get in return."

"Your knowledge, your skills, in due time we could learn much from each other. But right now, in this instance, your people are suffering greatly and we can help."

Nerazda sighed. It didn't take Rosie more than a quick look through the barely closed doors to notice waning stores, low grains, grumbling stomachs, and a great pile of sick. If the damn dwarves weren't so proud just maybe they'd take the hand that was offered to them instead of wasting away to nothing in the dark.

"I will consider your words."

"An alliance?"

"Inroads, nothing more," the Queen insisted, which was honestly more than Rosie expected. "However, only if they come from him." She pointed her finger at the man who saved her life. After the long night, he was sitting upright in the dirt no doubt practically asleep but unable to take an eye off the prisoner tied to a stake.

"Gavin? But he is a Squire. There is no diplomatic training in his..."

"That is my only offer," Nerazda smiled wickedly.

"Then we have a deal," Rosamund sighed, "of sorts."

"Wonderful," Nerazda turned away from Rosie towards her remaining children. There were four in total who were none too pleased about the outsider's plan that put their Queen and mother in danger, but when Nerazda herself insisted, none could argue. For being the fallback ruler after her husband died, she was proving herself surprisingly staunch in the face of so much heartache.

Was that to be Rosamund's future as well?

Her eyes darted across the desolate fields, smoke battering back and forth due to barely dug in fires, to land upon her assassin. Anjali never left Tenna's side, making certain the dwarf had no picks on her, and couldn't cut the rope. Even still, she was often retying and manacling her to the stake, afraid the dwarf would make a run for it the first chance she had.

But something in Tenna was broken, her head drooping down and never raising. She wouldn't look at her people, or anyone else that she threatened with death that night. Her eyes would only focus and head lift for one person -- Anjali.

And you fear she will feel the same in time.

Rosie cupped a hand to her chest trying to screw back in her fleeing heart. With every beat the cracks grew longer, spidering out through the entire organ until she feared there'd be nothing left behind but the aching void.

"Sapheela," the voice snapped her away from her dark thoughts, and she focused upon the umber eyes drifting closer to her. "May I speak with you?"

She wanted to refuse. If she didn't speak to Anjali then...maybe she could delay the inevitable for a few more minutes, or hours. Give her one more day, at least. Nodding her head, Rosie walked them away from the few humans who were packing up. The dwarves didn't want them there overnight and frankly, they didn't wish to remain. It was a long night for everyone.

"Ah," Anjali snapped her finger and turned. "Baby Knight!" Gavin sneered at the name but looked up, "can you keep an eye on Tenna?" His destructive amber glare narrowed but he did as told, twisting towards the dwarf he caught. She seemed to care even less about him than anyone else in camp.

"The woman is like a snake, she can wiggle her way free of nearly any bonds," Anjali muttered to herself.

"Personal experience?" It slipped from Rosie's lips, her mouth burning from the bitter acid seeping out of her heart.

She knew Anjali heard it, but the woman didn't respond. They continued to walk further away, the cacophony and chaos of packing fading into the distance while all before her was...emptiness.

"I must take her soon," Anjali began, both women pausing side by side. Rosie didn't turn to her, she couldn't. Instead she shut her eyes tight. "The longer she remains here, the more likely she is to escape and cause havoc. I cannot allow it yet again."

"What will you do with her?" Rosie breathed.

"Banned from all dwarven lands, that's a tall order. But I know of a few places that are free of even their nefarious merchant guilds. Islands. Small ones," she spat the words out fast, her head bowed while her eyes canvased the dirt. Had that been Anjali's final plan all along? Pull Tenna away from all those she came to hate and hope that something else would fill her heart?

Rubbing a hand against the scar on her arm left by the darkspawn, Anjali sighed, "It's her best hope."

"What will you do with her?" Rosie repeated, finally risking looking up into Anjali's confused face. The sob echoed in her breath and tugged on her eyes, but it wouldn't shatter the chains. Rosamund refused to give in again. If this was to be it, then so be it. At least she was better prepared.

With a gentle touch, Anjali cupped her hands. The calluses from a lifetime of twirling her daggers to death's dance knocked against Rosie's perfumed and pale skin. She never felt less worthy of it than in that moment. "Sapheela," her assassin whispered, her breath curling against Rosie's cheek. "Give me three weeks to find a boat, one that I know Tenna cannot break off of. And then..."

She skirted a finger against Rosie's cheeks, sliding each escaped hair back behind her ears. The sob shattered from its containment, Rosamund unable to take this slow torture. "And then what? You're an assassin, you have your prey. Your job here is finished."

"Perhaps," her lips trembled, Anjali's lids closing tight when she pressed Rosie's forehead against her chin. Even fearing the end, Rosie couldn't help herself, her arms sliding behind Anjali's back. Locked into her lover's embrace, her heart slid up against her ribs pleading for another to answer back in kind.

Those sweet, supple lips pressed a kiss to her ice white forehead. "I cannot leave you. I tried, I weighed every fear sitting inside your heart. What my life would be in this...turnip infested frozen land. What I would do for work without my band of brothers. I keep coming back to how little I care about any of that. As long as I have you."

"Anjali," she murmured, wishing she could believe the sweet words. "I can't force you to..."

"Sure you can, you're a princess. But you won't. And you don't have to either. Three weeks, please. Sapheela, believe in me."

She ached to. Lifting her head up, Rosie stumbled deep into those umber pools and deep in her heart hope erupted. Her lips pressed tight to Anjali, this woman she never thought she could dare to kiss or touch. The tears slopped down her cheeks, Rosie clinging on her toes to reach, when Anjali cupped her jaw and held her steady. With a practiced hand, the assassin tipped the princess' head until they were free to kiss for an eternity. Warmer than a summer's day, sweeter than the ripest fruit, more intoxicating than the strongest brandy, Rosie tried to remember every pucker of Anjali's lips and press of her fingers for fear that she'd never know any of it again.

"You'd better come back," Rosie said, struggling to blink through the tears beading on her lashes.

Anjali smiled bittersweetly and wiped a thumb to clear away the crying, "I will. Three weeks. Look for me. Sapheela," she dipped down and whispered something in Rivain directly into Rosie's ear. She had no idea what a word of it was, but her spine shivered and she tugged Anjali closer wanting to savor every turn of those foreign syllables.

The first to step back was Rosamund, prepared to let her go. She had to trust, even if...in the scheme of things there was no reason for her to. Anjali stood frozen a moment, her hands hanging bereft in the air as if she wished they were still full of a princess. Cinching up her parted lips, the assassin nodded her head and moved to gather up Tenna.

"Three weeks. I swear," Anjali cupped a hand to her breast while staring at Rosamund.

She lifted her fingers and limply waved while the assassin gathered up her prize. "I...trust you," she whispered to herself wishing the words would make it true.

Wiping away the tears and the dread in her gut, Rosamund wrestled up her brother who was rather miffed he missed out on all the fun. Myra was kind enough to point out how there was a lot of eye burning smoke and deadly daggers flying, but Cailan shrugged it all off. He could have been somewhat useful, perhaps closed a door or something in the ensuing battle.

When Rosie approached, the various handlers all rose to attention, while her brother and sister remained seated. Cailan twisted his head to her and smiled, "Rossie, what's the good word?"

"We're finished here," she said, her eyes darting over to the two assassins silhouettes fading into the distance. Myra spun around to watch as well, her thin lips pursed in obvious annoyance. Putting on a false smile, Rosie shouted for all to hear, "Let's go home."

Given the level of excitement of this trip, the final leg was anything but. Two weeks of travel beating down roads, Karelle sharing tips on how best to impress the court when they arrived back home, some games, and Rosamund doing her best to not look at the calendar. What would she do when three weeks had passed? Would she pace about on a balcony? Perhaps lock herself away for years, her heart hanging upon this single promise by a woman who killed people for a living?

One night, she and Myra made good on their plans to work through the heartache. There was no one else. Not Tess, or the other handmaidens. Myra didn't bring along her elven friend. For a few hours it was two sisters talking about how much love sucked. The next day was a beautiful dawn.

By the time they rattled into Denerim, exhausted but happy to see familiar landmarks, cobbles, and faces -- the people of the city all formed along the sides to wave. No one dashed out to give Rosie a flower, but the people would whistle in congrats and somehow Myra managed to find herself a basket of pretzels. She was darting along the line of the parade, giving them to people she liked. Rather than refuse something so gauche, Rosamund took two. She was princess after all, it was her prerogative to have a little extra snack.

Their father waited for them at the steps of the palace, flanked by a pack of advisors who'd no doubt been missing Karelle something awful. Rosamund turned to her people and gave the few orders she knew to begin disembarking and unloading the wagons. With a straight spine, she rose up the stairs with Cailan on her right and Myra wandering a bit behind on the left.

At the near top, Rosamund paused and looked her father dead in the eye. Slowly, she curtsied a bit and he lifted the edge of his lips in a smile.

"Princess," he glanced around at the throngs of people gathered around for the celebration, "how was your trip?"

Heartbreaking. Terrifying. Ecstatic! Unyielding. Impossible.

"Acceptable," Rosie said, tipping her head to the side. She caught Karelle beaming a rare smile at her two toughest subjects showing a bit of protocol, when the King leapt off the stairs and threw his arms around her.

Rosie barely had a chance to breathe, before Alistair tugged both Cailan and Myra into his great hug. "Maker's breath, I am so glad you're home." Tears clung in his eyes which he let fall without any attempt to hide. "Someone else is glad you're here too," their dad stepped to the side, dropping a grateful Rosie and grumbling Cailan.

From behind stepped their mother, Beatrice in a proper dress for such an occasion. Rosie felt frumpy in her traveling frock, prepared for the nitpicking from her mother for her failure in fashion, but wrinkled white hands curled up her face as if seeing her daughter for the first time.

Beatrice tugged her tight to her shoulder, a hand patting into Rosie's hair. "I am so proud of you," she said. Glancing over at her son, Beatrice snatched onto him too, "And you as well."

"Mother," Cailan groaned, clearly wanting to break free, but he let their mom continue to hug and kiss his cheek as if they'd been away for years.

Rosie slid away from the display and turned to watch as Myra's big eyes opened wider. She was staring into the crowds, curious as always, when a great group of people all wearing long yellow coats stepped forward. There were dwarves, elves, a qunari woman who could barely fit the coat on one arm -- but when the blonde elf stepped forward Myra dashed down the stairs and leapt into her arms. It threw Reiss for such a surprise, she nearly plummeted off the stairs and into her ragtag group of detectives. Whatever Myra was babbling to her mom, it was buried in the crowd falling into the arms of their loved ones.

A hand slipped to Rosie's shoulders and she looked up to find her Dad standing beside her. That kingly facade was long gone, only her father remained watching the same tearful reunion as his daughter. "Don't worry, kiddo. We can put off the debriefing and eternal report writing for a day..." Alistair turned at the sound of Karelle clearing her throat, "a few hours, at least. Come on, they just got back. You're such a hard ass, you know."

"Dad," Rosie snickered, cutting off her father fighting with his oldest Chamberlain and often friend. She was about to tell him that she didn't mind, they had much to discuss, but at the glow in his eyes Rosie sighed, "It's good to be home."

## Chapter Fifty-Eight

### Open Door

Everything was the same.

Sure, Rosie was the one parting information to the various heads of state and advisors gathered around a table instead of the King. They had to listen to her, but one by one each head swiveled back to her father who kept a foolish grin on his face for near all of it. He was less excited about the retelling of her plan to capture the assassin considering how many it left in danger, but gave her a thumbs up at the end. When the Arls and Banns filed out, prepared to make their own requests to a dwarven kingdom who'd want none of them, they all smiled at the plucky princess who made it happen.

But they didn't view her any differently.

Their real questions and concerns would be given to the King who oversaw it all, whether he wished to or not.

Cailan returned to whatever Cailan left off. He was flitting around here and there about the castle without thought. Sometimes she caught him staring overlong at the servants, in particular a dark headed elf girl. But he'd shrug off any questions and scamper to find a game or drink to pass the time.

It was barely even an hour into their return before Myra vanished fully into the city. Her mother all but plucked her up and returned her to the world of crime, or whatever she did in her life.

That was how Rosie watched the final week pass, everything returning to normal while refusing to be the same. She glared around at her handmaidens who used to be slight annoyances, talked coldly to Banns and Arls that spoke above her, but most of all she waited.

She hated that she was waiting.

For that final day, the twenty first that she promised to watch pass, Rosie climbed onto the balcony overlooking the front gate. It was a tight fit designed more for a few statues to guard over the souls inside than a princess, but she managed. And she waited. Knees tucked up under her chin, her legs burning in the strain while her arms wrapped tight in a solo embrace. The sun lengthened, shadows skirting against royal guards marching to and fro up and down the line. But there was no assassin. No dark woman with red tattoos slipped into the middle of them. Nothing changed in the normal routine except for her heart sundering in half.

Still she waited.

The stars overtook the sky, pockets of them glittering overhead. Rosie wished she learned anything about them, to give her an excuse to be outside in the middle of the night. But there were no secrets she could discern within the night's sky. All it looked to her were a million tears cried from a loss only the Maker Himself would understand. When the twenty second day's sun rose, so too did a numb Rosamund.

She stepped inside, her cheeks and forehead red as her name to have Evie and a few others gasp at the sight. Rosie didn't care and spent the rest of the day not in any bottle or bed, but at the range. Things seemed easier when it was a simple matter of filling a target with arrows.

And now, she shook her head away from the window and threw on a half hearted smile. Now she was forced to be the adoring daughter at her father's birthday party. Her lips lifted, revealing a line of teeth all the whiter against her sunburn that barely faded over the ensuing days. Maker, did her mother cluck at her for that.

The Queen was dead certain this was the party where Rosamund would finally stop playing around and find herself a husband. Because that was all that mattered, her becoming what Ferelden expected of her. What she wanted, what she ached for was circumspect in the matter of the crown.

"Ah, hello Bann Loren," Rosie waved limply at the man who was gesticulating like a drowning man at her. She spotted her father dancing by himself in the middle of the floor. Despite it being a party technically thrown in his honor, it was rare for him to remain out and about so deep into the night. Perhaps he found some good reason to celebrate. Myra was near him, the two acting like complete fools while Ferelden clapped them on.

Rosamund turned away from the sight and nearly walked face first into a mass of black curls. Her heart stopped a moment, when the woman turned around and hope died anew. She was much older, probably in her 60s, and had a good dozen shrimp stashed inside a mug. Rosie was about to move on, when the woman smiled and something in the warmth touched even the princess' dead heart.

"Good evening, your highness," the woman said.

"And to you," Rosie tipped her head.

For a beat her eyes darted over to the King wagging his arms about like a scary bear, before they returned to Rosamund. "You don't remember me, do you?"

"Ah..." the princess' eyes opened wide in a panic. Was she supposed to know this random old woman?

"It's all right. I don't visit much, not as often as your father would like."

"My father?" Rosie turned to look at her anew. Whoever this woman was she must be someone important for her father to care at all.

At that moment, squire Gavin came jogging through the crowds. He wore a much better fitted livery than the first time, the shine of the mail damn near blinding in the candlelight. Rosie was surprised he left his post and turned to see if there was a problem but his eyes were only on the older woman.

"Mother?" he gasped and she kindly turned to him with a smile. "Maker's breath, what are you doing here?"

"It's Ali's birthday. Well, or so they're all pretending on King's Birthing Day whenever that lands. Blessed Andraste is that one difficult to pin down on the calendar. You'd think a drunken rabbit on every fifth dark moon of the year picked it or something."

So this was her. Rosamund turned to stare downward at the woman who ended a Blight, saved a nation. Saved the world really. She looked normal. A bit eccentric with the shrimp, but average, nearly forgettable with her round face and bright eyes. All save that voice that warmed Rosie's heart out of its cold stupor. Was that how she did it? Charmed a nation to form an army and then save it?

"Mom, you never come to the King's birthdays," Gavin stepped forward wrapping a hand around hers.

"Well, I didn't see a reason not to start a new tradition. Shrimp? I stole as many as I could before that blighted Bann Cedric could get his hands on them."

Poor Squire Gavin looked as if he was about to vomit, his eyes wide and sweat percolating on his forehead. "Where's...does father know you're here?"

"Yes, son," a new voice entered the fray, belonging to a man Rosie didn't know but could instantly place. The paintings were rather everywhere. Commander Cullen Rutherford, even with age flattening his cheeks and building bags under his eyes struck an imposing form. It was no surprise that his son was blessed with the same.

"Do you really think your mother could sneak all the way across thedas without me?" the Commander slid in beside his wife and scooped a hand around the back of her. She turned to look up at the man and beamed a moment from his mere presence, and he returned the look tenfold.

"I suppose that's true," Gavin deflated, when his mother laughed.

"Please, the things I can get up to without either of you knowing..." she popped a shrimp in her mouth and chewed before glancing to both sets of worried amber eyes. "Not that I do, just saying I could. Shrimp?"

"What about...?" the Squire extended his hand to the people frolicking and paying little to no attention to the group at the back.

"Psh, I'm old. No one's going to notice. Right, your Majesty?" At that Solona Amell turned to look right at Rosie.

"Of course not. And I'm certain father will wish to say hi."

A low grumble erupted from the stodgy commander, but the Hero took it with a sigh and smiled. "I'll flag him down once he's finished making a fool of himself."

"You'll have a long wait," Rosie whispered which brought a rare smile to Commander Cullen's face.

"Mom, I need to return to my duties..." Gavin began to dance back and forth on his feet as if he needed to use the privy. Scuttling forward and deploying a cane to make the distance, she patted his cheek.

"We understand. Go, do your job. And know that we're exceedingly proud of you."

"Mother..." his cheeks burned bright red at the motherly love.

"I know, I know. Embarrassing. When you're done, find us at the Arl of Redcliffe's estate. We have a room there."

"But it'll be very late," Gavin blinked, frozen in his tracks. He seemed to want to return to Ser Daryan's side as much as his parents wished him to.

His mother smiled a moment and tipped her head up to the commander. "I think we can keep ourselves entertained until then. Right, love?"

Cullen dipped a hand down to hold his wife close, his jaw skirting right above her head. "I believe so."

"Ugh," the child formed from their amorous affections threw up both hands and backed away, "Do not, very well. I will find you later."

"Have fun, sweetie. Oh, and try the shrimp. Very good. I need to give my compliments to the cook."

"Lana..." her husband whispered in a warning tone and she sighed.

"I don't think I know them. Maybe. Probably not. It's been a long time since the blight."

A small back and forth argument broke out between the two which Rosie began to slide away from. She stopped being able to hear but she couldn't stop watching. The love was mature, a fine wine aged with tender care instead of the rush from a grape's first bluff stuffed inside a bottle and forced down fast before summer was over. It only took a few minutes of the Commander stewing in concern before she drew her knotted fingers to his cheek to calm him and kiss it all away.

The obvious adoration stung back at Rosie like a whip and she shrunk deeper into the dance floor. Her father never loved her mother, not like that. Not even for pretend. There were a few early memories she had of the two dancing on occasion, but it seemed as if once Cailan came along even that farce stopped. The King had his part of the castle, the Queen hers, and they were both happy for it.

That was to be her destiny. Find some man who was pliable enough to be bought with a few shiny baubles and left to his own meager devices while Rosie got on with leading the country. No stroking each other's cheeks, no whispering in an ear, no tracing down her tattoos as if they formed an ouroboros hugging her body. She stumbled back, her chest cracking in two at the thought, when her mother's gloved hands caught her.

"Rosamund? What is the issue?"

"Mother," Rosie tried to straighten up, her hands racing to smooth down the white silk and lace gown they picked together. "Nothing," her lips twisted up the smile she feared would never be genuine again. "I am having a great time."

"You look as if you stepped into a bear trap and had a bucket of pitch dropped onto you," Beatrice whispered to her ear.

Rosie frowned at her obvious failure, then tried to lift her smile higher until it might reach her eyes. "Is this better?"

"It was a joke, Rose. What is wrong? This is...one of your father's more simpler parties. I thought you might be free to cut loose, but you've been haunting around the edges as if it's part of the game."

Everything was part of the game. A game that would never end because she had to be the ceramic princess. Skin as white as snow, lips as red as a rose, and a heart that beat only for her one true _prince_. Rosie absently picked at the sunburn across her forehead, smearing the white powder that barely set in the sticky candlelight.

Her fading lips, dimmed to a dull wine, puckered as she muttered, "Nothing, mother."

Queen Beatrice stared at her daughter as if seeing her for the first time. Had the mask wobbled so poorly in her trip? "Rose, I can tell something's wrong. You've not been yourself since you returned. I am your mother."

"It is..." her eyes slipped away from the emerald pools to hunt through the crowd. The face you want isn't there. You already foolishly flipped through the guest list twice, as if an assassin would call ahead for such a thing. She still thought, still bore a sliver of hope inside her charred heart.

In canvasing the smiling faces, Rosie's sight landed upon the last visage she ever hoped to suffer. Lord Eldon stood apart from the King's happier guests. He wasn't smirking or snarling, but he wasn't smiling either. If anything, she'd say he bore a cunning sneer, but the man was as crafty as a cake left in the rain. What it did do was remind Rosamund of her duty, and how her mother would thrum it into her skull soon enough.

Tugging her hands away, Rosie stepped back, "Excuse me, mother."

"Rose..." Beatrice turned to follow, but her aging hips couldn't keep up with a princess who barreled through the masses to find freedom. People parted with at first a shock that faded to a stitched on smile when they realized who was shoving them to the side. Rosie had no idea where she was fleeing too, aside from away. The parties, the politics, the part of her world she thought she enjoyed -- it all felt hollow and false.

How blighted long did you lie to yourself?

It wasn't just the husband issue, though she felt it pricking into her skin like a wasp's sting. She didn't realize how carefully she wrapped up her heart to place delicately on a shelf until...until someone came along to unravel all that hard work and toss it around without abandon. The various young men in their finery bore no interest to her now, but had they ever?

Why was it so hard to know?

You want to mourn, but you can't. You want to break apart, but you won't. You want to tell the world about a relationship that already died.

Damn it.

With a slow step, Rosamund wandered her way towards the front gates. As with all parties, and in general any time of the day or night, the gates were thrown wide open. They would shut the doors on occasion, if only to cut down on any escapee wild boars. It'd happened more than once. But someone thought to leave them open, the grand entrance carpet they rolled out still in the way. Her father walked up and down it for a bit, accepting gifts from people and shaking hands. He managed to make more small talk than usual, his children all trailing behind. Cailan and Myra were attempting to guess what was inside the various packages hefted from their father to a trail of advisors, Myra always getting eerily close.

One day she'd do the same, walk up and down a carpet on a day she wasn't really born pretending it was her birthday, accepting things from people she didn't know. It used to be her only endeavor in life, to become not only Queen but a good one. Proud, strong, brave. And now...even with the thrill of opening relations with the dwarves who'd shunned all else, Rosie felt empty.

Lonely.

Alone even in a room full of people. Aloof while seated next to a hundred other diners. Apart from every beat of a heart in Ferelden.

You shouldn't have let hope seep in. Her brain taunted her heart, wondering how it could even dare to roll around in such thoughts. But her heart -- her foolish, cracked and stained but still not broken heart beat on.

Clinging to the doors as if she intended to close them, Rosie glanced out into the courtyard. The night settled upon it, a chill announcing autumn whipping the flags back and forth. A great halo of the moon highlighted the walkway, when a pair of dark boots suddenly stepped into the spotlight.

Her heart leapt up into her throat as a dark woman continued to saunter into the moonlight. An illusion. She shook her head and shut her eyes. Nothing more.

But when she risked another peek, the woman was walking closer. She didn't vanish with the realization, or transform into an unknown guard. Her form solidified into the arms Rosie remembered holding her, the legs that'd wrapped around her, the body she gave into.

"Anjali?" Rosie stumbled down a stair and froze, her voice wafting with the wind.

At that the woman paused and raised her head high. She had to cup a hand above her eyes to peer into the blazing light of the palace. "Sapheela!" A great smile broke across her cheeks and Rosamund's feet took over. She raced down the stairs, barely caring about both her shoes lost in the run.

Anjali watched, moving to fold her hands across her chest, "Forgive my delay. Traffic was a nightmare and I..."

Launching off her bare tiptoes, Rosie ensnared Anjali in her arms and crushed her lips to hers. A laugh reverberated from the assassin's gut, but Rosie didn't care as she kept kissing the smiling mouth. After a beat, Anjali cupped her hands around Rosie's cheeks, her lips softening to deepen the kiss to something more spectacular than a princess could ever hope for.

By the white of the moon, and distant sounds of revelry in a gilded ballroom, Rosamund wrapped around her beautiful assassin. With each touch of her lips, heat from her breath, and lap of her tongue, the fears of abandonment and loneliness obliterated. It struck her body so hard, Rosie emerged panting but glowing. She couldn't cease tracing the curve of Anjali's tattoo, reminding herself that this wasn't an illusion or a dream. She was here, with her, in her arms again.

"I missed you, Sapheela."

"Me too," she whispered, her painted eyes taking in the woman worn by the road. Salt and gravel stained her cheeks until they were worn to a raw state, the underside of her lids bagged from the exhaustion of barely sleeping outdoors, and her clothing smelled of horse and sweat. She'd never looked more beautiful to Rosie.

"Tenna?" Rosie whispered.

"Is gone. Far off to an island in the northern sea where I shall never have to look upon her again."

"I feared...I thought that you might," she felt stupid for thinking the words now.

"That I would remain with her? Try to save her again? I try to learn from my mistakes, and..." her hand curled against Rosie's cheek, "I had to find my beautiful princess, even if it was just for one last kiss."

Rosie's cheeks lit up red at the romantic thought, but she had no intentions of letting go now. Wrapping her arms around the small of Anjali's back, Rosamund sought out her lips once more. The wily assassin tugged upon her bottom lip, pulling it into her tempting mouth. It was heaven, the heat of their mouths lapping against each other overtaking the chill of coming winter. What Rosie wanted was to taste Anjali, but not just her tongue.

Letting her hands drift down, Rosamund gripped onto Anjali's fingers and locked them in place. The assassin smiled a moment, her head turned to the side with a question. "Come with me," Rosie said. Feeling as foolish and headstrong as a young girl, she began to tug Anjali up the stairs into the palace with her.

Anjali chuckled a moment, giving in, but she couldn't cease asking, "Are we heading into whatever got you all dolled up?"

"Nope," Rosie shook her head hard, unable to hide the rising smile.

The assassin grinned like a cat that swallowed the canary, "I like this plan."

Both women were giggling at the prospect, Rosie the one leading while her mind sparkled like bubbles in champagne. She was so enamored with the thoughts bursting from her heart, she nearly trod upon a man that stepped into her way. "Excuse me," she gasped, trying to slide away from the elderly gentleman in the robe.

"Rosamund," he began, waving a hand at her. "I need to speak with you..."

Her eyes could barely drift from Anjali for fear that if she looked away her lover would vanish. But Rosie did risk glancing over once at the mousey man, "Later. Perhaps in the morning we can reconvene, Mister..."

"Cordell," he said as if that name meant anything. "Brother Cordell."

Rosie tipped her head at his identity, the words barely sticking to her brain. She had far greater interests in mind. After hustling up the first staircase, Rosie turned right towards her bedroom. Everyone would be out at the ball, they probably didn't even notice she was gone. It was the perfect opportunity to...

Her sight drifted over to the woman's smile, umber and sparkling eyes dripping with desire. Sod if anyone was inside, Rosie would just kick them all out.

Knocking the door open, the pair stumbled inside, Rosie tripping backwards while Anjali enveloped her comforting arms around her. Lips found each other once again, Anjali's hands rippling up and down the buttons at the back of Rosie's dress. Each knock into her skin caused the princess to squirm, her skin electrified at the thought of being freed.

Anjali broke away a moment from the kiss, her eyes opening and a grateful smile lifting her lips. Rosie reached up to tug her back to it, when her eyes darted behind to find a hallway looming outside.

"The door," Rosie moved to shut it, when Anjali grabbed onto her waist.

"Concern yourself little, Sapheela," she whispered in her ear, the voice so intoxicating it nearly caused Rosie's knees to buckle. With a swing back of her foot, Anjali slammed the door shut, sealing the two of them off from the outside world.

Burying her face into Rosie's neck, Anjali breathed her in. "Our Blessed Lady, after so many days in the dark you smell of perfection." Pillowy lips began to press deeper into the side, a nip here and there causing the breath in Rosie's throat to catch. With her fingers, Anjali tugged the neckline of Rosie's dress downward as far as the modest thing could go. It barely exposed a sliver of her ice white skin hidden below.

"By all the demons in the void, how do I get you naked?" Anjali growled, her frustration from wanting Rosie driving the princess to smile.

"Like this," Rosie stepped back a bit and reached behind to begin to undo the line of buttons. She left her assassin with her arms empty, but her eyes quickly filling as the princess' dress began to come apart. It hung upon her shoulders, the neckline dipping to expose a hint of her cleavage which caused Anjali to light up brighter.

Rosie struggled to reach the last one at her waist, both arms flailing to find it, when Anjali stepped forward. Forgetting the damn thing, Rosie moved to embrace her assassin's shoulders and let the expert finish it off. But Anjali's hands dipped down the opened front of her dress and both scooped up Rosamund's breasts.

"Blessed Maker," Rosie cried, her head tipping back while Anjali's warm palms cradled the skin that'd been begging for her. She was gentle as a whisper at first, barely shifting Rosie's bosom, when the princess bit into her lip and tugged it into her mouth. Anjali responded in kind, her fingers squeezing both of Rosie's breasts at once and causing the princess to gasp in adulation.

This was foolish. With her breasts well in hand, Rosie slid her dress off her arms, revealing all of her chest to the assassin. Anjali smiled sweetly, "As beautiful as I remembered." Her dress clung at her waist, that single button the only thing keeping her halfway decent, which was not what Rosie wanted to be anymore.

She was about to direct Anjali to it, when the assassin stepped tighter. Her own chest, bound up in the leathers, knocked near Rosie's, when Anjali whispered, "You still owe me a sketch."

"I," Rosie turned to tell her... Maker's sake, she couldn't even know, when Anjali's tongue wrapped around with hers. One hand circled around Rosie's nipple while the other slipped towards the princess' back and fiddled with the cursed button. She could help, but Rosie was pudding in Anjali's grip, a warmth more reminiscent of a forest fire burning up her spine.

Forgetting that her assassin was hard at work trying to free her from the confines of a cursed dress, Rosie's libido ordered her to yank off Anjali's shirt. It took less time than before, Rosie knowing where to undo buttons and where to tug. When her hair slid against the woosh of the end of her shirt, Anjali stood up and tried to tousle through the knots practically standing up straight.

She was beyond breathtaking. It was a wonder Rosie could even exist near someone as stunning as the woman before her. Candlelight danced against the curve of her tear-drop breasts, Anjali's brown skin glistening like a river of obsidian. Her fingers froze in the air, Rosie suddenly too startled and scared to risk touching her.

Anjali laughed a moment at the look, scooped a hand behind Rosie's, and guided it right to her breast. "Sapheela," she whispered while the swell molded into Rosie's palm, "I missed you more than you can know."

Her eyes darted up from the woman's body to find her eyes brimming in...Rosie couldn't tell. An emotion looked as if it was about to boil over and wash them both away. But Anjali blinked, shoring it far from her. "And I really missed your pert, rosy red lips," she growled, stepping closer to Rosie.

The dress fell to the ground leaving the princess fully naked, while the assassin began to advance. Anjali's nose bounced into Rosie's, and the princess puckered her lips, but she didn't kiss her. Her umber eyes burned with desire as she whispered in a throaty breath, "Not those lips."

Wrapping one hand under Rosie's bottom, Anjali hurled the princess onto her bed. A laugh reverberated up her throat, Rosie's head falling back at the rush, when Anjali began to take a knee. Her legs parted in excitement, even as Anjali kneaded her palms back and forth over the soft swells of her inner thighs. Maker's breath. Rosie began to tremble, her head tossed back while Anjali inched closer. Lips pressed against her thighs, following the curve right to the center of her being.

Ecstatic, she curled a foot around the back of Anjali's bare shoulder, trying to invite her in. A laugh bounced warm, perfect air right against Rosie's trembling lips, her assassin finding her insistence humorous. "Say no more," Anjali mumbled before lapping her tongue right along the inner folds of Rosie's lips.

"Sweet merciful Maker," the Princess cried, screwing up her eyes while her entire word shook. It was walloping her body and soul; it sounded as if the entire castle was knocking back and forth on its foundation. Anjali smiled against her, the woman's kiss turning towards her clitoris.

"Rosie?" a voice shouted from right outside the door. "You in because we need to talk..."

Before either woman had a chance to hide under covers, or slip into another room, or even fall apart, the door cracked open and Rosamund's heart plummeted into her gut. Her father's cheerful smile turned at first towards the desk where no one sat, before he glanced upon his daughter being eaten out by an assassin.

"Holy Maker!" Alistair shrieked, hopping backwards while slapping a hand over his face.

"Father," Rosie scrambled to find anyway to cover herself, her panicked fingers attempting to yank up the blanket she sat upon.

"That's...I, uh, I wanted to talk to you, but..." her father was babbling in fear while he kept walking backwards. He refused to take the hand away from his eyes so he kept ramming his heels right into the doorframe. "Damn it all," he cursed, his free hand fumbling to find the exit.

"I was," Rosie tried to find an excuse, her eyes darting down to Anjali who froze like a deer that spotted a hunter.

"We'll talk uh, we should talk. I'll be in my study," he finally managed to find his way out even while blindfolded and slammed the door hard.

"Oh Maker," Rosie moaned, her head dropping to her chest. Her skin felt like a shallow mirror shattered into a million pieces, each strip of glass tumbling to the ground at her folly.

"Was that...?" Anjali finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "The King?"

Rosamund didn't answer her as she reached for clothing to shroud her shame. How was she going to be able to explain this? How would anyone ever understand? She torched everything in her life for just a foolish moment.

## Chapter Fifty-Nine

### Who You Are

Don't panic.

Rosie's hands trembled so terribly she could barely manage to slip her dress back on. In the end, she required Anjali's help which did not make her feel any better. How could she have been so stupid? She should have locked the door. Waited until everyone was asleep. Used Myra's trick of that golden hour, or not...

Not done a thing at all.

Her eyes darted over to the assassin who was back in her leathers. "Stay here," Rosie ordered in her most certain voice while her entire body fell to pieces. What would her father say? What would he think? Her mother too. They'd been planning for her ascension to the throne since the day she was born and now it may have all been for naught. Would they be furious at her butchering things so thoroughly without a care?

Rosie dashed to the stairs, when she glanced back to find Anjali following behind. "I thought I told you..."

"You're whiter than milk and shaking like a newborn kitten. I am not letting you go into this alone," the woman asserted as if she'd take on the King of Ferelden himself for Rosamund. For a brief flicker the panic dissipated and she couldn't deny a small smile at the romantic thought, but it was foolish. Anjali standing around would only make things worse.

"I'll be fine," she insisted, taking the stairs up to her father's study. She didn't know how to read his hiding away there. Would he have already gathered up the Queen for a proper talking to or did he intend to drag it out?

"Says the lamb right until the axe comes out," Anjali whispered, not leaving Rosie's side. She wished the woman would listen to her, having her around would only exacerbate the issue but...she didn't want to be alone either.

The antechamber's door was open, candles in the sconces lining the walls all lit up, but her father's door was oddly closed. He was very much a 'my door is always' open type, though the people around him practically never took him up on it. It was a rare mood for him to think it worth shutting tight.

Maker, she was so screwed.

Taking a deep breath, Rosie tried to not imagine a corset squeezing ever tighter around her chest until ribs began to creak and snap. A hand landed upon her shoulder, shaking away the sputtering breath in her lungs and she turned to Anjali's umber eyes. "You don't need to do this alone," she insisted.

Rosie cupped her fingers with hers and smiled sadly, "I do. I am the Princess, after all. But..." she bit into her lip and waffled on her bare feet, "can you stay out here for a bit?"

"If I hear any screaming I shall break the door down," Anjali promised.

The Princess didn't kiss her goodbye as she stepped across the cold stones of her father's normally warm and welcoming office. What would they demand of her for this? She wouldn't let Anjali be punished, even if it meant...sending her away. Banishment seemed possible, and no doubt her mother would whisk her off to the chantry altar to be wed to whatever man they picked at random. Anything to keep her focused on what mattered, the crown.

Happiness was incidental in this life.

Rather than knock, Rosie tugged up the latch and slipped into her father's study. Her eyes darted right to the arm chair in front of the fire, but no one sat inside it. A shadow loomed beside the desk, his back turned to her, when she heard a clink of glass striking.

With each step into the shaded room, Rosie felt her very being fall behind. Those moments of bliss stolen in Anjali's arms shed from her, leaving a porcelain and untouched skin in its wake. Coming to a stop right behind her dad's favorite chair, Rosie stretched her neck up.

"Father," she said. He leapt nearly straight into the air at the sound and whipped back, clearly not having heard her come in.

"Maker's sake, you could have knocked!" he gasped, a hand lain to his chest.

"I'd say the same for you," she said, her rebellion tossing out the taunt before it had to be shut down entirely.

Her father snickered a moment and raised a glass at that, "Fair enough. Here." Quickly he filled a second glass up to the brim with an amber liquid, probably rum. While most nobility scoffed at the pirate drink, it seemed to become her father's favorite.

It was to Rosie he passed the filled glass, his eyes darting over the liquor sloshing into her surprised fingers. "Drink first," he jerked his head to his own glass that was probably on its second refill. She stared deep into the dark honey swirls, struggling to find an opening. What could she say? What excuse could possibly exist to explain away that?

The King finished taking a long drink and wiped off his mouth. With his back turned to her, he sighed, "Out of all of you, I always thought Cailan would be the one I'd walk in on." A laugh shook his shoulders and he dipped his head down, "I love him, but that kid is...as subtle as a cat in heat really."

Tipping her head back, Rosie let half of the glass burn its way down her throat. When it struck her stomach the butterflies exploded into angry hornets, each one ricocheting up her chest. They stung into her heart, causing Rosie to wince as she stared at her father's back. How many times had she sat upon those shoulders or stacked pillows upon it to make a fort out of him? How much of her silly, childhood creations did he have as keepsakes in his personal study?

She knew he loved her, adored her the way fathers are supposed to love their children.

How much of that did she destroy without a thought?

"I'm..." Rosie began, the tears warbling in her throat, "you weren't supposed to see that."

"I'd certainly hope so," Alistair gasped, finally turning around. His hair was yanked straight up and the knotted bits on his shoulders were both undone as if he tried to pluck himself as far from the crown as possible.

"Dad," she should apologize, insist it was a moment of frippery, nothing more. That it would never occur again. Rosie tried to open her mouth, to get any of it out, but all those hornets clogged inside her throat. "I'm sorry," her heart broke in two, tears sliding off her cheeks. One landed inside the glass, the amber liquid quaking in her grip.

This wasn't how a princess behaved. She couldn't cry all over an Arl or Teyrn. She had to be strong, and unbendable. With all the pathetic strength inside of her, Rosamund lifted her head to face her father. He may have been startled by her tears, she could barely see him through the rain.

"I'm sorry for disappointing you."

"Oh," he placed his glass down and dashed towards her. Strong arms that'd helped her fight off dozens of imaginary foes wrapped tight around her, "Oh Spuddy, no." Her dad squeezed tight as he repeated, "No, no. Don't be silly. You've done nothing of the kind."

"But I..." she gasped in shock. Did he not understand? Maybe he thought Anjali was not a woman. That seemed a reach but it was possible.

"It was awkward, and on me. I'll admit to that one. You damn kids, you keep growing up and reminding me I'm old," her dad was babbling but he refused to stop hugging her tight. "Spud," he drifted back a step, those oaky and safe eyes darting down to hers. "You can't disappoint me. Not with...not with something like that. Putting your brother in a pickle barrel and nailing the lid on, now that's a disappointment. And a very long punishment."

She snorted at the memory, tears leaking from her eyes. Slowly, her dad released his grip to try and pull back her hair and wipe away her crying. "I thought, I didn't want to-to ruin things by being..."

"Who you are?" he laughed a bit, tears stinging in his eyes at the foolishness. "Oh kid, come here," her dad said as if he wasn't in full control by wrapping his arms back around her. "I love you, you know. It's why I'm such a pain in the ass when you do things that might get your butt in trouble. And I am so proud of you."

All her life her father was huge. He was King, he was a great war hero, he was a pair of legs that'd stomp around while his kids hung on for dear life. As she came to study politics, to understand the crown to be placed upon her head, watched her father fumble with matters, he began to shrink. To become ordinary.

Now...her heart swelled with pride to think she'd not disappointed this gargantuan of a man. That he loved her even if she couldn't be the perfect Queen everyone hoped for.

"I love you too, Dad," Rosie gasped burying her face, mottled by tears, against his chest. He let her stay there, wetting his good doublet with salt water, while he slowly bobbed back and forth to his own song. It took her sometime to slow the throbbing in her heart, each hornet slowly metamorphasizing into a beautiful lunar moth.

When she felt she had control of herself, Rosie stepped back, her dad letting his arms fall to the side. He watched her a moment before tipping his head towards his chair, "Wanna sit for a bit?"

"Yes," she smiled. While her dad plopped into his favorite chair right by the fire, Rosie tugged one of the side ones closer. She hadn't done this in years. How often would she slip her nanny or mum to dash up the stairs into her father's study? And he'd turn from whatever important business he had to ask those same words, "Wanna sit for a bit?"

Curling her bare feet up under her, Rosie sighed, "I feel as if I should have a hot chocolate with me."

"I bet I could wrangle one out of the kitchen if you'd like," her dad smiled at her.

"No," she picked up the half full glass of rum and sighed, "this is plenty." After swirling it for a moment, Rosie glanced over at her father, "You don't seem to be surprised that I was...with another, um..." The words froze in her throat, her mind unable to wrap around the bare fact of what she was, but her father snickered, somehow already used to it all.

"Spuddy, come on. It's kinda obvious. Remember that one girl you were obsessed with when you were seven, eight? Something like that."

Abigail. She remembered her well.

"You wanted your hair braided just like hers. Had to wear the same clothes. Needed to invite her to all the fancy tea parties at the palace. When her parents returned to Orlais, and you were inconsolable for weeks, I kinda figured it out."

Rosie blinked in the low firelight. She'd thought of Abby as a friend, a friend she desperately wanted to like her but the way good friends do. Never as anything more, even if she did find the girl... Maker's sake. She softly touched her cheeks to find them burning. Was that her first crush? And she didn't even realize it but her father did?

"I don't understand, Dad. If you knew I was, that I preferred...girls," she laughed at being able to get the truth out, plain as day. Rosamund preferred girls, women. Oh blessed Maker. "Then why," she tried to shake off the giddiness to focus on Alistair, "why put it on me to choose a husband?"

At that he sighed and stretched his back up higher in the chair.

"It would have saved me some heartache, especially from mom if...if you'd picked someone."

He twisted his foot back and forth on the floor as if part of him wanted to dance away, "Spuddy, it's not that... I suspected, I didn't know. I mean, some people like both, maybe you did..." He waved his hand towards her and she dropped her head down. "That's okay. I guess, I didn't want you to feel forced into something you didn't wish for."

Rosie sucked in a breath, her eyes darting up to stare at him, "Like you were?"

Her father sighed and swallowed hard, attempting to dodge, "You know I have respect for your mother. Great respect."

"But you don't love her," she wet her lips, her head rocking with the truth.

Alistair raised up higher in his chair, a hand lifting as if he would love to be able to argue the fact. They never flat out said anything about it, but the kids all knew. Looking at his eldest who would be facing the same, he sighed, "No, no I don't. I never have."

"I used to hate Reiss," Rosie sputtered out, her fingers gripping tight to the glass. She stared at the amber liquid because she couldn't face her father. On the periphery she felt him growing insular, one of the reasons she'd never told him any of her feelings about his elven lover. "I wanted you and Mom to be together, to be the way other families are supposed to. To love. For you to not keep leaving to be with the other family, the one you wanted to have."

"Spud..." her dad began to reach out to try and comfort her, when Rosie lifted her head.

"But I understand now. To, to face a life of being trapped in name only with someone you don't care about while the one you want is elsewhere."

"I wish you didn't have to," her father groaned. "I wanted better for you. For you to-to have a chance to pick someone, that you liked, someone you loved and could raise a brood of children with. I do want grandkids, by the way."

"I know, Dad," Rosie smiled. Her father was a baby magnet. Anyone carrying a child in their arms or on their breast would have the King flock to their side. He'd stop court dead to scoop a baby up and carry it around to stop it from fussing.

"That's why I kept putting it off, and then when you got old enough it made sense to even all the fusspots to let you choose. But if you're only into..."

"I know," Rosie nodded, well aware of the monumental issue before her. "I know I shall choose a man for my husband, and there will be heirs."

He smiled wide at that, his teeth slightly purple from no doubt some candy the cook made special for their King. "Kid," he inched forward a bit in his chair to grip onto her knee, "don't give up who you are. Cling to it every day that you can, because that damn crown that's way too heavy and makes my ears throb will steal it from you."

"Is that what you found in Reiss' arms? When you'd spend time with Myra?" she lifted her head to look him right in the eye, "Yourself?"

"No," Alistair smiled sadly while brushing away Rosie's tears, "I found myself every time I got to tell you a bedtime story, or chase you down the hall, or watch you doodle all over my missives. You, Spud, you were my life from the moment you popped into this world. And you always will be."

She couldn't cease the tears now, her heart practically bursting at the thought while both leaned across the gap to embrace. Why did she even question her father turning from her? He adored her, and Cailan, with everything inside of him. A little bump in her life wouldn't toss her father aside. Not for anything.

Her father patted into her back one last time, about to let go, when he asked, "But did it have to be an assassin?"

As Rosie slid back into her chair, she couldn't stop the smile rising inside of her blood. "Yeah," she nodded vehemently, thinking of her assassin standing just outside the door. She couldn't wait to tell Anjali the good news. "Yeah, it did."

Wiping away all the burst of joyful tears on her cheeks, Rosie placed the glass down and stood. Her father was sighing and tipping his head back, "You women and assassins. I swear to the Maker."

She laughed at him putting on a frowning face for the thought. "I should check on her." Make certain she didn't try to break down any doors in a panic.

"We ought to meet, really talk. Probably tomorrow, when the full awkwardness has had a chance to wear down a bit. I've got to make certain she's good enough for you and all," her dad smiled, finding nothing odd about the thought at all.

A gratefulness burned inside of Rosie like an unquenchable flame. She almost reached the door, when a thought caused her to pause. "Dad?" he looked up at the mention, his eyes blinking, "Why did you burst in on me in the first place? You said we needed to discuss something?"

She expected it to be a matter for latter, perhaps something involving her trip, but her father changed in an instant. His eyes hooded to shadows and shoulders shrunk deep dragging his neck with. "Yeah," he tugged on his hair, causing Rosie's mouth to dry out. "Yeah, we do. And, you need to sit for this."

Her fingers drifted off the handle of the door, Rosie walking stiff legged back to the chair.

With a voice brimming in dread, her father began, "First off, you know I love you kids more than life itself..."

## Chapter Sixty

### What's In A Name

Myra spotted her brother peeking around the corner into their father's study, his drunken shoulders shaking with uncontrollable laughter at something that caught his fancy. "Hey," she called to him, causing Cailan to whip around in surprise as if she just snagged him doing something underhanded. Standing around waiting for their dad seemed the most benign option her brother could get up to.

"What's going on?" Myra mouthed while her brother tried to shush her.

Inside, a great groan erupted that didn't sound a thing like their dad. He'd vanished off the dance floor after the Queen came bounding down in excitement. Normally, Myra wouldn't much care about the concerns of that side of the family and would have found something better to do, but she caught Gavin orbiting near his parents and worried that his mom might start asking her questions. Questions she didn't have an answer for.

Leaning to the side, Myra's eyes darted over her dad's mess of a study. Random taxidermied animals wound up in here, not the normal kind one would expect for a King like say lion's heads or stag antlers. There was one of two nugs playing leapfrog, one of the nugs with a squished in skull and eyes of gimlet stones practically bulging out. It was probably the worst done taxidermy in all of Ferelden and her father adored it.

And standing beside the nug monstrosity, clearly doing her best to act as if she wasn't there and nothing was going on, was Rosie's assassin. Myra gasped, "Holy Maker's balls, when did she get back?!"

Her brother jabbed into her side, unable to hold in the snickers while the cool eyes of the assassin darted over to them. Anjali wanted to make it obvious she knew they were there, but also not bother to talk to them. "Does Rosie know?" Myra turned in confusion to Cailan who kept snickering to himself.

"Oh yes, our dear sister is well aware."

Andraste's knickers, he only got that way when he was being a turd. "Right, okay, what's going on?" Myra folded her hands and glared at him.

Her brother, whose body remained iron solid while deep into the bottle but with cheeks stained from drink, glanced in once more at the assassin with plenty of sharp objects before turning to Myra. "Dad, he walked in on Rosie and our Rivaini guest here... How to put it nicely? Greeting each other."

Myra couldn't stop the laugh burrowing out of her gut. "No shit! Oh, Maker's butt. Where's Rossie?"

"Talking to dad," Cailan said while jerking his head towards the door.

"Bet they're both trying to melt through the floor," Myra laughed to herself. Together both stepped into the study, strength in numbers, while the assassin turned to glare at Cailan.

"How do you know?" she asked, her stabby stare barely bouncing off Cailan's insouciant armor.

Her brother shrugged, "Servants, it caused quite a commotion. And I know my sister. Subtle is not her strong suit."

Anjali huffed and crossed her arms. If Myra didn't know any better she'd swear the woman looked concerned. It was just Dad. Okay, the assassin part might be a hard sale, but otherwise... Wait, why were they both acting like it was the end times?

"How long's she been in there?" Myra asked while swaying back and forth on her shoes. She kept them on for once because her mother said she was sick and tired of having to get new ones.

For a moment, Anjali let her eyes fall into Myra's and the shield evaporated. Clear concern rippled in what should have been cocksure. "Awhile, a long while," she muttered before focusing back on the nugs.

Cailan swallowed a bit and shifted while Myra felt her knees burn hot. The stinging fear grew palpable that something might be done to the princess' lover, but...no. This is dad. Worst she'd have to suffer were some Maker-awful jokes and his attempts at bonding. Again, aside from the assassin parts. Myra wasn't certain how that bit would go over, but the rest...

Sliding forward, Myra reached towards Anjali as if to comfort her. "It'll be okay," she began, when the door opened. Rosie's lips were pursed into a knot, her eyes focused off into some distant land as she nearly stomped right past her lover. It was Myra who waved a hand to wake her up. "Hello in there."

"Myra!" she shouted, her head snapping up, "and Cailan. I need to speak to you. Now."

"Sapheela," Anjali drifted near enough she could easily reach over and grab Rosie's fingers but didn't touch. "Is there...were you...?"

A brief smile lifted on Rosie's face and she pivoted fast to her girlfriend. "No, it's...things are fine." In full view of Myra and Cailan she cupped Anjali's cheek and planted a soft kiss to her lips. The assassin smiled a moment at the gesture, but she was still resting on the balls of her feet ready to spring into action if needed. "But I need to talk to my brother and...and Myra privately."

"Why?" Anjali tipped her head in confusion.

"Please," the mask shattered, causing everyone in the room to take a deep breath at Rosie nearly reaching hysterics in record time. "Just...it's family stuff. You can wait in my room or visit the dance floor in the meantime if you'd like."

The assassin stared up and down her lover, clearly not wanting to leave Rosie's twitchy side but finding no reason to stay. "I believe I shall wait in the room," Anjali said.

Rosie released her hold and stepped away. It was she who glanced at Cailan and snarled, "Walk with me." Their brother turned from the suddenly imposing princess to Myra. Shrugging, both took off after Rosie who seemed to be leading them towards a random room on Dad's side of the castle. Barely any light flickered inside save the big moon hanging around the windows, but Rosie ran through slamming doors and checking to see if anyone might be hiding under a table.

Once she was satisfied, and her siblings were thoroughly spooked, the princess shut the main door to the hall and locked it. At that Cailan laughed, "This better not be when you start impaling us on pikes. We already don't want the throne."

He was clearly going for a chuckle to shake the dour mood, but when Rosie's head shot up at him, the chortle in his throat erupted into gravel. Cailan danced back and forth on his shoes while Myra kept looking back at one of the doors. If her sister did go mad and start chopping, how easily could she escape? The windows weren't too high and...

"I spoke with...with the King," Rosie began.

"Yes, we know. We heard all about your little escapades with a certain Rivaini assassin. You're really putting a ding to my reputation here," Cailan said with a smile, but Rosie didn't glower at that. Didn't turn bright pink. She didn't even seem to care about Dad catching her in the middle of "reuniting."

"He told me, that..." she knotted her fingers together, both slapping into her stomach as if trying to find some courage inside her guts. "Cailan, you and I are not, we're..."

"Maker's tainted blood, what? We're not what?" he spat out, clearly growing weary of all this.

"We're not our father's children," Rosie shot out fast, her eyes screwed tight at the revelation.

Both Cailan and Myra glanced at each other and began to snicker. "Very funny, Rossie. Well, okay not very. It's rather a stupid and trite joke you tell when you're five, but..."

"It's not a joke," she railed at her brother. "Dad...the King, Alistair, I don't even know what to call him anymore. He told me that... we're not his. That he can't have children."

"What?" Myra turned on her sister, jumping into the conversation, but Rosie was too focused on Cailan.

"Because of something about being a Grey Warden, it...it made him sterile."

"This isn't funny, at all, Rosie," Cailan fumed, his brow darkening while those ice blue eyes turned a storm grey.

"I'm not telling a joke!" she shouted, her voice pitching high into a shrill shriek.

"I get it. You got caught out and now...now you have to drag up all those old rumors about," Cailan fell quiet a moment, his eyes darting towards the window. Those stark blue eyes that no one else in the family seemed to have. People liked to joke about him being the jester's son, especially when he was a bit younger and didn't look like anyone in the royal squad. The rumors slowed over the years, often at their dad's threatening thumb, but...

"Cailan," Rosie reached over to try and grip onto his hand, "it's true. I know you don't want to hear it, but...he's not your father." A sliver of tears rose up in her brother's eyes, about the only thing that could sting him striking to the quick. "And he's not mine either."

"Come on," Cailan turned on her and sighed, "no one ever said a thing about you not being his daughter. No one ever thought that it was hilarious to tell at a birthday party. No one ever liked to sing 'one of these things is not like the other' when you walked past in a family line."

"I'm not, because Dad he... Alistair, he said that I'm not."

"What?" Cailan snorted, "Daddy's disowned you?"

"Not, no, not at all. He, he says we're his by right, that he loves us and all, but...but not by blood."

Cailan threw his hands up, stomping away from Rosie while Myra hung useless in the corner. It was her brother's worst nightmare come true. He banked on being the lovable scamp of a prince who could charm his way into coin and beds when it suited him, and now... He was a bastard son of a woman that, without any connection to the King, was at best a Bann's daughter. A bastard, just like Myra.

Wait.

"You said Dad couldn't have any kids," Myra tried to tug on Rosie's hands to get her sister to focus on her, but the Princess was trying to console their brother instead.

"Cailan..."

"Why?" he couldn't shake off the tears now, his lip wobbling. "Why tell us now? Why tell us at all?"

"Because, our real father has returned. And it seems he is causing a commotion."

"Our real father?" Cailan whipped his head over at Rosie, "You mean we...we have the same."

"Yes, as far as the King understands it."

"Who?" Cailan spat out.

"Brother Cordell. I...I remember him a bit," she confessed as if she'd been plumbing the depths of her memories to jog that waterlogged fact forward, but Myra didn't care about this wandering Brother. If their dad didn't create Rosie and Cailan then...then they weren't her siblings. At all. Not even by half.

Cailan wiped his sleeve against his nose and snarled, "I remember nothing of him. I do not care. He is lying."

"Why would Dad...? Why would Alistair lie? He told me he always knew. It wasn't...it wasn't something mother pulled on him. He knew he couldn't have children and looked the other way for years, for us. For Ferelden."

"Fuck Ferelden," Cailan shouted. He pawed at his eyes, then moved to straighten out his collar, "I'm going to talk to mother about this. She'll, she better have a damn good explanation."

Cailan moved to walk out, but Rosie latched onto his hand. He tugged, attempting to extricate himself, while Rosie hung tighter. Myra barely watched, not caring if her brother stomped away to piss off the Queen. Her stomach was reeling faster than a jig. "What do you mean Dad can't have any kids? Like at all? Or just with...with your mom?"

"I don't know, Myra. That's what he told me. No children. I..." she paused in trying to drag Cailan back, her eyes darting towards the bastard daughter whose only connection was through an apparently sterile King. "I suppose that means you're..."

Myra snarled, her hands trying to scrub against her own eyes. There were no tears though, only a fiery rage dripping out of them. _She lied._ Her whole life her mother lied to her. Made her go to parties at the castle, to suffer all those stuck up cousins and for what? What was the blighted point of it? So the elf could have some taste of nobility while also acting as if she was better than it all?

Or did she lie to Alistair too? Did she get knocked up by some random man in a back alley and tried to pass her filthy daughter off as the King's? And that stupid fool was so fucking in love with her he went along with it. Didn't call her on it once, just kept pretending that Myra was anything special. Anything other than the daughter of a whore.

Her brother...no, her not-brother was sneering about finding the Queen, but Myra ran past him. Ran past them all. Her heart felt as if it would explode in her chest as she rounded down the damn gilded stairs. She learned to walk up and down steps on those, fell so hard when she was three she broke a finger. Greased up her legs with goose fat and slid lightning fast down the bannister at Cailan's behest. And it was all a lie.

She didn't belong here. She never did. Her father wasn't...

Every breath on her tongue turned to ash, bitter as smoke from the husk of what her life had been tossed onto its funeral pyre. She hated how everyone looked down on her, treated her like she didn't belong anywhere and now... Myra's eyes wandered up the stairs towards the little door where her father was sitting and probably drinking. How long did he wear this secret on his shoulders? How many times did he glance over at Rosie, Cailan, or the bastard half-blood toddling under his legs and wonder if he could ever care for something that wasn't his?

She wanted to stay, to run to his arms and insist that she didn't care. He was her dad, had always been. But things didn't work like that, and this castle in the clouds wasn't where half blooded whore-daughters belonged.

Tears stinging in her eyes, Myra dashed down the steps towards the grand entrance. A few of the servants were rolling up the carpet, Myra leaping forward off the pile rather than dodging to the side. They both looked up, but she didn't say a thing, she couldn't. Stopping would only cause her to shatter in half.

No. She knew what she had to do.

At the gate, she spotted two guards walking towards her. "Who's that?" one asked. Her bloated eyes glanced askance at both, unable to place either.

The second stared hard and shrugged, "No one important."

The hard truth landed upon her chest. She was no one important. She wasn't even that foolish butterfly that was free to hop around doing whatever caught its fancy. She was nothing. Fatherless. Elven blooded. Magic cursed. A void where her life should have been.

Scrabbling out into the street, from behind her Myra heard the two derisive guards rattle the gate shut. It was unlikely it'd ever open for her again now that she knew the truth. Now that she knew where she didn't belong. The question of where she did hung over her head and throbbed inside her heart like an infection ready to burst.

By the time she reached her destination, the mage lights were left in the distance. Only torch lights lit with a bare wisp of oil coated this section of Denerim, all of which were on the way out. It'd be a nightmare traversing the streets soon, but Myra didn't care. She had to do this or she may never have the spine again.

Yanking open the door she'd tugged upon millions on millions of times before, Myra's nerves jangled along with the bell. It was quiet, a soft autumn fire crinkling in the hearth while everyone else had gone home. Because they had a home. Because they belonged.

"Oh, that's a surprise. I thought for sure you'd be dancing until I was long in bed."

The liar barely looked up from whatever murder case she took upon herself. All her life, her mother was devoted to uncovering the truth while she hid the biggest secret of them all from her daughter. Why? Myra didn't care that Reiss would shout her stupid for it. She had to know.

She had to.

Something of the cold chill wafting off her daughter must have struck Reiss as she placed down her quill and stared right at Myra. The party dress, thin as a sun dress because they couldn't afford anything with jewels or gilt, wafted through her legs. "My?" Reiss twisted her head in confusion, "what is it?"

"You lied."

Reiss blinked a moment, but didn't race to insist she didn't. Her fingers upbraided the feather of her quill, noting every fault in its lining, every divot that was wrong. Fit in, Myra. Be good. No, be better, because you have to be.

Because you're of an elf blood.

Because you're expected and watched by many.

Because you're the daughter of a King.

Every fault of hers laid out, examined often because her mother feared the ridicule she'd be placed under from the nobility. The pain and strife she'd face in sharing a spot in her...the King's life. But why? Why torture her with something that didn't even matter? Something that wasn't true?

Stepping forward fast, Myra slammed a hand into the front desk. A mug filled with clips and nails rattled over, a river of used iron and steel spilling out. "Why did you lie to me?!"

"About what?" Reiss folded her arms and glared at Myra.

"Alistair," Myra felt the tears welling up. She called her mom her first name on occasion, usually when sparks literal or otherwise were flying, but never her dad. He'd always been Dad, Pops, Father. And now...

"You lied to me my whole life!" her lips crumbled, the fury shaking her thin arms and shoulders as if an earthquake rumbled in her soul.

"My," Reiss moved to touch her daughter, but Myra shook it off hard. "What are you talking about? What about your dad?"

"He's not my dad!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs. Through the tears she expected to watch her mom turn indignant, or panic, or do anything but go very cold and quiet.

"What?" was all Reiss said, her green eyes burning through her daughter.

"He's not Dad, he's not Rosie's dad, he's not Cailan's dad, he's no one's dad! Did you know that, Mom?" Myra shouted, her fist pounding into the desk with every 'dad.' "Because he does. He told Rosie that he can't have kids. He never could."

"Blighted Maker's ass taint!" Reiss cried, her hands reaching towards the sky as if it could rescue her from this. "He wasn't supposed to tell you like that."

"You knew? You knew he knew? And you, you both kept it from me?!"

"My, it's not that simple. You don't understand..." she reached forward as if to comfort her daughter, but Myra shook it away.

"I get it, Mom," she spat every Mom out as if Reiss' connection to her could be as much in question as Alistair's. "You, you lied. You knew you lied, and Dad...The King, maybe he lied too. Maybe you both needed the lie for all your other filthy lies. Build it up, like a nest made out of burrs and thorns. And who gets stuck in the middle? Me!"

"Myra," Reiss folded her arms, "calm down and listen."

"Listen?!" she, as anyone in the world told to calm down would do, shrieked harder and whipped away. "Listen to more lies? Do you have any idea what I've done. The...the fucking fights I've fought, cracked bones, black eyes, broken toes and fingers all to defend you."

"Maker's breath, Myra. Fighting? In the streets."

"For you! Every Maker damn time they called you a--"

"You were never supposed to defend me or anyone else!" Reiss stood up taller, as if she intended to wrap up her daughter in a hug. Her eyes brimmed in tears, but it had to be in being called out. She knew she was caught and there was no way free of the trap. Her daughter knew the truth at last.

"You're right," Myra teetered closer to the door, her hands bundled behind her back. That simple answer caused her mother to freeze, her eyes narrowing. "I shouldn't have bothered because they were right too. You're nothing but a knife-eared whore!"

"Myra!" her mother hissed, but it was too late.

Salt blinding her, Myra tore at the door. It nearly buckled in its rusty hinges at her weight shoving it open and freeing her into the night. She didn't know where she was going, she didn't care. All she knew was that she had to get away.

While her feet beat into the stones that mocked her, that held the lie of her true birth same as everyone in her life, Reiss ran out into the street. She couldn't hope to catch up to her taller, faster daughter, but she lifted her hands to her mouth and shouted, "Myra Sayer Theirin!"

The magic was broken, the full name that used to stop her in the her tracks was dead. She wasn't Myra Sayer Theirin. She didn't know who she was.

## Chapter Sixty-One

### Locked

"Mother, please..."

He tried to slide away but she already managed to fish out four more letters from her pocket. Lana had been peppering him in them ever since Gavin found the courage to speak near her at the dance. Once they were dismissed from duty, while the rest of the squires dashed off into the night (no doubt to hit up a tavern away from prying Knight eyes) he fell into step behind his mother and father. More than a few people tipped their heads to the old war general, while nearly everyone ignored the woman hanging off of Gavin's arm and trying to scrub his cheeks clean.

"I swear, he tells it better. You have to read it in his own hand," she began again, attempting to shove at him what was the same story told five times over by the various healers and templars living back home. Gavin's undoing was asking how things were out there.

"Lana," his father reached over to her and smoothly scooped up the letters. "He has other problems to deal with. I think 'That time we all watched a wyvern leap into the horse trough' can be shelved."

Gavin expected his mother to sigh, pluck the parchment free, then hand it to her son, but she cuddled tighter to her husband instead. Their rooms in the old Arl's estate were lovely, allowing a view of the palace from out a window they weren't in but near. His mother nuzzled her lips against his father's barely shaved cheek before she glanced around at their surroundings.

"Did I ever tell you that I was here during the Blight?"

"In Denerim?" Gavin scoffed, "I think we all knew that, Mom."

His mother glared at the impudence, "You manage to save one kingdom and suddenly start to think you can sprout some lip. When you get to three, then we can talk. And I meant here, specifically. This very room."

"Oh?" They sat at a small table, his father having pulled over a spare chair while the three in their small family caught up. There wasn't much new from his parent's side, though they hung on Gavin's every word while he retold the same tales in his letters home.

His Mom didn't like to talk about the Blight, not in any specifics. She'd give a few speeches every once in awhile overladen in battle gained aphorisms, maybe purse her lips about someone in particular who angered the Amell blood. But while she glanced around the room she softened as if the years smoothed out the wrinkles, oiled up her joints, and colored the grey.

"Alistair was in this one. That was where he..." she pointed towards one of dozens of bookcases that looked the same. Suddenly, her eyes darted over to the man sitting by her side always. "Where he chose to be king," she stated a simple bit of trivia for Ferelden, but there was an undercurrent rippling in the air while Lady and Lord Rutherford shared a look. Whatever it was, Gavin suspected he'd never understand.

After brushing her fingers against Cullen's cheek, she smiled serenely. "They did change the dining room again, though. Seems no one's ever happy about that thing."

"How long will you be in town?" Gavin said, trying to change the subject. The past seemed to be mired in constant quagmires for both his parents. While his mother was not a fan of speaking about the blight, his father positively refused to make any mention of it. There were other missteps too, particularly when Aunt Hawke was around.

"Not very," his mom waved her hand to dismiss it. "So you need not worry about us getting under foot."

"You just came for the King's birthday," Gavin said slowly, well aware of the obvious lie.

"Is it so wrong for me to want to see my son?" she reached over to grip onto his hands and worry both in her fingers. How many times did his mother run her middle finger from the base of his wrist all the way to the tip of each finger, teaching him to scrub off after potion making? She adored touching hands, often turning people's over as if to read their lives clutched in a palm. Or perhaps to see if anyone was trying to steal a dye from her alchemy room.

Gavin could shake it off. Insist to her and his father that he was an adult, he had a job to do, and their doting would only make it much harder.

You feared death's skeletal hand would pluck you from this world times uncounting.

You stared into the lifeless eyes of your friend and fought through the void to save his mother.

You had your heart shattered in your chest by your own foolish past.

Leaning forward fast, Gavin caught his mother in a hug. She was so surprised, her hands caught between them while he buried his face into her. How did she smell of home? This many days out, weeks riding across country but it wasn't horse and the smelters of Denerim wafting off her. Mountain honeysuckle, his father's special mead brew that no one else drank for how bad it was, the haying left drying by the sun, and a tincture of iodine plus witch hazel. That wasn't just his mother, it was everything he left behind for this.

"Sweetie," she whispered to him, her head pivoting to no doubt find his father's eyes. A hand landed on Gavin's back, not to free his mother, but to try and comfort him.

"I missed you," Gavin sputtered out, glancing to his father, "both of you. All of you. Home and..." He leaned back, hoping childish tears didn't rise in his eyes. It'd been months, homesickness should have fled his bones by now.

"We missed you too," Cullen said in his crackling voice. Age splintered it like a maul slicing into firewood.

"And, when you get a chance, you can always come out to visit," his mom smiled. "The residents would adore seeing you again."

"There's always the back forty too," his dad added, the hand still rubbing into his shoulder as if he was all of nine and terrified about having to watch a baby fennic die in his arms.

"You planted this year? I thought you intended to leave it fallow."

His dad turned, his eyes lighting up at talking shop with his son, "A new seed crop came in from further north, and..."

"Okay," Lana interrupted, "there is plenty of time for this tomorrow. I assume you'll be okay with us stopping by and saying hello? Visiting with this Knight of yours a bit."

"Uh," while he assumed his parents would find him on the palace grounds, no doubt while she was meeting with the King, he didn't want his mother anywhere near Ser Daryan. Judging by the sly look, she already had formed an opinion of the woman and it wasn't good. "We'll see. Everyone's a bit busy, but...I should return."

"Let's walk with you," his mom said and she twisted around to find her cane.

"Mother, no, you don't have to..." Gavin tried to stop her, but as far too many learned too late, there was little in thedas that could impede Lana.

"It will do me good, standing then sitting for a long time can cause cramps. Right?" she turned to her husband who already had a solid grip to her arm. Gavin knew she was exhausted, but if it came to it, his father would carry her. At least there weren't many steps between here and the palace.

With Lana leading, Cullen a step behind but clinging to her, and Gavin shambling at the back the three made their way to the palace. It was a gentle talk and he realized that his parents weren't speaking over him. There was nothing about how he'd understand later, or that he had to do this and that, and it was assumed he'd fall in line. His mother asked that he write more often, which was no surprise, and that he give Myra a few books she managed to sneak into a party.

But that was it. She asked. Gavin never felt older in his life than watching his father's eyes hunt across his son, notice the marks in his uniform and weapon, and say nothing. They gifted him trust.

After the summer's pitfalls, he wasn't certain if he deserved it.

"Huh, that's strange," his mother said coming to a stop. "The gate's closed." She wrapped her hands around the bars and gave a little tug but nothing happened.

His father did the same, yanking harder despite the lock clearly being in place. "One of that man's jokes?" he growled.

"I don't see how," his mother's easy going mood shattered in an instant. Shrewd eyes darted around the courtyard up to the windows. There was little movement inside, few fires awake and quite a handful of heavy curtains drawn. A bit surprising for an after-party, but perhaps a lot of the festivities wandered down to a tavern.

"Gavin," she called to him, "do you know those men?" He followed her point to a pair of bulldogs in armor. There was no other way to describe them. They looked as if they'd been in bar fights that required the use of their teeth and claws to survive more than once.

"No," he shook his head, his hands gripping tight to the bars that cut him off from his home. Cut off all of Denerim from the palace. _What was going on?_ The King never closed this as far as he knew. Not that he'd been here too long, but it seemed a bit strange after a birthday party to lock the doors with guests still inside.

"Their armor," Lana said, her voice cold and dissecting, "it bares no crest, it's as cookie cutter as one can get when shopping off the rack."

His father stood in behind her, glaring into the darkened courtyard. "We need to get inside. Now."

"Yes," she tapped a finger to her chin and a dusting of sparkle magic trailed it, but his dad cupped her hand.

"Lana..."

"How do you propose we break down a gate? Did you bring a spare battering ram in your pants?" she turned on him, her eyes blazing. Literally, the fire of the fade rose inside of her body. She was prepared to warp the metal, melt it to nothing, blow it apart, and in general make a big show of it all.

"You will call every single shady mercenary down upon us and we are not armed."

"I have an idea," Gavin said whipping his head back to scour the street.

"Maker's breath, Cullen. This could be an invasion. Or worse. Is this about you fearing my magic or not wanting to save him?" his mother ignored Gavin's comment, turning on his father instead.

The man groaned, "Neither. It's simple tactics. We don't have an army behind us. They will just barricade it further, requiring you to produce more fire, bringing even more of whoever they are to us."

"Andraste's Blood!" Gavin slapped his hands together, trying to get the two generals who fought in very different wars to look at him. "I know who can get inside without blowing open the gate." Both his parents blinked, the magic in his mom fading fast as they mulled over his idea. Turning towards the street, Gavin added, "I just pray she's not trapped inside with everyone else."

His first stop was the agency, where an older elven lady with black hair said, "Those two were hissing at each other like cats. They're off running down the streets. Just listen for the yelling."

Gavin didn't have a lot of yelling to go off of, Denerim quiet as the hour shifted from midnight to the new day. He tried to talk his mother and father into waiting back at the agency, but neither would hear of it. Of course. So much for trust. Their opinion of him must have been rather low as they kept questioning his idea but without explicitly stating he was a fool for having it.

"Anyone who can get in...?"

"It'd be tricky. I'm not certain how one could make it over a fence such as that."

"There'd be guards all around, right at the drop off..."

Gavin shook it off, breaking into a run as a thought popped into his head. There were a lot of places in Denerim, hundreds that she could vanish into. The Alienage? Maker, he'd never find her in there. The chantry? Its doors remained open, light spilling onto the street, but that seemed highly unlikely.

In spinning around, while attempting to head back towards the palace as if they might manage to jimmy the gate open, an idea struck him. It was a long shot, but Gavin didn't have many options in his quiver. He left his parents shambling and arguing behind to run up the stairs of the memorial she first brought him to what felt a lifetime ago.

It wasn't until Gavin reached the door and yanked it open an inch, that he knew he guessed right.

"Don't you lecture me!" a voice screamed and the other answered back.

"Look who's talking, you're practically a gold plated, hundredth level lecturer."

Throwing his shoulder into the door, he ran into the Hero of Ferelden's memorial while shouting, "Myra!"

She sat perched at the foot of his mother's statue, both knees drawn tight to her chin while a blonde elf paraded around in a circle. Both women turned to him, the same green eyes narrowing in a rage when Gavin began to sense the new quagmire he stepped into.

"What...?" Myra tried to scrub her eyes clean. Had she been crying? "What are you doing here?"

"Something's wrong, at the palace."

She looked about to hop down, but at his words paused and rolled her eyes. "What do I care?" she snorted. "Not as if I belong there."

"Myra, I swear to the Maker Himself..."

"The gates," Gavin tried to wedge himself in between a mother and daughter spat. About as wise as getting between two wolverines but he had no choice. "The gates to the palace."

The woman, Reiss, whipped her head at him and Gavin felt himself shrink a foot at her glare. "What about them?"

"They're locked," he said.

Myra's eyes popped open wide, her lips trembling at the enormity of the situation, when Reiss began to circle him. "Locked? They're never locked."

"Barred, no one's allowed entrance. There's not even anyone at the gate and..." Gavin tried to shake off the older elven woman about to tear him to pieces. "Myra, there are people in armor standing around whom I've never seen."

"Mercenaries," Reiss spat at the ground. Suddenly, her head shot up and she paled considerably. "A coup? Now? Alistair!"

"Myra, can you sneak in? I know you can climb damn near anything but..."

Gavin turned away from begging for her help at the sound of the door opening. Into the marble and glass mausoleum of the woman his mother once was stepped Lana and the man who adored her. His father's eyes went right to the statue and the face of a woman gritting from the strain of nations on her shoulders. His mother, oddly, focused on the back wall.

"Lord and Lady Rutherford," Reiss froze, her head dropping to both.

"Has my son informed you of the severity of the situation?" his father struck upright, a hand dangling down towards his hip as if a sword rested there. Reiss nodded her head while his mother wandered towards the back away from them all. The whack of her cane striking the stone floor echoed off the onyx likeness looming above them. Each knock reverberated through Gavin's teeth.

"He thinks your daughter is the only one capable of making it over the gate," Cullen continued, his eyes darting to Myra who remained perched at the foot of the statue.

She glanced back and blanched at what was probably a faux pas. As honorably as possible, Myra scampered off of Lana Amell's feet to land on the ground. Gavin tried to lean closer and whispered, "Are you all right?"

Myra's striking eyes rose to his and she bit onto her lip. She looked like a woman pulled from the sea by a fishing net, barely clinging to life. Fighting down the urge to comfort her with a hug, Gavin locked his hands around the sword on his hip.

"My?" Reiss turned to her daughter who was staring through the world at nothing. "My, you might be our only hope. If Alistair, if they're doing this now he won't see it coming. We need you to..."

"Yeah," she nodded her head rapidly, her nose flaring as she sucked in a breath. On a copper, her eyes narrowed and she glared at her mother, "Of course I'll do it. Why wouldn't I? Come on," Myra extended a hand towards the door, "we have to hurry before anything bad happens to Dad."

Perhaps it was his imagination but she seemed to wince at the end of her sentence, but Myra wrung her hands out against her thighs and moved out of the memorial. Gavin was about to follow, when he caught his father standing stock still and glaring into the shadows. Right, his mother. What was she...?

"Are we all ready to save the King?" she asked, her head tipped to the side. Reaching out quickly, Lana grabbed Cullen's arm and both fell into step as the small army prepared to head for war.

## Chapter Sixty-Two

### Shattered

Tonight was going just fantastic!

Who wouldn't want to learn your Dad wasn't your real father, have a row to nearly end all rows with your lying mother, then get dragged back to the scene of the crime because maybe someone decided now was when to threaten her not-father? Myra wanted to laugh and scream at the same time, but she settled for running instead. The pounding against her feet and ache in her lungs could both be attributed to the hard ground instead of her heart crumbling to dust.

By the time they reached the palace, Myra's breath was practically billowing out of her nose. She tipped her head back to gaze at the imposing gates that never once closed to her. The lights of the palace strained through the shut front doors, revealing polished helms standing eerily in a row as if waiting for orders.

"Hey," Myra reached a hand through the bars and tried to wave. "Hey, let me in!" she shouted. Eyes sized her up, the hairs on the back of her neck rising at the attention even if she couldn't see a thing through the darkness, but no one shifted out of their formation. No one came towards her. No one wanted to say that this was all a joke or misunderstanding. Her dad was fine, slipped in the tub or a big rat got into his room and they were trying to talk him out of adopting it.

"Rude," she said, clinging tooth and nail to the brevity in her soul. Staring at the unnatural line of guards who clearly didn't belong here was doing a number on it.

Beside her Gavin came to a standstill. He'd been doing a pretty good job of keeping up until the last bit when Myra sprinted ahead. "Blessed Andraste," he cursed, his head tipped up, "nothing's changed. I hoped..."

"Any idea who those men are?" Myra jerked her head towards the pile that looked like they'd gone ten rounds with a dragon and walked away. It'd take a mother with very poor eyesight to love any of those faces.

"No," he shook his head slowly, "I'd hoped you might..."

"I'm not the blighted Maker," she groaned. "No obvious livery from here, hiding in the dark. Maybe if I were to give a little light..." She began to lift her fingers, the magic barely sparking, when Gavin caught her hand and cupped it in both of his.

"Don't!" he hissed, jerking his chin towards the darkness. "Someone's watching us. Who knows what they might do if they determine who you are."

Her eyes watered as she sneered, "Jokes on them. I'm no one special."

"Myra?" his amber eyes honed in on her, while his hands remained locked tight over hers. As if he was keeping it safe and protected. Or trying to keep her from dooming them all. That seemed more likely.

"Nothing," was all she said and slithered her fingers out of his warm cocoon. The boy looked about to ask more prodding questions, when the old guard arrived behind them.

Her mother let loose a string of elven curses as she came to a rest right outside the doors. "What in the void is happening in there?"

"That's what we prayed your daughter could solve," this was the Hero stepping forward. It was rather surprising how fast she could move given her feeble body. Magic? Maker, Myra would kill to learn some actual healing spells.

"Can you climb that gate?" The old Commander asked her straight on, his eyes darting up the seemingly unscalable bars.

"Yeah," Myra shrugged as if it was no big deal, "but not here. There's a dip at the back." Which she used when coming from the south and not wanting to take the long way around to visit with her...the guy that lived in the palace.

"No," Reiss stomped forward, her eyes cutting through the night, "you are not using that entrance, Myra."

"Mom, I've climbed it hundreds of times. I'm not going to break my neck," Myra snarled, already exhausted with how little her mother believed in her.

"Look," Reiss grabbed onto her taller daughter's shoulder and directed her sight towards the shadows. "See the size. What causes that hunch?"

Groaning at the obvious Myra missed, she muttered, "Broadsword on the back."

"And there are how many?"

"More than ten, probably twelve. And a few archers up in the rafters."

At that Reiss blinked in surprise before whipping her head towards what Myra caught on her second proper look. The crossbow sights glinted in silver from the moon. "You will have to fight through all of them to get to us. To open this gate. There is no way you can do it."

Myra crossed her arms and glared, "Then I'll be really, really quiet."

"Maker's breath, you're my child. I know just how quiet you are capable of. You're not going."

"For the love of...see what I have to live with," Myra jerked a hand at her mother who was eyeing up the situation as if there was another option. She wanted to tear her braid off in frustration, but a surprising hand came to her defense.

"Reiss," the Commander stepped forward slowly, "we cannot fight through this gate and that many armed forces on the other side."

Her mother sneered, no doubt trying to run the numbers again as if a dozen archers on one side and two mages plus a few people waving knives around could ever come out to anything but mass slaughter. A gate was instant death, but if it became a door... It still didn't look good, but it had to be better.

"Mom," Myra reached towards her mother's hands clinging to the bars. Forgetting their fight and the sting of being lied to all her life, Myra's voice softened. "Dad's in there."

"I know," Reiss shook her head and in the intimate moonlight turned to her daughter. Tears bubbled in her mother's eyes, the woman scared for the man she loved. "But My..."

"I can do it. Trust me," she gripped tighter to her mother. "What's the point of sending me on all those jobs if I can't use the training to save Dad? Or the palace, or whatever the hell's going on."

"Myra," she turned and cupped both hands to her daughter's cheeks. Placing a kiss to her forehead, Reiss spat out, "You take it slow. No showing off with fancy leaps or any stretches further than the length of your arms."

"Yes, mother," she rolled her eyes, well aware of her limits and how strict her mom's rule was. She could easily do double what Reiss allowed.

"Go quiet, more silent than when you sneak out at night."

"I don't..." Myra began to insist on the lie, but at her mother's pursed lips she tried to walk it back. Great. So she knew the whole time. That was going to be years of filing reports as punishment.

"And for the love of Andraste, be careful. If you get in any trouble..."

"I know, run."

"No," her mom tucked back the same errant blonde hairs she suffered, "you're on your own. You have to solve it yourself. Until you get that gate open we can't assist."

Myra gulped. Her mother was always overprotective, shielding her from things she knew she was capable of, but Reiss was never this bad. Certainly never blubbered about how there was no safety net should Myra bungle it. All her life, Myra knew she had someone behind her -- her mom, Lunet, Dad, even Gavin. Now...it was all up to her.

_And if you fail?_

"I got this, Mom. I swear." Myra staggered back, her eyes wandering up towards the castle. There were few lights on, so trailing inside the shadows should be easy enough. "What about the rest of you?"

"We're going to build an army," the Hero stepped forward, a woman Myra called teach in her early days.

"Just...like that? An army out of thin air?"

"It's been done before," the woman smiled, her eyes darting over to the others who looked grim. "Ah, but before you go."

Pausing in a mid-jump to begin her assault, Myra watched as the Hero tugged an honest to the Maker staff off her back and handed it to her. The wood was soft as butter, redder than rouge, and bore three serpents at the top all trying to eat each other.

"This is one of my old staves. I think I acquired it during a battle to rescue the elves, but...there were a lot of weapons over the years and even more battles."

"You can't be serious!" Myra gasped, her fingers freezing at the real power in a proper mage staff. She'd had to rely upon typical bow staffs, nothing more than wood Myra could swing at people's heads. This one...she could throw fireballs and stuff through it. With her mind.

"Lady Rutherford..." Reiss stepped forward, inserting herself into the gift, "that is far too generous and not necessary."

"The girl's gonna need all the help she can get. I just wish I had the one that could increase mana by 20%. No idea where that wound up. Probably in some Tevinter collector's pocket knowing my luck."

"Mom," Gavin interrupted the Hero's musings, "did you...did you swipe that from the memorial?"

She turned to her boy and shrugged, "It is technically mine. I just allow Ali to house it in the interim."

Myra wanted to take the staff with, but she was going to have to scale using both hands. There was no way to keep it in one while shimmying up a gate or wall. "I can't hold it while I'm climbing. Sorry."

A sweet smile lifted the woman's lips. With her finger, she darted down the bottom the staff to unfurl a leather strap nailed into the wood. "Use this to carry it upon your back. How else do you think I managed to cart one around across thedas?"

Nodding at the gift, Myra did as commanded. Her shoulder tugged back from the weight but it was doable. She might notice a slight change in jumping but nothing too bad. Turning towards the night, Myra was about to run off, when her mother grabbed onto her hand and pinned her in place.

"My," Reiss spoke loudly, though right at her daughter as if they were alone. She lost her indoor voice the same day she lost her ear. "No theatrics, no saving your father alone. You come back to me, safe and sound. You hear?"

"Can do, boss," Myra waved, her fingers slipping from Reiss' grip. Her mother groaned at the come-what-may laugh her daughter managed, barely caring about the danger beyond shrugging it all off. But through the lighthearted armor she strapped on above her thin dress, Myra's eyes darted over to Gavin's.

The boy was worrying his fingers up and down the hilt of his sword, his bottom lip stuck out in concern. When he felt Myra looking at him, he honed in on her and mouthed, "Keep safe."

With that final assurance, and whatever Myra could do with it, she dashed off into the night. Running around the palace was less fun than it sounded. Denerim designed the entire area as if the city planner gave two goats and a gopher access to bricks and told 'em to wander off making streets. The gate rose and fell in accordance to the street levels outside, doing its best to match where someone say decided "This is a great place to put my three story balcony store." But there was one spot where the gate makers went "screw it" and let Denerim rise to nearly meet it.

That was Myra's only hope. While her new staff banged and shifted upon her shoulder, she ran not towards the palace, but one of the houses in the area. By light it was bluer than a jay, its eaves an inviting white. In the darkest of the night, the house loomed in a despicable grey, ready to lash from the darkness and smear off any who dared to touch it. That was where Myra hooked her hand into a window box with grasses tumbling over the side. With enough leverage, she could easily haul herself skyward and onto the roof.

Denerim's skyline punctuated the massive moon hanging in the air. Stars seemed to be puffing up out of the various chimneys, each flue like a dead man's nose prodding apart the sky. Not really helpful to think of, Myra. Turning away from her city, she focused on the palace. Most of it sat far enough back it would be say impossible for a girl to run off a roof, leap over the gate, and plow into a window.

But someone was kind enough to leave one of the old kissing towers butting right up next to the gate. Then another silly someone came along and built a house another story tall to make them connect. Banging her hands together and praying the tiles weren't slick, Myra dropped into a dead run. The gate itself rose just above her head, but if she could time it right it wouldn't matter.

When her toes reached the edge of the roof, Myra leaped into the air. Instinctively, her feet spread, both legs sliding right between the bars as she sailed nearly over the thing. That was the easy part. After that came a very vital catch or it'd be a very squishy down.

Her hands wrenched forward through the blackest air, snagging upon a beam of wood that someone left teetering towards the edge. It creaked at her weight, but didn't shift. Just as it hadn't in all these years of her trying this. While hanging off the wooden beam Myra glanced down at her dress glad for once she was so tall it cut off at her shins. To anyone on the ground, if they were to give a cursory glance upwards it might look as if she was a flag of yellow flowers someone stuck to the old tower. But she really didn't want anyone to have the chance to spot her.

Hauling herself through the window, Myra made quick work getting her footing in the creaking tower and promptly running down it. Some of the stairs had rotted in the intervening years, but she knew where all the holes were and how to avoid them. Upon reaching the ground level, Myra leaned her head out to cautiously peer through nothing. Darkness sat at both ends, not even a damn bird there to startle her back.

Still... She was told to be quiet. Rising onto her tiptoes, Myra slunk into the shadowed yard. Her feet barely crunched against the hungry gravel and pitted dirt, each whisper of a sound causing her to hiss. No one seemed to be bothering back here. Perhaps they didn't much care to keep an eye, or most likely didn't know about the secret back entrance.

Flattening her back to the wall of the palace, Myra began to slide towards the north gate and the catch. It sat in its own special alcove on the side. Sometimes her dad would let her and her sib...Cailan or Rosie play with it. He found it so hilarious to watch the children fling open a gate with a flick of their wrist, chains winding across a mechanism that tugged it open like magic.

Dad.

Alistair. Whatever she was supposed to call him now. What could they be doing to him? They wouldn't do anything too bad. He's king. That's treason, which is super bad. Just...hang in there. They're all coming. To save him and what not. No doubt the Hero, and Commander, and Detective would put down this little coup fast.

All Myra had to do was make it around the side of the palace without being spotted. And it was proving trickier than she expected. Round about the area where Gavin watered his stump stood two of the mercs. They weren't silent the way the palace guards were, nor as imposing, but Myra had to bite down on a gasp when one's head whipped right to where she was trying to blend into the wall.

She was shadowed. They couldn't see her. There was no way...

"Whatcha doing?" one said, turning to his partner.

"Dunno. Something feels off," the second said, his fat foot taking one step towards Myra.

_Shit!_ If she moved they'd for sure see her. If she stayed in place, they'd find her eventually. Could she kill them? Knock them out without making a noise?

Why didn't she learn any sleep spells?

Her heart thundered harder in her chest, Myra's spare hand sliding along the staff on her back. If it came to it, she could whip it off and attack the first guard. Which was when the second would draw his sword and split her guts out. She didn't do doubles, not close. Close was bad, close was death, and they were both moving closer.

Don't make a noise. Don't get caught.

Well, Mom. Have to do one or the other. Myra tasted the veil slipping all around them, her panic seeping into the fade itself and tugging the power to her. It didn't quite light up her fist, but the fire would come fast.

"Oi!" a new voice rang out from the gated courtyard. "Everyone to the front, now."

The first guard slugged his friend in the shoulder and moved to obey, but the second was dead set on catching Myra. "You heard him. Let's get this over with."

"I hate everything about this job. Something they're not telling us," the man muttered, but he turned away from Myra and the girl practically collapsed to the ground. His head whipped back, no doubt catching her movement on the periphery, but she was hidden behind a bit of shrubbery now, her lips pressed to the dirt.

Unable to see, she listened to the sound of boots stomping away and prayed it wasn't just her erratic heartbeat slipping off to death. When nothing but the wind whistled overhead, Myra lifted her face off the ground to find herself completely alone. So...you nearly got caught, and there are another two guards standing right where you need to sneak in. Great. Good.

_By the void, why did she agree to this?_

She wasn't a sneaky thief, most people well aware when Myra was climbing all over their roofs. More than a few angry worded letters would arrive on her mother's doorstep, causing more angry words from Reiss when she went awalking. Struggling closer, Myra slipped in behind an old wagon. Dropped to a crouch, she managed to peer through a slot between planks to find a good dozen men in full armor standing in the yard. How many more were there? How many more would cut her down without thought?

This was so stupid. She should have stayed home safe burrowed under a blanket while crying. Damn it, she was supposed to be upset and maybe drunk, not attempting to break into the palace and slip past dozens of armed men. There were professional guards here. It was their job to protect the King, not some seventeen year old girl. Let them do it.

Leave mom outside fretting herself to death.

Worse, let her know that Myra couldn't hack it.

No. There was no way she was facing another round of "told ya so's" from her mother. Whipping her head up, Myra spotted a familiar window. A candle flickered near the sill of one of the servants closets and an idea formed in her brain. If she got up high, she might be able to get a better view of how to sneak in. It was worth a shot.

Dashing further away from the crowd of men, Myra found Gavin's dead stump and hopped onto it. _Here goes nothing._ Her first handhold was a brick shoved further out than any others. Damn thing was so far exposed, she could nearly wrap her entire hand around it.

Her arms barely noticed the pull as Myra rose to find another grip -- this time in the form of a drain spout. Some people could shimmy up those things but not her. She needed to take her time, go slow, and know she wasn't going to fall. Hauling herself upward, she dug her feet into the wall and scrabbled to catch the windows on the second floor.

When she landed upon the balcony, Myra glanced inside but found nothing to give her a hint as to what was going on. The entire level was silent, not even a clerk getting some late night reading in. Onward and up.

Moving to the next levels were trickier, requiring her to ping back and forth between two larger windows up on the third. Decorative bricks were her only guide, at best a half an inch of a handhold, but enough. Her arms began to burn in the shoulders. That summer off didn't do her any favors, far too much slack taking over her body that could have done this no problem before.

Myra spotted the third story sill, a good four feet jump from her. It was risky, but she could do it. She'd done worse after all. Digging her toes up the wall, Myra bunched her legs up under herself and leapt into the air.

_Shit! Shit shit!_

Her hands scrabbled at the wall, fingers fully missing their target and leaving her about to land face first onto the ground. She raced down the wall fast, her heart leaping into her brain. _Calm down. Focus! You can do this._ Digging the toes of her shoes into the wall, Myra formed claws and got a foothold. Her body continued to fall, before the fingers finally snagged something. Hugging even tighter to the wall, she sucked in a deep breath while whispering a prayer of thanks to Andraste, or the Maker, or whoever kept half-bloods from falling and breaking something.

As the breath in her lungs returned, Myra risked a glance down between her legs. Not fatal, but she wouldn't walk away either. It's okay. You're okay. You can do it. Just, go slower.

"Hey! Did you hear something?"

Fuck! Forget slower. Go faster. Much much faster.

Myra's fingers dug into every crevice in the stone wall, mortar flaking into her hair like snow as she climbed. Four voices increased below her, wondering if they could all hear the same thing. Sounded a bit like a girl climbing the walls. Odd that. No reason to check though. Maybe it's just a nug or a bat out for a midnight climb. They do that.

"Someone's on the wall!" the voice shouted causing Myra's mind to blank. She wanted to whip back to see who it was when a light landed right upon her body. Forgetting anything of tactics, Myra leapt out of the spotlight. She flew sideways, further from her target but the damn light followed.

"Damn it," the man shouted, "get some archers and pick her off!"

Okay, climbing with an arrow embedded in her back would make it a wee bit harder. Myra glanced up but the roof was a good two more stories away. Who decided the damn palace needed to be so tall? She could drop, and then they'd be able to kill her on the ground. Duck into a balcony? Spin around and shoot magic at them? Thereby revealing to everyone else she was there.

Think, Myra! The whole time she berated herself, she kept moving, her fingers more certain, her body more careful as she scrabbled up between the third and fourth floor. Not that it mattered, the lantern light wasn't leaving her body until she fell dead off the wall.

Her eyes darted down and a very stupid idea struck her. Which was when the first arrow shattered into the brick an inch from her fingers. Yelping, Myra slunk her hand back beside her head.

"Get off of the wall!" the voice commanded, "or the next one's going into your skull!"

That could have been a warning shot, or they could be shit at aiming. No reason to chance it, Myra. Unless you want to spend the rest of your days being a pincushion. Right. It's stupid idea or nothing.

Rolling up her fist, Myra splattered apart the veil. It was so sloppy, no doubt some of the normals down there had to feel it, but she wasn't in the mood to care about their feelings.

"One," the asshole was counting, "two..."

She had to time this perfectly. Swaying her body to match the rhythm, Myra mentally mimed her plan twice even while certain it'd end with her cut to pieces. No choice.

"Th..."

Jamming her fist at the wall, the magic splintered not into the rock but the window itself. As the glass flew inward, so did Myra's body. She released her grip from above the window and dove feet first right into a room covered in shards of very pointy glass. Shit, shit, shit! Her ass slid over the shattered remains of the window, small cuts jamming up through her dress as she glided over the floor.

Myra winced, waiting for another arrow to come flying through, but nothing happened. She turned around, about to laugh at the foolish mercs, when she remembered that they probably had control of the palace. And knew just which window she went plowing into.

Leaping to her feet, glass scattered off her ass like icy rain. She moved to leave, when Myra suddenly realized she wasn't alone. Four women stood huddled in the corner, their eyes wide as oranges while staring at the crazed woman who broke the window.

"Um, sorry about that," she flinched. "Send the bill to my dad."

Myra grabbed onto the door handle, when one of the girls suddenly shouted, "No, you can't go out there!"

"Why?"

"The bad men. They grabbed us all, corralled us in here until..."

"Until what?" Myra glared at her, hoping for an answer.

"We don't know," their lone speaker said, her lips quivering. "Just until... It's not safe."

Myra grinned and finally slid the staff of her back. It hummed with power, but more than that it was sturdy in her hands. The blade on the bottom in particular caught her eye. "Don't worry," she winked, "neither am I."

Lifting the latch, Myra spun out into the hall to find a man in armor with his back to the trapped women. His head pivoted slowly, trying to figure out who dared go against his orders, when one of the serpent heads of the staff smashed into his jaw. Crying in pain, the man stumbled backwards, when Myra whacked him again, this time in the chest with the other serpent head. He collapsed to his feet, the breath knocked out of him.

She could take the time to slit his throat, but there wasn't any. They'd be coming and fast. And they'd bring back up. Certain he couldn't scream for help, Myra began to run down the hallway. Her feet pounded against the same rug she once rolled Cailan up in. Blood from the glass dribbled down her legs and feet leaving macabre footprints in her wake as doors began to open.

Please let it still be there. Please let them still be lazy!

Myra could try to hide inside another room, slip inside and vanish, when she heard a voice from the stairwell behind her shout, "She's up here!"

She didn't look back, but her mind could feel the acrid breath snorting down her neck, the gnarled and bloody hands grabbing towards her. If they caught her, she was dead.

Please be there.

"Stop her!"

Forming the fist again, Myra shattered her second window of the night, glass raining down on the heads of those armored mercenaries below. Not slowing for a second even at the massive drop outside, Myra leaped up onto the sill, ducked her head to fit, and flew from the window.

"Holy shit!" voices cried, fingers pointing upward at the girl who seemed to be jumping to her doom. Which was when Myra swung the staff up over her head, caught the clothesline the servants always kept in place, and began to slide towards the ground. More merc voices cut the air, Myra barely able to see with the wind rocketing past her face.

Well, they all knew she was here now. But maybe she'd confuse them enough. There didn't seem to be as many outside the gate as before -- their tarnished helmets growing larger as Myra began to slide closer to the ground. Too bad there was nothing at the end to slow her body that was picking up speed fast.

Shit, shitshitshit!

The gate house the girls shot the line into sprung up fast right before Myra, its wooden walls ready to crunch her ribs to dust. She didn't have any choice. Closing her eyes, one of Myra's hands let go of the staff and she took falling from the unknown height over smashing her face to a bloody pulp. Both girl and weapon tumbled through the air, her skirt whipping up to her face as she tried to find her footing.

For the second time, she landed smack onto her ass, the pain slicing her apart. How much glass was still in there? Myra groaned, her eyes opening from the jarring shock of striking hard into stone. But she was alive, so plus there. And...

Myra turned behind her to spot the lever, unguarded and waiting for her attention. Scrabbling to her feet, her ankle twisting in the stones, Myra launched for the lever and shoved into it with whatever remaining strength she had. The chain beside her rattled upward, yanking apart the great gate! She did it!

Which was when she heard the tramp of boots increasing in speed and all honing right towards her, every armed man chasing for the girl that fell from the sky. It would be smart to run, but they'd close the gate again. No. She had to stay. She had to fight to protect it until the army came through.

Oh Maker, Myra swallowed hard. She hoped there was an army outside the gate otherwise she was truly screwed.

Turning to face the horde about to swoop down on her, Myra lifted her staff. One of the serpent heads hung cockeyed, its neck partially sundered when it smashed into the man. Still, it had to be good for what it was made for.

With a roll of her arm, Myra flipped the staff around and launched a ball of fire towards the men. That caused them all to rear back instantly. Eyes that were bleached white from her fire shattering the night attempted to follow it back to the girl who wasn't so toothless after all. Myra smiled, her hands rolling with the night as she drew a wall of flame around her. Try and pierce that. She wasn't moving from her duty for anything.

"Archers!" that fucking man said again, and Myra's blood ran cold. Her head snapped up to find a merc with a bow standing right in the window she leapt from. A barrier, that'd save her.

Too bad she didn't know how to cast that spell.

Time slowed to a crawl, Myra's heart falling dead in her chest as she watched the merc draw back the bowstring, his cheek dent inward from the force. She should duck. Dodge out of the way. Throw a fireball at it.

Her body was frozen, her fingers limp as she helplessly honed right in on the tip of the arrow. When the merc released his grip, Myra screwed her eyes up tight, the last image seared into her retinas of the arrow flying through the air right for her chest.

## Chapter Sixty-Three

### Walls

Watching Myra vanish into the night, Gavin tried to rub away all the conflicting emotions out through his hand and into the hilt of his sword. He didn't have time to weigh any of them, there was a battle to wage. Even if...

No. She'd be fine. She was Myra. She did this kind of stuff all the time.

"We need a battalion," his father said, the few people left behind staring up through the impenetrable bars.

Reiss smashed her fist once more against the gate, then turned to begin walking away.

"Where are you going?" Cullen continued, doing his best to take command.

"To get help," the elf shouted, already breaking into a run into the night. Gavin slotted in beside his dad, the pair watching as the older elven woman was doing her best to not think about her daughter in so much danger.

"We're going to need more." The voice of his mother caused both son and husband to whip towards her. She hadn't moved far, one hand cupped around her cane, the other lightly sliding up and down the bars.

"What we need are archers, a few mages at the back, and a front line to form up before..." his father muttered at the obvious tactics they had no chance of performing. It'd be impossible to get any of that in time, much less command it. Cullen seemed to know how fruitless it already was as his chin crushed to his chest.

A dark hand curled towards his arm, Lana sighing, "Honey eyes, this isn't a fight on a battlefield. We can do it, but we need more bodies. Sweetheart?" Now she turned right to Gavin who blinked a bit and gulped.

It was so easy for him to fall back to silence. His father was the expert on such matters, he had been his entire life. The voice with the commanding tone, the eyes that could spot danger and plan around it. But this wasn't the abbey, it wasn't even his Inquisition.

This was Denerim, this was supposed to be Gavin's home city now. And he had an idea. "I may know of some..." he began, his hands worrying back and forth the peeling leather on his sword. It shouldn't be cracked this poorly so soon but he couldn't cease fiddling with it.

"Good," his mother smiled as if she knew the whole time and was waiting for him to find the answer.

"At the tavern," Gavin pointed into the darkness of the city square. "The others, they..." Lambert extended him the offer to join with the fellow squires as they toasted to getting through another day, but he declined. He had his parents to deal with. And if he hadn't gone at all, he'd be trapped inside same as everyone else.

Or you'd be able to help without waiting on tenterhooks to see if Myra survived.

"How many?" his dad honed in on him, Cullen's shoulders that were often stooped from work snapping up high. The haze of a quiet life fell away, his voice honing to an edge while the eyes burned with purpose.

"I...have no idea. I'll go and see who I can gather up."

"Take your father," his mom said with a dismiss of her hand. Both men turned to her in surprise. "He's rather good at declaring doom and gloom for all. He'll get them on their asses no matter how drunk they are."

"Lana," Cullen stepped close to his wife, a protective hand sliding against her back. "What about you?"

"I'll keep an eye on the place. Walking that far seems unwise given what's about to occur."

"You'll be left exposed, the mercenaries are already noticing..." his dad began before the small woman turned and pointed a single finger at him.

"I can handle it. Now get going. Myra will need an army here when she gets the door open. Don't leave her waiting. Nor me." His mother's hand cupped his dad's cheek before she smiled and resumed watching over the dark courtyard.

Shrugging, Cullen stepped back, "You heard her."

The run to the tavern was less exciting than he feared. Myra spoke of the nightlife in Denerim as if vipers hid in every dark corner, but it seemed as if they were all curled up safe in their nests on this night. Odd. By the time Gavin threw open the doors, the stench of stale urine and staler mead nearly caused him to twist back outside. But there wasn't time. They needed to have a force to save Myra.

To help Myra. She was fine.

He had to shield his eyes against the weak candlelight while searching through the booths and tables scattered with people. A few looked like the servants to all the nobility that'd been dancing the night away and... "There," he pointed towards a clearly blonde head towering above the others as Cal tipped back a great stein.

It was Cullen who stepped forward, his back rod straight and chest out as he approached the squires clustered together in the benches. Nearly all of the boys were here, even the ones who didn't come on the princess' trip, as well as half of the girls. They looked more or less besotted out of their gourds, but a few twisted at the clip of boots on the floor and blinked against a broad man with advanced years stepping briskly towards them.

"Squires," he commanded with _that_ voice. It was the same one he'd unleash upon Gavin when he needed to do chores, and no doubt marched armies through utter exhaustion and crushing defeat to stop Corypheus. Age hadn't dulled its power, a few of the squires struggling to rise to their feet instinctively before getting a good look at who supplied it.

"Holy Andraste, are you him?" it was Lambert who was pointing in surprise, his face stretched into a long oval from shock.

"Him?" his dad glared at the boy, "Him who?" That had the opposite effect, Lambert shrinking tighter into his chair as he muttered something under his breath, but the other squires were all taking notice of his famous father.

Which was not what needed to be happening right now. Dashing forward, Gavin stepped into the middle and banged a fist on the table. That caused every head to swivel to him, "The palace is in trouble. It's filled with filthy mercenaries and we need you all to help take it back!"

Most of the eyes that darted to him when he smacked the table, began to roll back to Cullen. Trying to keep from shrieking, Gavin continued to rally the blood of patriotism in them, "Your King needs you. This is why we're squires!"

"Ha," Cal's grating bray puffed into Gavin's ear. "Maybe that's why you're a squire, farm..." He was cognizant enough to glance over at the famous general and swallow down the farm boy, "But that ain't why we're here. Right?" Cal turned to the others, half of which looked as if they wanted to leap to their feet in service of the Commander. But all were cowed by the boy who took charge every chance he could because his confidence overruled common sense.

Gavin growled, his sneer snapping towards Cal, but it was his father that grabbed onto the boy's shirt and tugged his face right into the grizzled mass of scruff and worry wrinkles. "This has nothing to do with what you want. Your wants fled from thedas the moment you put on that uniform. You will do as ordered, and you will do it now. Or I shall find others that will, and you...you will not like what happens after."

He braced himself for Cal to laugh and shrug it off, but the boy turned white as a sheet from the amber glare daring him to mouth back. "Ye...yes, sir," Cal bobbed his head, the cowardice rising from his gullet.

"Anyone else planning on deserting their duty?" the man whipped his head around the table, pin pricks of honey lava daring each one to refuse.

"No, Ser!" a few voices shouted, chairs sliding back from tables.

"Good," the old general smiled, practically beaming with pride. If Gavin didn't know better, he'd swear his father missed this. All the younger men and women fell into line before Cullen, most trying to knot back on clothing that tumbled by the wayside in their drink. He moved to inspect them a bit, when a voice broke into gargling laughter from the back of the tavern.

"What do you think you're doing..." a shadow slid out of the booth and rose to rickety legs. Gavin groaned as the blonde woman stepped closer, her head rising high while she focused only on him. "Squire?"

"Ser," he straightened up, wishing just for once she'd listen to him, "the King..."

"I heard," she waved a hand, quickly getting back her balance despite how red her eyes were. How long had she been drinking in that corner? "You've imagined the King is in trouble and only you can save him. And now you're going to yank all your friends from the warm pub to rattle sabers outside the palace gates."

"No, Ser, I have not..." He felt his knees begin to melt at her withering glare. _Damn it, Gavin, this isn't about you. It's not even for you. If you don't help Myra then..._ "Remain here if you wish! We will do what we can to save Ferelden and the monarchy, because we were sworn to it, but you... You can do whatever you did when the darkspawn attacked."

Her eyes narrowed to a knife's edge while she glared at his throat. That was the wrong move on his part, dredging up the past sins he carried over her head, but Gavin couldn't stop himself. He was so blighted tired of keeping everyone's secrets, of pushing forward the lie that they were better suited for this than they were. If his timidity caused Myra to get hurt, he could never live with himself.

"You will stand down, Squire," his knight circled towards him with a growl in her eyes. The breath that wafted over him stank of death and was volatile enough to spark in the air.

"No," Gavin shook his head, "I will not."

"Your Squire is acting insubordinate," all the heads that'd been doing their best to not look at anything suddenly snapped to the Commander. More than a few mouths dropped as he seemed to be turning on his own son. Crossing his arms, Cullen jabbed towards Gavin. "What will you do about that?"

If revile could sprout spikes, Daryan's entire back would have been coated in them. She swallowed down whatever she clearly wanted to spit at the old Commander and focused solely on Gavin. Her squire. The one she let in because she thought she could humiliate him.

"I will lead the squires to the palace gates and see for myself what is occurring within," Daryan said, her lip curling up in a sneer. "And if nothing is amiss, if it is all a prank or overactive imagination from you, Squire Gavin..." The woman leaned close to him, practically spraying her saliva on him, "You will be dismissed from my service and all services of the knights of Ferelden. You will be poison to the order itself. Understood?"

She thought he'd back down. He had so many other times, buckled when just an ounce of pressure to his Knight or his fellow squires was put on. But this wasn't about him or his future. Sod the entire order. He was not letting Myra die.

"Yes," Gavin nodded his head fast and fell into line beside the others.

Snickering, Ser Daryan threw her arms open wide and slid back, "All right, then. Squires. Are you all armed?"

Hands patted into sides, most finding a sword here or there but only one shield existed amongst them. Groaning, Daryan rolled her eyes, "We stop by an armory first, then it's to the palace." Her orders faded as she turned to Cullen standing stock still and slightly away from it all. "Is that all right with you, Commander?"

"It's your lead, Ser Knight," he extended a hand but Gavin could see a vein rising on his forehead. His dad was not happy with whatever Daryan was doing.

She snickered at his folding and whipped her head towards the door. "So it is. Squires...march!"

By the time they were armed and arriving back at the palace, a horde of strangers stood around the palace gates. Gavin was about to run up to try and extract his mother, when he caught the vision of Myra's mom in the middle. She wore her signature yellow coat and hat, with a sword gripped tight in her fingers. Beside her stood the other elf Myra mentioned often, Lunet. Or so Gavin guessed. Judging by how she was spitting at the gate and thumbing her chin at the people on the other side he was probably right.

In the interim, the soldiers grew from a few standing in the background to a good two dozen leaning right up next to the gates. They kept their weapons sheathed, but every one glared at the people assembled, most focusing on the qunari woman who towered above them all. She was carrying what looked like a leg yanked off an old eight foot tall statue, the massive pile of stone hefted over her shoulders.

And in the middle of it all, as if she was the eye of the storm, stood his mother. A tiny woman, with skin parched from age and a body twisted by a hard life, she looked as imposing as a baby kitten. Her hand kept a tight grip to her cane bearing a red crystal at the top, which the moonlight kept striking strange shadows off of. When the light reached longingly into the gate, the various mercs would shift to avoid it almost subconsciously.

"Where is she?" Reiss hissed, her eyes never wavering from inside the gate.

His mother reached over and gripped onto Reiss' hand. "She's strong and clever," Lana said assuringly her eyes never wavering.

"She's a smart ass, no doubt. But Maker's sake if she..."

"She'll come, Reiss," his mother's voice grew to a boom as certain as the Maker's words carved into a mountain.

Beside him, Gavin felt Ser Daryan getting a good look at the situation. Anyone who spent more than a few days in Denerim knew how strange the closed gate was. The hundred eyes glaring below alien helmets certainly cinched up that he was right. For a breath her sight darted to him and a grumble rose up her drunken throat, but she shook it away.

Turning to her people, she shouted, "Form up! We're gonna make ourselves a shield wall with you in the middle," Daryan jabbed at one of the girls. "Calenhad, take the left outside. Lambert fill in the gap. And you..." She turned to Gavin himself who blinked and tried to stop wringing apart the strap on his borrowed shield. "You have the right."

"Ah..." He shouldn't argue, at least she was giving him something to do, but his mother would be left exposed. Someone needed to be there to block her in case of attacks.

"Don't worry, son," his dad squeezed into his shoulder a moment and he whispered, "I'll stand by her side." Gavin watched as the Commander barely deigned a glance at the Knight before he unsheathed his sword and stood at the front of the gate right beside his wife.

Lana tipped her head up to him and a smile lifted her lips before she focused fully upon the gate. _Come on, Myra. It's all up to you now._

Certain that his mother was protected, and having to trust his father to keep her safe, Gavin fell into lock step beside one of the female squires. Maker, he really should learn more of their names. Her eyes darted over to him for a second, their shields butting against each other in preparation of building a wall to stop any incoming attacks.

"Hi, I'm Embry," she said.

"Gavin."

"Yeah," her cheeks lit up a moment at the simple words, "we all know who you are." Right. Great. People knew him, or thought they did. No way that would come back to haunt him. He tried to focus on the parapets, hunting for archers who might try to pick people off early, but Embry wasn't finished.

"Any idea what's going on?"

"No. I wish I did."

"Kay," she nodded her head and banged the pommel of her sword against Gavin's. "Well, here's hoping we survive it."

"Agreed."

The squires plus knight formed up right behind his mother, father, and Reiss. The three of them kept an eternal stare ahead, daring any of the mercs to move -- while Reiss' people slotted into the gaps behind the squires. Whatever they could do, or seemed to know how to do, it was rather obvious none of them would ever listen to a Knight for orders. All of their eyes were on their boss, the qunari whipping her stolen leg back and forth as it cracked the night air.

_Come on, Myra._ Gavin began to slide back and forth in his boots, his eyes straining in the weak light. Why was this taking so long? He thought it'd be tight, the army barely arriving in time to swoop in, but nothing was happening save even more of the mercs appearing at the edges. They seemed to be massing to take on the force standing quietly outside the door.

What if they found her?

What if they killed her?

He tried to shake it away, well aware how little that thought would help, but the worry wouldn't vanish. It burrowed into the back of his neck and straight to the spine, a red hot fear that Myra might already be dead and he wasn't there to save her. Just like Snowy.

"Something's happening," Lana said, her back lifting straight up.

"My..." Reiss reached towards the gate and grabbed on as if she could rattle it open but it remained locked tight.

Screwing up his eyes, Gavin could make out that the mercs were shifting. Nearly half of the company was running towards the palace doors. And all of them were well armed.

"Ah shit, Myra. What did I tell you about not being seen?" Reiss snarled while twisting her arm around.

Night air whipped around them, the smell of burning logs overlaid by a rising scent of armor oil. It tinged the sky like a silver dagger to the heart. Gavin swallowed hard, trying to not focus on anything so pointless. Tiny details wouldn't serve him well in the ensuing battle. He had to fight, and fight hard. Nothing else would do.

He caught his mother whip her head up in anticipation, when the sound of glass shattering into a million pieces erupted above them all. Barely any moonlight caught the raining window, but a glint of it landed upon something flying from the broken pane. _Myra? Could she fly?_

Whatever it was, it was falling fast but also seemed to be gliding towards them.

"Form up!" Daryan ordered, every single shield slotting into place. Gavin could no longer see what was happening, but he heard every breath held in lungs, every eye straining for the gates to part.

_Come on, Myra._

When the first chain jerked, he assumed it a trick of the light. His mind was too scattershot from fear and leapt to hopeful conclusions. But when it kept sliding across the top, Gavin peered over the side of his protective shield. The gate was opening.

Yes!

It was only a foot wide, but it kept growing with every breath. And those foolish mercs didn't seem to know what was going on. They were so startled by the change, they were all twisting around in surprise instead of attacking outright.

His mother lifted up a hand as if she was carrying a serving tray over her head. One of the mercenaries glared at her impudence and jabbed his hand through the air. Two archers slid into place, both aiming to take her down, when a great blue barrier erupted from her body. It didn't just cover her, or the few people behind, but encompassed nearly the entire army and into the yard. The magic hissed in the night air, glowing stronger than the fireflies of his youth.

"Go," Lana hissed. Two arrows struck into her barrier, left hanging in the air and hitting nothing important. She chuckled a bit and twisted up her cane. Ice shattered from the ends, splitting open the armor casing of one merc, his body flung back from the icicle embedded in his heart.

Moving like an ooze, the shield wall shifted around his mother. Everyone marched towards the mercenaries who were unsheathing their weapons and prepared to unleash hell. He was ready, he could do this with his fellow squires.

"Gavin!" his mother cried, whipping her head back to him. "Find Myra. Now!"

"But..."

"I'll clear a path for you. Go behind the ice," she would brook no lip from him, easily overriding whatever Daryan would say.

Breaking from the shield wall which mattered little with his mother's barrier in place, he jogged up beside her and stared into the rising tide of death. "Ready?" she looked quickly at him and he nodded. Next to him, his father raised his blade and steadied himself for what was to come. It'd wash over them all while Gavin...

No, focus on your job. Forming the exact same pose as his dad, when the ice wall erupted off his mother's fingers and began to plow the mercs backwards, Gavin broke into a run. Cold snapped against his face, nearly freezing his nose shut while he trailed right behind it.

He whipped his head back and forth, trying to discern where Myra could be. The left looked desolate, but that might hold a secret latch to open the gate if she was careful to hide...

Fire erupted into the sky, nearly painting a "Myra is here" on the right. Smiling to himself, Gavin spun on his heels and chased after the orange and red flames. Five men surrounded her, the girl swinging her staff hard enough into one's leg the serpent head exploded. Magic spurted from the end, gushing free like blood. The one she was attacking leapt back in terror, right into Gavin's blade.

When the man gulped in surprise and death, all the others turned to find the newest player on the field. "Yeah!" Myra shouted, still swinging her staff's head around madly. "You want some too?"

"Myra..." he gasped, wanting to run forward and make certain she was whole. Blood stained her cheeks and arms, which could be someone else's just as easily as hers. There was a wildness in her eyes as if she'd been fighting tooth and nail the whole night.

"Get the mage," one of the mercs shouted, and moved to rush at Myra. Laying his arm out without a thought, Gavin sliced his sword right into the man's neck. There was no chainmail in the way, barely even anything on the neck. A quick, clean cut that sent the body toppling to the ground.

"Perhaps you should try me first," Gavin snarled. He parried one blow fast, the man sent reeling, which Myra answered with a fireball to his face. That was enough to cause the man to disarm, his hands beating at the magic flames when Gavin slashed wildly against the gaps in the chest armor.

Two remained where once there were five. The last ones looked at each other, then the fighters picking them off, turned and ran for it. Gavin moved to give chase, when Myra's fingers landed on his collar. She barely gave a tug, but it was enough to stop him dead in his tracks.

"You..." he turned, staring at her big green eyes that burned in this blood soaked hell. Fires danced in the grass, no doubt left from Myra's little explosions, making all the shadows twitch nervously. Hopping on her toes, she wrapped her arms around him and tugged Gavin to her for a hug.

The sword in his hand began to tremble as he tipped his head towards her cheek stained in blood. "You're hurt," Gavin whispered, uncertain what to say.

A laugh rose in her throat and she stumbled out of the sudden embrace. "Yeah," Myra drew a soothing hand over her cheek, dousing her blonde hair in blood, then down towards her back...uh, area. "Plan didn't quite go how I meant but..." Her eyes turned from the ground littered with the dead to focus on something Gavin failed to spot the first time.

Three arrows hung in the air, impaled upon his mother's barrier. He didn't need to be an expert at trajectory to know where they'd been heading. If they'd been one second late...

"Archers!" Reiss' voice broke above the battle. Was she pointing them out or calling for them? Gavin whipped his head back towards the action, which in this darkness looked more like giant armored beetles smashing into each other.

Suddenly, light flared in the windows, each dance of the fade highlighting where an archer stood. The magic threw them off so bad they spun in place to escape, but it was enough for Reiss' people and the squires to fire at them, eliminating any high ground the mercenaries might have had.

Swallowing down the fear thrumming in his heart, Gavin raised his sword, "I have to return to the battle."

"You do that," Myra said, bouncing up on her shoes. She hauled up the broken staff spurting out more sparks and got a few steps.

"Where are you going?"

"Gotta save my Dad. You...you protect my Mom." He should argue with her, but Myra was already hauling ass behind the enemy lines. The mercs were so busy fighting off the sudden army at their doorstep no one noticed a single girl slip into the castle proper. _Maker's breath. Should he have gone with her or...?_

Like snapping your fingers, the blue light of the barrier burst leaving both sides in only the darkness of the moon. Gavin spun on his heels, his heart rising into his throat. Did they get his mother? His father? He barely knew what he was hacking into, no grace, no style. Just blade meeting with whatever dared step in his way while he worked towards his parents.

Coppery iron sliced through the air, the scent of blood filling his mouth, his lungs, his very being as bodies split in half and crumbled to the dirt. At the back stood Ser Daryan, her white blond hair silvery by the moon as she swung against a man with a plume in his helmet. Both were taking shots, while the squire wall worked its way to chip at the mercs. Dancing in between the legs of the men and women Gavin served with, were two dwarves. Both were armed with small daggers and they'd leap out to stab right into the groin area of whoever was about to take down a squire.

Highly unorthodox, and probably considered ungentlemanly, but it was working. The mercs were retreating, nearly twenty percent fleeing at the fear of losing their genitals to two crazed dwarves.

_Where were his parents?  _

Ice sheered apart the dark sky, its white-blue shards pelting the air from behind the backs of five mercs. Whoever it struck, and it had to strike hard, they didn't fall down enough to create a hole. His mother was surrounded.

_No._

Gripping tight to the shield, Gavin brought it up just as one of the men advancing to kill his mother turned. He swung the shield point fast, banging it not into the man's blade but his chin. That sent the merc flying backwards, leaving just enough room for his sword to stick into meat. Blood spurted free, dripping into the nationless armor as the man tumbled to his knees. Gavin stepped past, not even glancing down once.

His heart thundered in his chest. If he got his parents killed tonight how could he live with himself?

The mercs were forming up, making a tighter and tighter circle around his mother. Gavin staggered up higher on his heels to see that she wasn't alone. His dad had locked into her back, the shield flying to block any blows that might strike her. But they were outnumbered and surrounded. There was no hope, not unless he got inside.

Snarling, Gavin kicked hard into the backs of two merc's knees. Both stumbled down, giving him the opportunity to shove his blade in through their collar bones. One struck deep into the chest, the man falling dead in an instant. The other missed the heart, blood spurting from the cut, but that merc was left gasping in pain on the ground.

His mother looked up, a sneer on her face that could only be matched by his father, when she spotted him. "Is Myra okay?" were the first words she said. It was so foolish he wanted to laugh. No concern for herself or her family, just the one she sent on a dangerous mission.

Gavin nodded his head while spinning to form a third point of contention in the circle. "Yes, mother. Myra's..." probably off getting into new trouble, but at least he'd saved her once.

"Got it," Lana laughed. She laughed, as if...as if she was enjoying this. "Sweetie," her voice rose a bit as she lifted both of her hands. Gavin whipped his head over his shoulder to spot the unyielding chaos of winter sparking in the palm of her hands.

"Would you mind, ducking?" his mother asked. Gavin's eyes darted to his father who reached over and tugged his son's shoulder. Together they took a knee just as the Hero of Ferelden unleashed a spell that bit through every single soldier surrounding them. A full 360 degrees of ice colder than the top of a mountain or the bottom of a frozen lake chewed apart the men, leaving them as brittle as a dead twig.

When the spell erupted off her fingers, his mother sagged, nearly dropping to the ground. But Cullen rose up fast and slipped one arm around his wife to keep her steady, while the other began to bash into the frozen men. Their bodies shattered like bloody glass, no one left alive.

They did it on purpose. They made themselves a target so his mother could draw them in and then...

Lana lifted her head, her face crumpled from exhaustion while she clung to safety in her husband's arm. Reaching over, her fingers landed upon her son, "Go. Go after Myra."

"Mom," he bit into his lip, aware of the mercs still remaining. His mother was nearly dropping dead, her body well beyond spent from the fight. "I can't leave you."

"We have this, son. They just don't know it yet," she smiled with such certainty it caught in his throat. Cullen snorted at her assurance, but he didn't argue even while hacking through the frozen men to reach the slightly less dead ones.

"Find Myra. Save Alistair before...before anything happens to him. Please." Her eyes pleaded with him to leave her, to trust that the woman who ended a blight and did things even he could barely understand would be able to handle a few mercenaries.

Nodding limply at his mother, Gavin moved to do as commanded. Suddenly he sprung forward and wrapped his arms around his Mom. She smiled at the loving touch, her spent hand moving to pat into his shoulder when her fingers shot up and a spell launched off. It struck into the body of a merc who tipped his head back and screamed in agony.

For his father, Gavin managed a hearty shake of the head, both men armed and covered in blood. "I have her, Gavin. Don't worry," his dad whispered, groaning as Lana's waning body relied more upon him.

Lifting up his blade and slotting the shield on, Gavin broke into a run towards the palace steps. He didn't look back at his aged parents taking on what could be their last fight. If he did, he knew he wouldn't be able to obey his mother's command.

## Chapter Sixty-Four

### Father

She tried to pull her brother away, but Cailan was dead set on confronting their mother about the truth. His eyes burned with more passion than she'd seen in him in years, the wayward prince casting off his insouciant cloak while forced to confront the truth forced upon him.

In truth, Rosie wanted to follow. She wanted to be there beside him to ask her mother just what she was thinking. How could she be so sloppy as to...? Her eyes darted down to her fingers, the skin flexing tight enough to reveal her blue veins prodding below the paper white flesh. All her life she'd been told she had the skin of a princess. That it was her job to keep it soft, perfumed, white as milk, pure.

And in reality, she was as royal, as noble, as any of the other dozens of bastards running around on estate grounds. Her mother had barely a title to her name alone, and her father...

Rosie trembled, her shoulder sliding into the wall at the crushing reality on her chest. Her dad was hurt telling her the truth, every other sentence insisting that she and Cailan were his children, that he loved them more than anything, but how could that be true? He was faced with a choice to either disavow the brats of the wife the gentry forced upon him, or doom both the Queen and her children. Of course he did the right thing, he was always doing the right thing.

But...

"Nothing's changed, Spud. You're mine, Cailan's mine. You always will be."

Everything's changed, Alistair.

"Your Majesty?" a voice called behind her and Rosamund turned to find a man in unknown armor filling up the hallway. His voice rattled metallic inside a strange helmet.

"Yes?" she tipped her head in confusion, then noticed another in a very similar and alien uniform filing into place behind.

"You are required to come with me."

Rosie snorted at the man's certainty. She had no intentions of going anywhere. They had to find this...other father. Determine what he wanted, why he was suddenly poking back into matters better left dead. When Cailan was finished berating their mother, then the two could form a plan.

"I have other matters to attend to," she waved her hand at him and turned away. "If you will excuse me."

"Ma'am," an armored hand latched onto her wrist, Rosie freezing in place as she heard the sound of a sword leaving its scabbard. "You really don't want to do that."

"What are you doing?" she shrieked, attempting to turn to confront him. The sword's blade didn't bite into her neck, nor stab through her ribs, but it hovered right on the edge as a threat.

"We were under orders not to kill you, but he didn't say nothing about you arriving in one piece neither," the man said, his eyes darting over to the second behind him. "Don't make it harder than it needs to be, Princess."

A coup. Now? Rosie tugged on her arm, straining to break free. She spun on her heel, her mouth opening to scream for her father or anyone else in range, when the metal hand clamped against her face. Her lips banged into her teeth, swelling in an instant, while the breath stuffed back down her throat.

"We don't want none of that either," the man muttered, shaking his head while she glared. "I got this one," he said behind himself. "She ain't gonna make no more fuss. Tell 'em to round up the other, and then..."

A black blur whipped off the ground, Rosie's eyes barely able to track it when the second guard groaned in pain. The shadow latched onto his shoulders, twin pricks slicing deep into the neck gap. Blood spurted up like a fountain as the guard sunk to his knees.

The man holding Rosie noticed his fellow tumbled, and spun to try and confront the attacker. "What the fu-"

Lashing out, Rosie gripped onto the sword arm. She didn't have much of a chance to wrest it away before, but the dual attack threw the man off. He focused so fully on the Princess making a play for his blade that he forgot about the daggers. One stabbed deep into a gap at the back of his armor. Hissing in pain, the man turned, which was when Anjali drew her edge right across the gap of the helmet.

Blinded, the man screamed in agony as he tumbled backwards. Rosie scooped up his sword and moved to hold him off, when the assassin finished the job -- the slit throat silencing both of the attackers forever.

Panting with her blades dripping in blood, she turned to Rosie and dropped both. "Sapheela!"

"What in the Maker's name is going on?" Rosie gasped, her sword arm beginning to shake, when Anjali wrapped both of hers around to embrace her safe.

"I don't know. On my way to the room, I spotted the pus dripping pizzles collecting people. Whatever they want it cannot be good, so..." she tipped her head to the side as if fearing her conclusion might not be welcomed, "I came to find you. To make certain you were safe."

"Thank you," Rosamund whispered. She wanted to hug her back, to kiss her in gratitude and gratefulness but there were far bigger problems. "No crest, no emblem. I have no idea who they serve."

"The void when I'm through with them," Anjali hissed. The assassin backed out from her girlfriend's arms and kicked a boot into the guards.

Why now? The throne had been secure for years. No, decades and nary a peep from anyone attempting a play. Sure, people got upset at times with their more unconventional king, but as far as she knew no one was rattling sabers about it. As far as she knew.

As far as she knew, the King was her actual father and the throne was safe. What other truths had they been keeping from her under the guise of protection? Of it not something to concern their little Princess with?

"We need to get to Cailan," Rosie knocked her sword into the downed man and sneered.

"Why?"

"They mentioned gathering up another. It has to be him."

"What about the King?" Anjali folded her arms, barely blinking at blood clinging to her jaw. She must be used to its sticky feel.

Rosie's throat seized up. Saving the King, protecting him would be order one from anyone. Then her, the Queen and Cailan. Why didn't she rush straight to that? Was she so mad at him that...?

"He can handle himself surprisingly well, but Cailan... Anjali, he's with my mother."

"All right," she nodded, her fingers reaching over to grab up Rosie's. For a brief moment they gripped onto each other for strength before she released to pick up her dropped daggers. "Let's go save them both."

It was easier to work through the palace than Rosie expected. Anjali would peer around doorways and halls, the assassin quickly assessing the situation but it was the Princess who proved more valuable. She knew every back way in, using rooms to slide themselves behind guards so the assassin could pick them off at the back. Bodies littered their wake, which the traitors were likely to find eventually, but all that Rosie cared about was finding her brother and mother.

Rounding down the hallway to the Queen's apartments, Rosie was about to step right into the view when Anjali grabbed her arm and yanked her back. "What are you doing?"

"There's a good three guards down there," she hissed, her hot breath spitting into Rosie's ear.

Rosamund risked a quick look out to count, sure enough, three men standing right before the door she needed to get in. "Shite," she cursed to herself. "How did you know?"

"Heard 'em. They're not very subtle," Anjali shrugged. "It's a wonder they lasted more than a day as mercenaries, really."

"We're too late, if they've... We need to get inside."

"Why? Let's head back, find the King and..."

Rosie shook her head, "No, they're guarding someone. Maybe many someones who know things. We need to get in, talk to them. Alter the numbers a bit."

A pair of hands grabbed onto Rosie's cheeks and tugged her close for a quick kiss. When the pop of it evaporated from the air, Anjali snickered, "Your brain is magnificent at times. Very well, how do we get in?"

"That's..." Her brain had nothing, it was her heart doing most of the steering. Rosie turned to look down the hall and spotted one of the giant stuffed bears left haphazardly in the palace. "I have a very stupid idea."

Anjali followed her gaze and the assassin rubbed her chin in thought. "This should be fun."

By the time Rosamund got herself in place, she was dead certain how many ways this would fail. But they had no other choice. And, at least these monsters seemed to be under orders to capture her alive. What of Anjali? Would they kill her?

Ignoring the throb of her heart, Rosie struggled to shove the great bear forward -- right into the end of the hallway in full view of the mercs. She stayed tucked behind it, doing her best to be disguised by the mass of black hair. _Okay, Rosie. Time to put on a show.  _

With her eyes screwed tight, she tried to make a feral roar flee from her throat. It plopped to the ground with a sad mewl instead. Groaning at the performance, aware that her heart was now screaming how much of a failure this idea was, Rosie began to inch the bear forward.

"What's that?" a voice shouted from the end of the hall.

Thinking of her dad, of all the times they'd be chasing each other around in his study playing Bear and Knight, Rosie tipped back her head and unleashed the most savage roar in her heart. It shot off the walls, bouncing straight to all three men who were staring in armed concern at a bear coming to eat them.

"Holy Andraste, is that...?"

"What's a bear doing in the palace?"

With her shoulder, Rosie jammed the bear closer. Its stuffed legs wobbled, the stand poorly sliding along on a rug. But it was all she had. _Look at me, you fools. Fear what's coming for you._ Opening her mouth wider, she let loose another roar growing closer to try and gobble the men up.

"Bear!" a voice shouted, "I command you to stand down."

"Shut it," another ordered, sound of metal clanging into metal reacting. They weren't fleeing in panic, nor quaking in fear. Their voices were...laughing? Damn it! Just, look at those big fangs.

Rosie managed to shove the bear another foot, when the beast suddenly froze in place. She glanced down at the platform and spotted a metal boot slammed right where the wood propping up the dead bear was. "Well," the man mused, his body odor wafting through the musty bear pelt to assault her nose. "This is fascinating. Huge claws coming to slash at me, eh? And those teeth. Gobble gobble me up."

The merc laughed with a great chuckle, no doubt turning back to chortle with his men, when a hand suddenly lashed out and grabbed onto Rosie. Yelping, she tried to scrabble away but there was no going. Her face scraped against the thick bear pelt as the man managed to haul half of her body out from behind her hiding place.

"Good evening, your Majesty," the merc snickered. "Having a bit of fun, are we?"

"What are you doing in my home?" she shouted, her wrist twisting in his tight grip. It burned where the rotten fingers bit against her skin, Rosie doing her best to keep her other arm hidden behind the bear.

"That's a bit of a long story. One you can get the whole shebang about once you come with me," he tugged harder, but she yanked back.

"No!" The bear rocked with her, seeming to dance upon its platform.

"No? Ah the little lady's being all spunky. We ain't a fan of spunky, are we boys?" he breathed across Rosie's face, the stench churning her guts. For a beat, his eyes burned into hers when he suddenly stood up and realized no one answered him. "Boys?"

Whipping his head back, the man spotted Anjali with one hand clamped upon the second man's mouth, her dagger slitting the throat open. The other was already dead at their feet. "You bi..." was as far as he got when Rosie lashed her sword forward. It bounded against the arm plating, causing the man to release his grip on her.

Shocked from being attacked without his men for backup, the merc struggled to unearth his sword from the scabbard. Sucking in a breath, Rosie slid out around the great bear and raised her sword to deflect the first blow. The man snarled at her even trying. Perhaps he noticed the sword she carried belonged to their order. Whatever it was, fire burned in his eyes.

Fingers gripped onto the blade, the man swinging it free to take her on, when out of the air silver blurred past their faces. A knife stuck deep into the man's eye, his head bouncing back against the wall. Gore slopped out of the wound, trickling across his face as he tumbled to his knees. While Rosie clung tighter to her sword, Anjali nonchalantly plucked her knife free from the dead man's skull. She had to cup her hand along the blade, popping the unearthed eyeball off the end. It clattered onto the floor, the iris glaring at nothing but the wall.

"That worked better than I thought," the assassin mused. "Bear attack."

"We needed a distraction and I thought they'd be too focused on the idea of someone trying to pretend a bear was coming for them than..."

Lips plunged onto hers, cutting off Rosie's unnecessary explanation. As Anjali drew her hands up and down her arms, she whispered, "I am never playing chess against you, Sapheela."

"Very few bear attacks in that game," she shrugged feeling light headed. They were bathing in the blood of traitors come to ruin her family and Ferelden, and she couldn't stop kissing this other woman by her side. Shaking it off, Rosie forced herself to focus. "We need to see what's going on."

Anjali shrugged but fell in line as Rosie lifted up her sword and kicked open the door to her mother's room. A dozen voices all cried in surprise as she breached what had always been a sanctuary for her. Rosie glanced around fast, a few candles left burning beside a dresser, but she couldn't see her mother or Cailan.

"Tess?" she gasped at one familiar face in the rough.

"Oh, my Lady, you're safe!" she ran out of the pile of gathered ladies and threw her arms around Rosie. "We feared the worst when they stole away with our Queen and the prince."

"Where are they, Tess? Do you know where they took them?"

"The great hall, that's where they're taking anyone of worth. Blessed Maker, are they going to kill them there?"

"I don't know," Rosie shook her head even while her heart grew dark. It made sense.

Her friend blubbered a moment against Rosie's bloody shoulder before she glanced back to find Anjali sliding around in the doorway. "I see you had help."

"Yes," Rosie nodded, "and I'm going to need more. Everyone they've locked off, Tess. I need you to start breaking them out."

"Why?"

"Cause a diversion. Keep the guards busy so I, so we can get to the Great Hall and free mother and Cailan. It's the only hope."

Her oldest friend narrowed her eyes, uncertain about the entire idea. "You want us to go against armed invaders?"

"Please, I know..."

"We'll do it," she said, volunteering everyone else beside her who nodded and cheered the idea. "This is our home, and they're just as likely to slit our throats as yours." That caused a few to blanch, realizing that this wasn't a walk in the park. Death was a good possibility.

"There are a few swords, weapons, armor you can borrow outside off three dead men," Rosie said jerking her head out towards the pile. "Oh, and more upstairs if you need it."

Tess tried to peek out, her eyes widening at all the blood. "What do you require from us?"

"Keep them guessing, keep them busy, and please, keep safe."

She nodded, her shoulders locking in tight. "I will, my Lady."

"Thank you," Rosie smiled, she glanced back at Anjali who was dancing on her toes. They had to get to the great hall and fast.

"And..." Tess spoke up, dragging Rosie back to her, "if I do not make it." She caught Rosamund in a tighter embrace and plucked her lips against the princess' cheek. Tears sparkled in her eyes, "you've been wonderful."

"Tess..." she touched her cheek stained with her friend's kiss and stumbled backwards. "I didn't..."

"Go," her old friend smiled. "Save your family. We have bigger fish to fry," the girl grinned.

Still cupping the unrequited kiss, Rosie walked into Anjali. The assassin placed her hand flush against Rosie's back, supporting her. She was smart enough to not draw attention to the moment, but did sigh, "I suppose I best watch my back and tea in the future."

Doing her best to file it all away for a much latter issue, Rosamund cried, "Come on. We need to get to the great hall, now."

#

There were less patrols working around the grand hall than Rosie anticipated. For having so many mercenaries scattered in the living quarters, why weren't more here? If they intended to horde all the nobility together they'd need numbers. This wasn't making any sense.

Through a doorway was the entrance to the grand hall, where she prayed her mother and brother were both sitting rather angrily but none the worse for wear. Anjali dug a hand into her shoulder, peering in through the gap to spy along the foyer edge.

"Fancy, lots of shiny bits around there."

"And not very helpful," Rosie answered for her.

"I assume it's open?" she asked, barely pausing for Rosie to nod. "Meaning the second we walk into it all those nasty mercs hiding around will spot us and unleash whatever arrows they have. You wouldn't happen to have any more bears, would you?"

She sighed and patted into her dress pockets, "Sorry, fresh out."

"Well, there is the other option." Anjali sighed, blowing air out her cheeks. "We walk in and order them to leave."

"You can't be serious," Rosamund blinked at her, but the assassin only shrugged.

"It's less the element of surprise, more having a good old fashioned throw down. But I'm running low on ideas here."

She was right. They could stay out here, out of danger and sight, while her family were threatened, tortured, maybe even killed. Or, she could walk in there like the future Queen she was supposed to be and demand an explanation from whoever dared to invade her home. Standing up straight, Rosie tried to yank out a few wrinkles in her dress that was coated in blood.

"Just so you know, I'm bloody well terrified," she sputtered, her eyes darting over to Anjali.

"Stick beside me, Sapheela. I won't see a single cut to your beautiful skin," the assassin smiled, her hands wrapping around Rosie's shoulders for one last side hug.

Certain she was prepared for this, Rosie took a step into the foyer. It required a few more before anyone bothered to look over at the two women. A handful of people stood on both sides of the room, party guests who seemed to be at the mercy of the mercenaries that rounded them up. Eyes cut back to the woman marching to her doom while silence fell across the very heart of the Theirin dynasty. The throne sat alone, barely visible in the shadows of a bright red fire blazing in the middle of the room. Her brother was held at sword point beside it, the man snarling at the merc and mostly rolling his eyes in exhaustion with the entire proceedings. Their mother was nowhere to be seen.

"Ah," one of the men with a crossbow slotted in his arms turned towards the woman entering the fray, "the Princess arrives finally."

"Coated in the blood of your men."

"Well," he blinked a moment, "that's not very friendly, or cute."

"Let my brother go," Rosie came to a halt at the edge of the aisle. Normally, it was kept in check by ropes so angered up citizens didn't rush at people walking to the crown for judgment. Now she could see the blood painted along the sides of where the nobles stood. They looked frightened like lambs lined up for the slaughter, but none were about to bolt. Perhaps they couldn't.

"Sorry about that, Princess, but it ain't happening," the main merc turned to his fellows who stood at the side. Nearly all of them looked like the generic scum or villainy you scraped out of a pub at two in the morning, save one. He wasn't dressed in the armor of the band, but wore what looked like heavy velvet curtains with a mink stole stitched around the collar. The man was thin as a reed and kept dancing back away from the surroundings as if afraid a stray blade would split his thin skin.

"I will not ask again," Rosie said, doing her damnedest to keep her legs from shaking or her voice quivering. She wanted to vomit on the floor from how badly her stomach twisted itself.

The leader chuckled at her brave face and tipped his head to the side, "We need to wait for the boss."

Boss? He wasn't in charge? Then who blighted was? "You will do as I command," Rosamund shifted to a new tactic. "Or suffer the consequences." Oh boy, her ability to bluff was running on empty.

"No offense there, snooty pants," he crossed his arms and shifted back, "but I think I'll take my chances against two gels."

Rosie let her eyes dart over to Anjali who tipped her head. She was ready. Whatever ready entailed. "Then we are at an impasse," Rosie said, trying to play the diplomat.

"I suppose we..." he began, when a knife flew through the air and embedded into the throat of the merc holding her brother at sword point. Anjali wasted no time, spinning up into the air as she attacked the mercs on the right. It was up to Rosie to finish off the left ones.

Only two. She could do it. Maybe.

"Damn it!" the leader shouted, "Stop them!"

A mace swung for her head, Rosie having to slide fast to the side. It careened through nothing but dead air giving her the perfect opportunity to strike. Slashing upward, her blade caught on the man's elbow. It jarred in her hands, the cheap steel easily rattling from striking the armor while the princess cursed her foolishness.

The second guard chuckled at the dumb move and began to circle behind to try and flank her. Rosie's eyes flared and she twisted, thrusting fast to keep him at bay. With nowhere safe to go, she began to slide back, her eyes darting from one guard to the other. The second boasted a broadsword, far more likely to cleave off her head. But they were under some twisted orders. They needed her alive.

Use that.

Swinging her sword up high, Rosie left her chest wide open. A foolish move, one only very unexperienced swordswomen would do. She could practically taste the merc wishing to use it to his advantage, but he met his mace into her blade instead. The man put all his weight into it, trying to disarm her and finish this.

Rolling her arm with the twist to cling tight, Rosie suddenly put all her muscle into jabbing forward. The blade didn't cut through the armor but the mace's handle and the man's palm. Shrieking, it clattered to the floor while blood seeped up the leather. At his friend's pain, the second sliced wild for her head. Rosie dropped down and turned on a dime. The broadsword sailed right over her and into the helmet of the bleeding merc.

A clang reverberated through the great hall, every voice stilled as the second merc cleaved into and crunched the nose up into the brain of the first. His body collapsed to the ground, the broadsword trapped inside the dead man's dented helmet. The second merc remained in such shock, he barely turned as Rosie stabbed her sword upward and cut through the gap. Her blade sliced into bone and stopped. Hefting with all her might, she chopped further inside the man and aimed higher for the heart.

It was hard to say if she managed it, but he collapsed to the floor, dying if not dead. There was so much blood the air practically sparkled in crimson, the life power seeping into her shoes. Rosie moved to wipe some of it off her hands, her eyes glancing over to find Anjali finishing off another three, when the main merc sighed loudly.

"Cute, but this is far from over," he waved his hands and out of the side chambers came a dozen more mercs.

"Blessed Andraste," Rosie groaned as she hefted up her sword. Anjali didn't bat an eye at the new additions, the assassin yanking her blade out of one spine and moving to dash into the fray.

This was it. She could put up a fight, maybe take one or two more down, but... There was no hope against so many. So this was what it was like? To stare failure in the face, to know that no matter what you do, what you try, you won't walk away a winner. And still do it anyway.

Rosie screamed with the same stupid bear roar she made in the hall. It was so sudden and unexpected all the mercs froze a moment, but she didn't care how idiotic it was. If this was the end she'd go down fighting. Let it come.

Doors exploded on their hinges, and from behind her she heard more boots coming. More clank of armor. More swords ready to kill them all. Tucking her last breath into her lungs for safe keeping, she glanced over her shoulder prepared to stare death in the eye but was rewarded by salvation.

"Commander Faris!" she shouted nearly falling to her knees to thank the Maker Himself. The leader of the royal guards stood in formation beside his troops, all of them seeming to have outfitted themselves and run to their princess' aid in record time.

"Tess," Rosie whispered to herself before turning to the mercs. It wasn't quite even odds, but it was close enough. "Kill them all!" she screamed, her arm waving towards the mercs.

The guards shouted and broke into a run. Metal armor churned past her like a river, Rosie remaining frozen in place while she held her sword out. Each guard struck hard against the mercenaries, their flimsier ordnance giving way to the much finer suits for the men and women chosen to protect the royal family.

They were going to win. This wasn't a stupid idea. She could save her family. Save them all! Rosamund lifted her sword in the air in triumph, her eyes turning to find Anjali. The assassin was spinning on her feet, one leg extended high as she moved to jam a dagger into a fallen man. It was deadly and beautiful at the same time.

Rosie could practically taste the impact, Anjali's graceful arm hanging suspended before the bite when her entire body shook.

What? The woman stumbled a moment, her movements frozen, and Rosie heard it. The cocking of a crossbow, a bolt being slotted into place by the fucking leader of this shit show that aimed right for Anjali.

"No!" Rosie screamed, but she was too late. Her assassin eyed up the man trying to kill her. She could dodge it, she had to, but she didn't. Instead, she jammed her dagger into its intended target taking one last life before the man's bolt zipped through the crowd and struck deep into her chest.

Forgetting the flying knives around her, Rosie broke into a run. Her eyes could only watch as Anjali flew backwards, her head striking hard against the floor and...and she wasn't moving. She wasn't getting up.

No. No, damn it, no!

Her knees scraped along the floor, blood sloshing up her dress, while Rosie drew her hands up and down the still woman. Two bolts stood up straight from her chest, one right over her heart. No! Please!

"Anjali!" she cried out. This can't be happening. She wasn't... Not dead. Not broken by a man's arrow. Her heart wasn't crushed and bleeding. She was fine. She'd...

Rosie's fingers barely touched above the deadly bolts. She ached to rip them out, to-to free Anjali, but that wouldn't save her. That wouldn't bring her back.

Inside her chest, her heart crumbled to dust. Barely aware of the clomp of boots or the fall of men, Rosie scooped up Anjali in her arms and pressed her limp body to her chest. The bolts stung deep into Rosie's skin, each one digging a notch into her breasts, but the pain on the outside didn't matter.

"Damn it, no!" she cried, burying her face into Anjali's warm shoulder. "You came back. You...you were going to, I wanted and hoped that, damn You Maker!"

Her tears smothered over Anjali's perfect shoulder, Rosie rocking the two of them while she lost all sense in her brain. Her body wanted to lay down beside her, to forget everything she belonged to, everything she was meant to be. Sod the rest of the world. For a brief window she let herself love a woman and the Maker had to take it all away.

"Sapheela," a breath whispered beside her ear. Rosie whipped her head up, her mouth falling open in shock. Umber eyes opened slowly and a warm hand cupped her cheek, "Such beautiful eyes should never be veiled in tears."

"You're alive!" she shouted, her voice trembling with gratitude and confusion in equal parts. "Please tell me you're alive." Anjali drew her hand down her chest and plucked at one of the bolts. She winced at its retrieval but no blood dribbled free. "How in the Maker's name...?"

Anjali smiled and lifted up a flap of her leather to reveal metal underneath. "Rivaini steel, twenty times stronger than whatever you have in the south."

"And you didn't say anything! You let me weep over your body? I thought you were dead!" She shrieked wanting to throttle Anjali while also kiss her mouth off.

"I struck my head, I lost consciousness," she gasped with a laugh. "But, it is nice to know you care enough to mourn so forcefully."

"Shut up," Rosie rolled her eyes, grabbed onto Anjali's jaw, and pulled the beautiful woman to her lips for a kiss. The touch was as warm as life itself, happiness flooding her veins because she wasn't gone. She wasn't dead. She was here with her, while the battle around them both slowed to a halt.

"Your Highness," a voice called to her, Rosie stumbling to her feet and offering a hand to Anjali. As she glanced around she noticed that the tide was truly turned in her favor. Most of the mercenaries were dead or badly wounded, the guards standing over them and daring any to try something.

With a grin rising on her lips, Rosamund focused on the man with the crossbow. "You've lost, whoever you are. Stand down and we may prove merciful."

She moved through the fallen crowds towards her brother, her eyes fully upon the leader of this farce, his weapon trembling in meaty hands. On occasion she'd glance over at Cailan. He looked unharmed, but his lips were both pursed in intense concentration while his fingers knocked a count back and forth to calm himself. What did they plan to do to him? To them both?

Rosie lifted her head, about to put that very question to the man with the crossbow, when the door on the side opened. She braced herself, lifting her sword up higher when her father stumbled through -- his neck at the mercy of a blade. The King's eyes darted towards the crowd, and when landing on his children he moved as if to run towards them.

"Ah," a hand grabbed onto him and Alistair moved to the side enough for Rosie to see who was orchestrating this madness.

"You!" Fire burned in her veins, her knuckles popping as she wrung her anger out on the grip of her sword while wishing it was Lord Eldon's neck. The pissant she sent running away smirked at the display, the blade not moving an inch from her father's throat.

"My Lady," he tipped his head at her, the smarm thick enough to smother a man, "I'd be putting down your weapons if I were you or..." he wiggled his hand a bit, the dagger's edge sliding closer to killing the King.

"You dare threaten treason!" Rosie raged, lifting her sword higher. She thought it might startle the man, but he gripped tighter to Alistair and honed his eyes on her. They had no choice. Extending her fingers, Rosie made a show of lowering to the ground and laying the blade upon it. Eldon's beady eyes darted back to the others and she followed. While her heart groaned at having to give in, she could find no recourse. Extending a hand, she ordered the guards to follow suit.

They growled at that, fangs smashing at the air while each placed sword and shield harmlessly upon the floor. No doubt every member of the royal guard had plans on what to do with Eldon. Even if he managed to make it out of the palace, he wouldn't survive long. They'd find him, they'd kill him for certain. The King had many friends.

"You can't possibly hope to survive this," Rosie said, glaring at the man. "If you harm the King, your life is forfeit."

Eldon hummed a little song under his breath before his eyes darted out towards the crowd. "I'm glad you brought so many to witness, my Lady."

"Witness what?" Maker take him, if he intended to force her to marry him by threatening her father, she'd...

Eldon's eyes burned into hers, "The truth. Bring him out! Oh, and the Queen too. This should prove most interesting."

"Mother!" Cailan cried as Queen Beatrice was tugged from the other side that released a dozen mercenaries before. Her dress was torn and spotted with blood and she walked with a limp. There was no blade to her neck, but a hand gripped tight to her arm while she glared out at the proceedings.

When her eyes landed upon Cailan and Rosamund, she mouthed a prayer of thanks to Andraste while her children did the same. They were alive at least. The next step was surviving. Beatrice tried to shake off the man gripping tight to her, when the right side door cracked open and an older man stumbled out.

His remaining hair was salty more than pepper, a massive bald spot on top while a ring of remaining hair circled around the edges. The man squinted at the lights as if he'd been kept in the dark his whole life. When he pulled his hand down, ice blue eyes fell upon Cailan. They darted towards Rosie for a moment, but seemed to mostly impress upon the prince who was only focused on their mother in danger.

"Does he look familiar to you?" Eldon asked while jabbing a finger at the old man. "Or you, your Majesty?" Now he turned towards Beatrice, and their mother...she looked as if she was about to spit venom upon not only Eldon but the mystery man as well. He in turn couldn't look over at her, his hands clasped together in front of his stomach.

"This," Eldon continued, clearly enjoying the show, "is brother Cordell."

Shit. Rosie tried to not react, but Cailan whipped his head over at the man while mouthing his name.

"When I stumbled into this man at a tavern he told me a most interesting tale, didn't you Cordell?" Eldon oozed around the stage. The brother didn't look up, his eyes burning through the floor. "Why don't you share it with all the nice nobility gathered here?"

"I don't think..." he began, his thin lips struggling to form a word while the hands rattled the air.

"It seems our dear Queen, beloved Beatrice, is not as chaste or faithful as the songs would have you believe," Eldon turned on their mother who glared murder upon the bent head of the brother. She kept yanking at the end of her tether, her fingers flexed as if she was about to scratch the man's eyes out.

A few in the audience shrugged at the news. Most everyone knew that the Queen had her lovers, and most didn't much care. The country worked, and aside from a bit of gossip to pass the time, it didn't amount to much. Maker knew the King didn't keep a chaste bed either.

"Tell them, Cordell," Eldon jabbed at the brother who didn't seem up to playing the part. "Tell them who you really are?"

"Maker's blighted colon, you do go on," their father finally spoke, his eyes rolling back towards the man that must have had him at knife point for hours. His voice was hoarse and struggling to reach the children. _What did he do to him?_

"Silence," Eldon hissed, clearly planning to have this go one way.

"What do you want? Silence or someone to tell a good story? There once was a man from Nevarra, whose snake trouser he wanted to get farther..."

Eldon jammed his puny fist into their father's gut causing the King's naughty limerick to erupt into an oof as he folded downward. "Be silent! If the brother will not speak, then I shall! You have all been deceived, bannorn of Ferelden."

The people he captured and held prisoner all glared at the man who imposed upon them and not the King spitting a bit of blood out of his mouth.

"You've been told that the children of Beatrice, your queen, are the only legitimate blood lines to our King, but that is a lie!" Eldon stepped away from Alistair, letting the man sink to the floor. Rosie tried to rush towards him, but the bastard swung his dagger at her. Her dad coughed a bit more, grimacing at what came out, but he eyed her up and shook his head no. Freezing in her tracks, all she could do was glare.

"Your princess and prince, your hope for the next generation...they are no more royal than a feral pig. Here is their true father!" Eldon whipped back to Cordell who lifted the same blue eyes to glare out at the proceedings. "He confessed it all to me. The Queen worked with him, because our King...our King that so many rallied around as the virile defender against the blight. He is, in fact, as limp and sterile as a castrated druffalo."

Gasps broke out of the gentry, whispers rising from insisting it wasn't possible to more people scrutinizing Cordell's looks. Rumors long since dead began to circulate anew. People wondered why it took the King and Queen near on a decade of marriage to produce an heir. Why the King himself didn't father any bastards before the princess came into being. Could Eldon's claims be true?

"Do you have anything to add to this, your Majesty?" Eldon turned to Beatrice and raised his dagger at her.

She spat at him, then turned to Cordell to hiss, "I pray you burn in the void for this!"

"Loving as always," Eldon snickered before shoving at Cordell. "Tell them. Tell them the truth, of how they're all being led by a farce. That the crown, the blood of Calenhad himself has already been lost, and all you have for your future Queen is rotten filth dolled up in a pretty dress."

"This is all hearsay!" a voice shouted from the back. Rosie tried to whip over her shoulder to spot the owner but it was drowned out in a sea of people picking it up. The ones who attended her father's birthday happened to like him. They weren't about to be swayed so easily.

"He's full of shit!"

"Bet he rounded up a drunk to pretend to be the Queen's bedmate."

"I hate after dinner theater!"

Eldon's smile strained at the resistance, but it didn't fade. He should be stepping back, fleeing from the King who was trying to rise to his feet, but instead he turned back to the man in the robes that dashed into the corner during the fight. "Do it!" he shouted.

The man stepped towards their father and parted his hands. Red runes lit up under him, and a bubble trapped their King from any help. He tried to rise to his feet, but stumbled and took a knee instead. "What is this?" Alistair's voice sounded far off in the distance as he tried to shout through the barrier. "If you're trying to keep me from the cheese tray, this puny thing will hardly stop me," he tried to laugh it off, but the barrier remained in tact and strong.

Pausing, the mage quirked his head over to Eldon. They were in cahoots. Of course they were, he must have been planning all of this the second he found Cordell and pried the truth from him. Eldon nodded and the mage unearthed a bottle out of his pocket. When it shifted into the light, Rosie realized it wasn't red due to the lit up runes, but because it was full of blood.

Tipping it out, the blood poured onto the ground and raced to form a new seal around the runes. The barrier flared a second time, growing thicker with magic until they could only see the King through a small layer of fog.

"Are you done?" Eldon hissed, tapping his foot.

"Not quite," the mage whispered. Turning his hand to the side, he slit it open. The blood aerosolized in an instant, power warping from the veil onto the barrier that surrounded their father. "Go ahead," the man said while wrapping a bandage around his hand.

"Blood mages," Rosamund hissed. "Eldon, you will answer not only to the crown but the chantry and the Maker himself for this."

"We shall see," he chuckled while pacing around. "What we have before us is a little test. Inside is our King, a man with the blood of Calenhad himself running through his veins. Or so we've been led to believe."

"Let him go!" Cailan shouted, tears rising in his eyes.

Eldon glanced over a moment and paused, "You can, young Prince. Or you...piggish princess. All you need do is spill your blood onto the seal, thereby breaking it and setting your...King free."

Cailan darted over to Rosie, his eyes wild and steps uncertain. They couldn't trust this mad ritual, but if it would save their father... "You're lying!" she shouted at him, even while flexing her fingers. If the cut had to be made, she'd do it.

"On the contrary, it is a well established spell, in Tevinter mind you, but it does exist. However," Eldon raised his hand, "there is one tiny problem." Lashing a hand out, he grabbed onto the man that shot Anjali. Without a care, he pulled the man's palm apart and slit a dagger across it. Blood welled up on the flesh, and with his hand under the man's, Eldon tipped it onto the floor of the rune.

The drops danced against the barrier, causing it to flare up and explode, freeing their father, but the man who provided the blood to open it began to gasp. He fell to his knees while more blood gushed from his body out of the small wound. It looked as if a great wind was sucking it all free from his veins. The cheeks sunk in and his eyes rolled backwards into his skull as the emaciated and fully drained body tumbled backwards and didn't rise.

Barely looking at the man he murdered, Eldon said, "Only someone with the blood of Calenhad can break the seal and survive. Anyone else will...do that. Raise the barrier again!" he shouted at his mage. This was the only window they had to rescue their father, but Rosie was frozen in place. Her eyes bulged at the horrors before her, a man nearly stripped to the meat and sallow flesh draped off his bones in under a minute. By the time she thought to even try to rush in to save her father, the barrier appeared once again, and they had no answer.

"Save him," Eldon tossed his dagger at Rosie. Only by pure reflexes did she catch it. "Prove yourself to be a daughter of the King and save him."

She dug her fingers into the handle and cursed inside her brain at the bastard. There had to be another way. Someone would find them, someone who knew how to alter spells, dispel magics. They could free their father without anyone else having to die. They just needed a bit of time.

"Oh? And did I forget to mention? He's slowly suffocating in there," Eldon sneered. "So best decide quickly or Maker save the King."

"You bastard!" she screamed, her eyes slicing apart the man that hounded her every step. _What could she do? What option was there before her?_

"Spud," her dad's voice wobbled through the barrier. He managed to get to his knees to stare up at both her and Cailan. "Spuddy, don't you dare. You either Cailan. Don't you do it. I swear."

"Dad," Cailan gasped, his fingers reaching out to their father pleading for their lives instead of his own.

"Don't..." Alistair began to rock on his knees, the air poisoning him. "Promise me. Please. Don't."

"Stop this!" Rosie screamed at Eldon. "Stop this and I'll...I'll marry you!"

"Rose," Beatrice whipped her head over, turning away from the dying man before them all.

"I swear it," she gulped. If she'd given in, if she hadn't have been so stubborn before then none of this would be happening. If she'd talked reasonably to the mad man attempting to kill her father instead of wounding his pride this could have been averted. "If you release the King then I'll marry you."

Eldon stepped closer, his putrid breath wafting over as he got nearly an inch from her face. She screwed up her eyes, terrified he might force a kiss from her. "No." Rosie stared wide in shock. "After all, I made a promise, did I not? I will never marry you. And as soon as the gentry learns the truth of you and your ignominious beginnings, they'll be turning to a new family for the throne. And my family, my blood, has the better claim than all."

Her entire body boiled in rage as the man scampered back to stand by his blood mage. Whipping her arm back, she threw the filthy dagger as hard as she could at him. It landed handle first against Eldon's chest, clattering to the ground. Rosie screamed at herself for failing to kill him, while the man shrugged and picked it up. "So that's your choice then?"

Ignoring the bastard trying to destroy their family, she turned to her father. His head hung down and he was gasping for air. "Dad..." she fell to her knees, Cailan tumbling beside her as both tried to catch the King's eyes. "Daddy, please."

"I..." Alistair gasped in a breath and splayed his fingers against the barrier. "I love you."

Rosie grabbed onto Cailan's hand, both crumbling apart while they watched him fade further from this world and into the next. "We love you too, dad. We always will."

Their father smiled at that, when he lost his fight and collapsed onto the ground.

No...

## Chapter Sixty-Five

### Sacrifice

NO!

From the back of the hall Myra watched as her dad collapsed inside the evil bubble of doom. Rosie stood right there, following to her knees and not doing a damn thing to help. Why wasn't she doing something?!

Heart beating erratically in her chest, she leapt up the empty alleyway towards her family. A few hands tried to grab at Myra, but she ran past them all -- her staff swinging fast to clear a path. He wasn't moving. He was laying there not moving and no one was doing anything! That rat bastard watched the whole display with a grin on his face that she intended to punch out, but first...

Closing her eyes tight, Myra tried to find that evil magic. To follow it back to its lair and bludgeon it until it vanished. She reached out through the veil itself, her mind trying to unravel the spell of runes -- when the whole thing hissed and snapped back at her. Damn it!

Her eyes snapped open just as the barrier slunk back to where it reached out from, as in tact as before. Dad...

No. No, she was not giving up.

"What are you doing?" Myra shrieked, running towards the barrier and her siblings who were holding each other while they watched the world end.

"Myra," Rosie whipped her head back as her headstrong younger sister nearly crashed face first into the barrier. Would that break it? Could she punch it to death? Yanking her arm back, Myra moved to do just that, when Rosamund caught her wrist.

"Stop! Stop, don't..."

"Dad's in there! Dad's dying! I have to do something!" she shrieked in a panic.

Tears burned in the Princess' eyes, her lip trembling in aguish, but she shook her head slowly. "You can't. Myra, it'll... He told us not to."

"So what?" she shook her sister's hand off and stared down at their father. His body shifted a bit, taking in what could be his last breath. "I never do what Dad tells me to." Her words caught in her throat like a fat frog.

"You'll die," Cailan whispered with his head turned to the side. He couldn't watch the death of their dad. Maybe he wasn't their father, not by blood, but...fuck all those stupid rules of lineage and birth. He was their dad, he always had been. He always would be.

Myra stepped forward, her mind hardening while her heart melted into a pile of goo. She couldn't watch this. She couldn't sit here and do nothing. "Who cares?" she whispered, her eyes closing while she strained to hear her dad's last gasp for air. "I'm...I'm nothing." Important. Necessary. Wanted. She was the expendable one in all of this, always had been.

"Myra," Rosie watched as her sister twisted around her staff blade until it rested in the palm of her hand. "Don't do this. You can't, you'll--"

Tears burning in her eyes, she stared at her not-sister. "Shut up, Rossie." Drawing the blade fast across her palm, the pain bit hard as the sharp edge split apart her skin. The blood welled up quick, pooling in her hand as she watched it.

Her life or her father's. What did her's matter compared to a King's? A hand landed on her shoulder, trying to pin her in place. All Myra could see through the tears was the raven dark hair sliding around the face trying to stop her. Rosie's fingers moved to cover over her bloody palm, to keep Myra tethered to this rotten world. "You don't want to do this, My. Not for...please. Don't."

She stared transfixed at her own reflection blinking back in the pool of blood. The crimson girl looked beaten and broken, her eyes black as night in the depths of her life's gore. Myra turned to her sister, and tipped her palm upside down. Her blood dribbled onto the floor, striking the runes and causing the barrier to hiss.

"Oops," she said and closed her eyes waiting for her death.

"Myra," Rosie latched onto her shoulders, both sisters falling to the ground together. Her extended hand turned ice cold, all the warmth of life fleeing from her body to wrap around the infernal magic. It shouldn't be long at least. That other guy went real quick.

_Would it hurt?_ Her teeth gritted tighter, fearing for the pain of her innards liquifying, her blood all fleeing out of her body in a breath. She heard the barrier snap apart, felt the magic seep away out of the world, but her life remained obstinately trapped inside her meat sack.

"Dad!" Rosie cried. "Cailan?"

"On it," her brother sounded as if he was scrabbling forward, his hands filling with their father. It was up to them now. They'd have to stop the bad guy, save the day. Build a little pyre for Myra, maybe say a few nice words. Would anyone really have much of anything beyond 'she wasn't a total pain?'

_Not to be too picky or anything, but why was this taking so long?_

Risking having untold horrors burned into her soul before she snapped across the veil, Myra lifted an eyelid. Her palm remained bloody but not sucked apart as if the very forces of the Maker ripped her flesh off. It was sticky and stung. Should death come with such a simple but annoying pain?

"Dad? Daddy?"

Myra glanced up to find her sister with her cheek brushing against their father's mouth. "He's not breathing!" she cried. Tears burned in her eyes while she tried to shake their father awake. "Dad, come on, you have to breathe. You can do it now. Myra, she..."

Emerald eyes landed upon the still breathing, still bleeding, still living sibling. "You're..." Rosie began in shock before snapping to attention in an instant. "Myra, you can heal him. Quick. Before it's too late."

"Uh," she crawled on her knees through her own blood and someone else's caked on the floor. Bunching her wounded hand up and pressing it to her stomach she stared down at their father's far too still chest. Heal. She had to. There was no one else.

You can do it. You can always do the unexpected, untrained for thing when it counted most. When it mattered. They always did in the stories.

Sucking in her snotty tears, Myra punched her way into the fade. Fire tickled along her fingers, but she didn't want that. Didn't need it. Breath. Her dad needed breath. How does one give a person breath?! She kept passing her uninjured hand back and forth over his chest trying to will a sip of the fade itself into him. To get it to fix what was broken, but all the magic stared and laughed at her.

She didn't know. She didn't learn. She was going to fail him because she waited too long. Because she was scared of dying. Her Maker damn cowardice would kill him anyway!

No!

A great gasp erupted from Alistair, his chest expanding and sending all the kids scampering back. He piled air into his lungs, each breath growing less extreme until his eyes opened. "Daddy!" Rosie cried, throwing herself around him. He struggled to lift a hand to hug her when Cailan did the same, the boy's face crumpling into their fallen father's chest.

"Myra, thank the Maker you did it!"

But she didn't. She didn't know how. She never learned to...

Turning over her shoulder, she spotted the real mage in their midst. A small, dark skinned woman stood at the edge of the assembled prisoners. Her eyes were closed as she waved her fingers through the air, filling their father with all the healing energy Myra never learned.

"How...?" Alistair gasped a moment, his voice like two cheese graters attempting to mate.

Rosie wiped at the tears in her eyes and turned to her sister. "Myra," she reached to drag her over while Cailan helped their father up to a sitting position.

His big, puppy dog eyes burned into Myra who expected to have a lecture coming at her. She went against orders. More than that she nearly threw her life away for him. He was gonna be mad.

"Wheaty," he gasped and tugged her to his chest.

"Dad," she fell into him, tears springing anew as her bloody hand dug against his shoulder. "Dad, I couldn't..."

"Shh, shh, come here all of you." He struggled to wrap them all up in a hug, the nearly broken family reveling in their reunion when Myra felt the veil twist under her.

Fuck, that blood mage bastard.

She twisted from her father, her hand flying up just as the mage launched a wave of something at them. Her gut told her it was meant to crush bones, but a barrier erupted off her hand protecting them all from the attack. The mage blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting that, while the three scrabbled to their feet.

"It's the mage!" Myra shouted and pointed at him. She moved to pick up her staff while Rosie rooted around for a sword, but the blood mage was working fast. His fingers arced through the air, preparing a spell that must have been even worse than before.

Myra winced, uncertain if she could manage another barrier again. Those cold eyes of a hired merc that worked in blood glanced over the three Theirin siblings. He parted his hands, about to unleash whatever he had on him, when the veil buckled. Myra stumbled back towards Cailan, her head pounding, but it was the blood mage at the epicenter of not one but two templar attacks. All magic was ripped from this world and sent back to where it belonged by the father and son working through the crowd.

The blood mage gawped, too young to have known what it felt like to be attacked by a templar, but Myra knew. Her fingers stumbled not to find a spell, but gripped assuredly against her staff. Planting a foot, she spun the blade near the mage. Still shaking from the draining of his mana, he barely twisted to the side to avoid her attack, but Myra expected that. She wanted it. Whipping her staff around, she whacked the second snake head into the man's gut, then poured all her remaining energy through it.

A great burst of flame erupted out of the staff right into his stomach. He screamed, panic flailing in his eyes, when Myra spun the staff around again and the blade that cut her hand to free her father, sliced against his neck. The burning mage fell to his knees, fire quickly eating up his robes and flesh.

"That's for hurting my Dad!" Myra shouted at it, watching him go up in flames.

"Eldon?" Rosie gripped onto Myra's shoulder, her eyes darting around in confusion. "Where's Eldon?"

The people were all breaking into a mass of confusion, guards reaching out to re-imprison mercs who thought they could try to escape, the nobles just generally getting in the way, but there was no sign of the bastard who started it all. Where the hell could he be hiding?

Myra tried to peer over the crowds, her breath hitching higher up her chest, when she spotted him. The bastard was nearly at the door, running as fast as he could. "Rosie!" she shouted, but her sister caught him too.

There was no getting through the mass of people, not in time. Rosie yanked up one of the merc's bows, leapt up onto the throne for leverage, and fired a shot right at Eldon.

It struck, hard. Rosie's fingers were still quivering from how tight she drew the bowstring back while the asshole tumbled to his knees from an arrow embedded in his shoulder. Calmly, Rosie picked up the entire fallen quiver and slung it on her back. Eldon was scrabbling to get up and run, when Rosie lifted her nocked arrow and aimed through the middle of the crowd.

Everyone moved out of the way real fast and when she had a clear shot, she fired. "That's for threatening my family," she shouted as the second arrow embedded into the back of Eldon's knee. There was no more running for him now. He crumpled to the floor, his mouth bouncing on the ground while a few chipped teeth cracked free.

The people's princess strolled calmly down the line, her eyes burning at the man scrabbling in his own blood. "Your...your Majesty."

She dug the back of the arrow tight to her cheek, Rosie pausing not even five feet away, "This is for nearly killing my father."

Eldon screamed in pain at a third arrow impaling right through his hand. Blood pooled on the floor, for once his own.

"This," she ruffled the fletching on her arrow before brushing it to her jaw, "is for harassing me at every turn!"

"Fuck!" Eldon cried as the fourth stuck deep into his thigh meat.

"And this..." Rosie screamed, her voice echoing over the hushed audience. "This is for trying to kill the woman I love!" She aimed the point of the arrow right to Eldon's crotch. The man tried to shield himself, but his body was a pincushion, most of the limbs useless now. There was no chance he'd be walking out of here with his manhood intact.

"Rosamund!" a voice called out above hers. She didn't fire the arrow, nor did she release the tension either. Rosie cast an eye over at her father who was standing with the help of Cailan. "I think he's had enough. This isn't the way."

Myra was on Rosie's side. Finish him off with a thousand cuts, make him bleed all over the floor while everyone watched. Sit on his throat and watch his face turn blue. Slowly, Rosie let the bowstring fall slack, the castrating arrow falling to the ground. "You're right, father."

"Wh...what are you going to do to me?!" Eldon shrieked, the man turning into a total coward now that all his plans had failed.

"Me?" Rosie smiled cruelly. "I'm not going to do a thing."

The dead man's eyes whipped around as if he really thought he'd be walking away from this. As if he could scamper back to his little Bann and pretend none of this treason ever happened.

Rosie tented her fingers and all but cackled, "Cailan?"

Their brother looked up in surprise at the summoning. "Yeah?"

"Destroy him," Rosie said as she threw the bow onto the ground. Eldon winced at that, before his eyes focused on the prince coming for him.

"Wh...what's going on?"

Cailan didn't smile, but he didn't snarl either. He packaged all his emotions away to appear cold as a breath of winter. "I'm going to go through every single document your father and his lands have ever kept. Every sovereign you hid from the crown, every dodgy meeting you took with those traitorous to Ferelden. When I am finished, there won't be a copper left to your father, your children, your grandchildren, or any great grandchildren. Assuming you're still capable of such a feat. Now. Let us get started. I will require access to all your books..."

While her brother unleashed the full force of a man with an eye for detail and head for numbers upon the traitor, Myra turned to her father. In the middle of the show, the Hero of Ferelden walked up the aisle. She was wearing a tight smile, clearly struggling to keep upright after burning through who knew how much magic.

"Ali," she nodded to the man about to fall to the ground.

"Lanny," he said with a terse tip of his head before both old friends wrapped their arms around each other and supported one another.

Myra moved to give her dad some room, when she had her own visit by a Rutherford. Leaping around the gawping nobles and nearly plowing into some as he had none of the grace of his mother, Gavin's amber eyes honed in tight not on the King, or the Hero, but her. She froze, uncertain what was going to come. Would he hug her?

"What in the void were you thinking?" Gavin shouted, his voice cracking in anger. "You could have died! You might have died, and...and then what? Huh, Myra?"

"I thought that..." she danced back and forth on her toes, uncertain what to do while the boy yelled at her.

"People here care about you! We don't want to lose you! You're...you're important, damn it!" All the yelling faded to blubbering as Gavin dropped his sword and swept both his hands around Myra. She was in such shock at the change, she didn't think to hug him back. "If you'd died..."

"I couldn't lose my dad," she said, finally giving in to the embrace locking tight around her body.

"Well, I don't want to lose you either," he buried his face into her shoulder, the sobs obvious while he rocked her back and forth in his arms. She'd been so mad, so lost with no claim to anything but a fraudulent life as ephemeral as a bubble. But now. She didn't want to leave. Not ever. But...

"Gavin," Myra whispered beside his ear.

"Yeah?"

"Please don't kiss me right now."

She felt like an ass for saying it the moment his arms stiffened around her, but she had to. If he did that, if he started acting like she was all sugar and spice and his chaste lady, and then he got talked into doing something he didn't want to because she might have died, well... Myra really didn't want to hate herself for that.

"Right," he slid away, wiping at the tears in his eyes. "Of course, I only..."

She put on a smile and grabbed his hand. "Friends?"

"Friends," he nodded, when a body tugged on the tall boy and yanked him back.

"Mom?" Myra gasped as Reiss now hugged her stupid daughter tight.

"Maker's sake, My."

"How many lectures am I going to get now?" Myra muttered, falling into her mother's embrace.

"Oh, I think that young man covered most of it," she sighed against her daughter's forehead. Myra could feel her mother turn to Alistair who slipped a hand behind Reiss' back and joined in the hug. "You did good, kid. You did real good."

Her parents hugged her for a bit more before Lana and Gavin helped Alistair back towards a chair to sit down. No doubt he was going to need more healing, more time. It was close. It was so damn close she could still feel it all slipping away if she closed her eyes.

"I feel sick," Myra muttered, all too well aware of her hand flaring in pain.

"Yeah, that'll happen too."

"Mom?" Myra ran her tongue over her teeth, the thought that'd been festering inside of her ever since she was able to have one, rising up. "How come I didn't die?"

"Myra," Reiss sighed. She cupped her hands around her daughter's face. "You look just like him, you act exactly like him, much to many people's grief. You are his daughter."

"But how?" she was so confused. First he was her dad, then he couldn't have any kids, and now...

"There was a potion and, let's just say you've always been our miracle baby. Okay."

"So there wasn't another...?"

"Maker's blighted sake, Myra. Has there ever been another?"

No. That's what tore her up more than she wanted to admit. Even though her parents could never live together, nor be married, they were hopelessly devoted to one another. Through the fights, through the bad times, their love never broke. Who could have possibly come between that to create her? There was no one worthy. And now...

"Mom? Does that mean that I'm..." she shifted on her toes, about to feel sick again. "I'm the one with the blood of-of the royal stuff in me?"

Reiss bit her lips and rolled her eyes as she stared up at the ceiling. "My, isn't it enough to know you have a father that adores you? Who did everything in his power to keep you from having to suffer as he did? As he does?"

She could take the throne. She may be a bastard half-blood, but she was the only one born of the Calenhad line. The only one remaining of the man who created Ferelden. Her eyes darted over to her sister who stood surrounded by the royal guards while giving them instructions on what to do with Eldon and the rest. Even in the face of such heart rending torture, Rosie had to slap back on her smile and get to work. Myra wanted to curl up in a ball and not move for a few hours.

"Mom," Myra swallowed hard, her fingers running up and down the staff. Her heart swelled with a request she ached to ask for but she feared how her parents would respond.

"Yeah?"

"I want to study magic at the college. I want to learn how to do all those things I should have been able to do. Barriers, ice, healing." Myra stared deep into the same meadowy eyes while she hung on what had been a thousand no's in the past.

Reiss didn't instantly shoot it down. She turned back to the man she nearly lost, that they both could have lost if the Hero of Ferelden hadn't come to a silly birthday party across the country. Nodding her head, Reiss focused on her daughter, "All right. I think you're ready."

"Damn straight I am. Did you see the fireballs I was throwing in the fight?" Myra shouted, her adrenaline pumping back in as she stared around at all she accomplished. "I bet I could show some of those collegie types a thing or two about staff fighting!"

Reiss sighed, "Maker have mercy on your instructors."

## Chapter Sixty-Six

### Salvation

She could scarcely believe that breath yet drew into her body, into any of their bodies. By some miracle of the Maker, they survived, they all survived. Rosamund turned from the Commander of the guards to glance back at her father. He plopped down onto a chair and was flanked by nobles all trying to shove medicines and poultices onto him. When one elderly woman attempted to yank open his tunic to rub a brown salve all over his chest he waved his hands in the air like a bee was in play.

"No, no more. You can cover me in your medicinal herbs when I'm dead!" her dad shrieked, tired of being fussed over. But he nearly did die. If not for Myra's sacrifice, which turned out to be less of a sacrifice than Rosie or Cailan expected, they'd all be fatherless. She bundled up her skirts, planning on questioning her father about it, when the Commander of the guards spoke louder.

"Your Majesty..."

Oh dear. Had he been talking to her while she wasn't listening? Putting on a pained smile, she turned to the man. "Please, tell me again."

"What do we do with him?" They already trucked off Eldon's bloody body, Cailan giving a cheerful wave that they'd find every sneaky way he'd managed to finance a mercenary army. The rest of the mercs were either bundled off the pyre or the dungeon. All that remained was the man in the chantry robes left standing in the corner.

Brother Cordell's weary face lifted at the focus, his eyes watering while he stared from Rosamund back to Cailan. The likeness in the two was striking, and a glimpse for Cailan of what his future would hold. But the prince wouldn't turn to look upon their father by blood, he didn't want to. He kept a scowl up while shuffling around their mother who was out of breath and off put but unharmed.

The Queen turned from her ladies and friends of the court who'd been all in a tizzy about helping with her husband nearly dying. Her eyes honed in on Cordell, the man she supposedly took to her bed. Was it out of love or desperation to create heirs?

"Beatrice," Cordell began, dipping down lower in a bow to their mother as the Queen eyed him up. "I swear to the Maker, I didn't mean for this to happen. I had no idea that..."

The Queen's bejeweled palm slapped hard against Cordell's cheek. Its concussive splat echoed through the grand hall, rendering everyone else's speeches moot while all eyes turned towards their queen. She sneered at the man with a red welt rising fast. "You're pathetic," was all she said while grabbing up her skirts and stomping away.

Cordell's pleading eyes tried to follow, but he knew better than to move. For a moment Cailan glanced over, and the man tried to reach out, before the prince sneered as well and turned away. Broken, Cordell's head hung low to his chest. No doubt he was already preparing his sob story for the crown. It'd have to be amazing for him to stand a chance from escaping the noose, and yet...

Shutting her eyes tight, Rosie whispered, "Take him to the dungeon. The crown shall pass sentence later." It was a headache for another day. She had enough on her plate right now. The Commander nodded and with a twitch of his fingers, guards appeared to drag Cordell away. Perhaps she should have watched the man, her supposed father, being pulled away in chains, but her eyes were all on the real dad in her life.

Alistair finished shooing away the helping hands while insisting someone bring him something useful like beer, or cheese. Or both! At the end of his command he turned to his eldest and smiled. "That's one hell of a night."

"The bards hardly know where to begin," she tried to smile, but her father looked worn. Age, which never truly stuck to his boyish grin and sparkling eyes, walloped him hard. His cheeks deflated even more than usual, sunken lips that struggled for breath pulled tight to his teeth.

He worried his hands through his hair before shrugging. "As long as I don't have to listen to any of 'em, or judge which is the best song, I don't care."

"Dad?"

"Hm?" he sat up a bit higher in his chair as Rosie squatted down towards him.

"Not that I'm ungrateful for the outcome, but...how are you alive?" her eyes turned away from the struggling man to her sister. Myra was waving her hands around at her mother while the Hero of Ferelden kept inspecting the shattered staff. They never thought much of how close in resemblance she shared with their father. He was all their dad, until he was none. But now...

"You're smart, Spuddy," her dad's warm fingers gripped onto her arm, "You know how."

So it was true. The one real heir to the Theirin bloodline was...

"Doesn't change a damn thing, 'cept now you all know the truth. Not before half my hair went grey trying to keep the secret in. These past few months have easily taken all my color."

Rosie sighed and turned to her father who'd been sporting ice white hair for nearly the past three years. He was fumbling with it now, trying to slick the coarse hairs into place while simultaneously tugging them up. "Dad, if Myra...?"

"You think Wheaty will be a problem? Okay, yeah, she'll be a problem for me, for her mom, for whoever gets in her way. Whoever thinks of marrying her. Maker take mercy on that poor sod, she will walk all over him. But come on, kid."

Alistair scooted closer on his haunches and tipped his head, "She's too much like me. Always has been. She doesn't want it, never has, never will. And you...you're perfect for that chair." With his hand he waved towards the throne still bearing Rosie's boot print where she hopped onto it to take down Eldon. "Plus, a Queen that might shoot you while she's on the throne. That's gonna make for some great tapestries."

Her cheeks burned red at the thought, already afraid of how much tongue lashing there'd be for her performance. Shoring away the fears for later, Rosie turned to him, "But the truth..."

"You're my kid, you're all my kids. Always and forever. That's the truth. The real truth. Maker blessed and all that stuff you stitch on pillows in old widow's houses." Her dad tipped his head and smiled wide, the wear of his nearly dying falling away. He was in his mid thirties and she two years old, sitting on father's shoulders while he showed her the world.

"What of the people?"

"People shmeeple. A few might care, assholes like Eldon, but I bet you the real story will come out that you, Princess of Ferelden, cut your palm open to save the King from a very stupid death. Thereby proving once and for all that all those rumors are dumb and stupid."

"Dad," Rosie wrapped her arms around and hugged him tight. It was about so much more than the crown or Ferelden. She didn't give a fig about losing the title, or the power, but if he'd taken her father from her, from them all, Eldon would ache for the comfort of the void compared to what Rosie would unleash.

"There, there," he patted a hand into her and tugged on his collar. "I uh," his eyes wandered back towards Myra and her mother, and a blush burned on his cheeks. The elven detective stared not daggers but loving concern at the man. "I should go and talk to some other people."

"Of course," Rosie nodded her head while backing away. "Reiss is...family too."

Her dad smiled wide at that while he rose to his aching legs. Giving a little stiff walk in a circle, he patted his eldest on the back and pointed out into the crowd. "Someone's gonna want to talk to you too." Rosie followed his finger towards Anjali. The assassin stood on the side, doing her best to keep out of the way during the clean up while she nursed her bruised ribs from the bolts.

Unable to hide the burst of joy in her heart, Rosie moved to take a step forward, when her dad added. "Just...try and get her off the assassin track, if you can. The court's got enough to keep the gossip mill churning for decades already."

Rosie nodded at him while he slipped into the arms of his lover. It would be Reiss who'd truly heal his heart the way no poultice or balm could. With every step towards Anjali, Rosie's legs began to tremble. This was a disaster beyond counting and if her assassin hadn't returned to her side, then most likely Rosie would be dead or imprisoned. Her father lost to her forever.

"Anjali," she breathed her name, slipping in closer to the woman.

Her bright smile lifted an inch, Anjali breaking from the wall. Hands falling out of the cross, she moved to touch Rosie's side but paused at the hundreds of eyes watching. "Sapheela," she breathed. "You had me worried there. Blood magic is...not a trifle to be tossed around."

"Me?" Rosie snorted. She'd felt her heart shatter in half when her mind feared Anjali dead. It was the deepest pit of despair, far darker than watching the assassin walk away could ever be. "Do you have any idea how much you scared me?" Rosie said while cupping a hand to Anjali's cheek.

Her beautiful assassin pressed into it a moment, the warm curve folding right into Rosie's palm. After a breath, she sighed, "I did happen to overhear you shouting something just as you were about to geld that tainted slime tongue. It almost sounded as if you loved me."

"Ah," the blush rampaged up her spine, spilling over her stomach and cheeks like bad wine. Rosie began to back away, her mouth babbling, "Heat of the moment. I was very flustered, and angry, and needed..."

Anjali gripped onto Rosie's waist, her fingers cupping right along the curve of her hips. "I love you too," she whispered, her voice as unbreakable as the mountains.

Leaping forward, Rosie caught her in a deep kiss. Anjali mumbled something in shock before giving into the warm need burning in both their hearts. The first kiss of love. Anjali slid away first, her umber eyes hunting around the piles of nobility standing around in their party clothes watching.

"What about all of them? Won't they...?"

"I don't care," Rosie laughed, "I have you..." Tears percolated in her eyes, the happiness threatening to consume her whole, when she paused. "Do I have you?" Her lips flattened in concern as it dawned upon her that they hadn't spoken of the future at all.

"Sapheela, even if your entire court deemed me unworthy of your affections. If they locked you up high in a tower and cursed me to never look upon you for a hundred years," she drew her fingers against Rosie's ear, tucking the lost hairs back, "Every day I would climb that tower, waiting for when the curse would break so I may look upon your beautiful face once more."

The romantic sentiment nearly swept Rosie off her feet. She plunged back to kiss Anjali with every ounce of love inside of her. That dusty heart she kept preserved away erupted out of its linens and paper. Beating stronger than she thought possible, Rosie drew her hand to her chest -- feeling her own heart -- before cupping over Anjali's. It too was dancing in a fiery passion.

"Plus," Anjali shrugged, "I'd be a fool to turn away a beautiful princess' attentions."

"Yes," Rosie smiled, "yes you would." She glanced back at the mass of her people who needed guidance, a leader, a strong hand and head to tell them what to do for their own sake. No doubt she should fill that role. Make certain that the prisoners were secure, escort the dignitaries somewhere safe. Begin damage control with Karelle to cut off any ill wanted rumors.

Don't let them take everything from you. Keep part of yourself back.

Wrapping a hand around Anjali's fingers, Rosie grinned slyly. She drifted her lips near her love's ear, "It seems to me we never had a chance to properly greet each other tonight."

"That..." the assassin, a woman who'd seen the dark side of the world, walked her fair share of intrigue, blinked in surprise and blushed, "That's true. You...you want to now?"

"I don't want anything else," Rosie snickered. She stole one last kiss from Anjali before leading her away from the throne room. One day it'd be hers. She'd find that malleable husband, she might even manage to have children of her own. Her life would belong to Ferelden. But in her heart she'd keep that small slice reserved just for her. A slice named Anjali.

## Chapter Sixty-Seven

### Judgment

Everyone got what amounted to a good night's sleep over the course of a day and a half. Myra spent the first half of it with her mom's people checking injuries and just in general trying to be helpful. By the time she stumbled back to the agency as the sun was coming up, Lunet told her to get some damn sleep already. She barely made it to her bedroom, never mind the bed.

Her mom stayed back to keep watch over her dad. She didn't say it like that, Reiss coming up with some excuse like she might be needed in case the prisoners make an escape but Myra knew. Judging by how the King clung to her hand even while other people kept trying to tear him away, the feeling and fear seemed to be mutual.

She lost track of her...sort-of siblings until the second day? Third? Whatever. It was Tuesday by the time Myra wandered into the first real court since the attack, the theme for the day all about raining down fire on those that tried to murder the King. The tale echoed among all the streets of Denerim. Where there weren't criers, townsfolk picked it up nearly all flabbergasted that someone would dare attack their beloved King and how no one ever like that Eldon nor his family. People seemed a bit iffy on what exactly happened, though one claimed that "Princess Rosamund, resplendent in her resplendentness stepped into the barrier, which released a white light and freed the trapped King."

While the man seemed to be blitzed out of his gourd as the words plopped out of his mouth, the other idiots around him agreed. Not even a week out and they all but turned Rosie into the next Andraste herself. Seemed about right. Wait until she could torture her sister with it.

The grand hall had been scrubbed rather well, all things considered. All the blood was gone and the dead bodies. She noticed a few heads jammed over the entrance to the gate thrown wide open. Probably from the dead mercs to make a show of strength. Judging by the wailing coming from the cells, the captured ones still had their date with the headman's axe.

A few scars remained on the walls where arrows and...a bit of mage fire charred up a tapestry. Myra ran a hand around the back of her neck to try and rub away the awkwardness as she didn't remember causing that. Barely looking at what was probably a hundred year old relic burned to toast, she stepped into the throng of people. It was more packed than usual. Court could wax and wane depending on if anything good was being presented.

Some days it was just the King, Karelle and her pack, and four or five complainers. Oh, and that one guy who'd sit on the bench and slowly peel an orange without making eye contact with anyone. He was always here.

Today however they were turning people away. Seemed all of Denerim wanted to see the bastard who threatened their King and Princess. The guards nodded at Myra, easily letting her pass. Seemed she was getting some respect for slicing open her hand like a roast duck.

"Gah," she hissed glaring down at the bandages still weeping a bit from her impatience. "They always make it sound so easy in stories, but this thing hurts!"

No one was around to listen in on her whining. She should have brought Bryn, or maybe she was working today. In the shuffle of day becoming night and her body craving all the sleep in thedas, Myra lost track of her friend. Thank the Maker she didn't get caught up in all of that at least.

Walking up the fancy aisle to try and find a seat, Myra turned to spot Ser Daryan standing towards the back. She had a hand upon the hilt of her sword at her side but no squire. Odd. No doubt Gavin was off feeding baby kittens he found dumped in an alley. Which, okay, would be pretty damn adorable to watch.

The Knight's eye darted over towards Myra, clearly watching the king's daughter who was staring back. In focusing on the nobody, she failed to spot the dark, tiny woman sidle up beside her. The Hero of Ferelden smiled a moment at her and stuck a hand out.

"Ser Daryan?" she asked politely.

The Knight could barely contain an eye roll, but picked up Lana's hand, "Yes. And you are?"

"Gavin's mother."

"Really?" that seemed to surprise the Knight who honed in on the tiny, unassuming woman. "Here I thought you'd be much younger."

"And prettier," the Hero spat back without a pause. Daryan's eyes widened a moment, but she wasn't much bothered by it. "People make many assumptions about me and my husband, but I don't much bother with idle gossip."

"That's wise," she tipped her head and moved to slide her fingers away from the lagging handshake, but Lana gripped tighter.

Her sweet voice snapped to pure ice as she glared daggers up at Daryan. "If you ever try to hurt my son, physically or psychologically, I will destroy you."

Daryan, this tall practically Avaar warrior of a woman, eyed up the mage that barely came to her chin and laughed at the threat. The air began to thicken, Myra tasting the veil shattering to pieces. She whipped her head around to see the sparks flying but nothing seemed to be happening until she heard a groan fall out of Daryan's lips. Her face was beet red and she seemed to be trying to wrench her grip out of Lana's.

"Do not doubt it," the Hero said before releasing her magic assisted vice on the Knight. While Ser Daryan attempted to massage her bruised but not broken hand, Lana turned and waved. "Hi Ali."

"Lanny!" he smiled wider, pumping his fist while breaking from the circle of people advising him. Rather than join the King, the Hero wandered off to sit beside her husband. He clearly whispered something curt to her and all she did was snuggle closer. The Commander seemed less than happy with the response, or perhaps he knew her actions, but he gave in and wrapped an arm around to pull her to him.

A fancy horn blared, announcing the arrival of someone of importance. Myra turned around to see Rosie standing in her circle of forced-upon female friends. All the old familiar pains in the ass were there, except one. Forgetting the manners barely bred into her, Myra hopped over to her sister. She expected to be shooed away like the gnat while all the important people were watching, but no reason to not ask.

"Rossie," she began, waffling back and forth on her feet. "Where's Tess?"

Her sister turned away from whatever missive she'd been reading and smiled at Myra's invading of her political sphere. "My," she tipped her head as if she was grateful for the distraction. "Tess? Oh..."

"She made it through the night, right?" Myra glanced around. There'd been a few faces they had to say goodbye to, arms that moved too slow, and body's that sacrificed themselves for others. Once this was over, there were going to be a few funerals for all to attend. She dreaded the one for the agency most of all. Everyone there was her family.

"Yes, yes," Rosie licked her lips and glanced away a moment, "Tess survived. She helped greatly in directing the royal guards to us."

"So... I mean you two are never apart."

"Um," she noticed it now, her sister blushing hard on her cheeks as if she wanted to melt into a puddle, "she decided to take a break from her duties and visit with her family back west for a few months."

"Now? Why?" Myra scoffed in confusion. Sure, things didn't go great but that'd been their entire summer so far. What was one more setback?

Her sister rubbed the back of her neck, "Because..." she drew out before her eyes darted to the shadow hugging the wall. Anjali's eyes shone from where she stood and not for the first time Myra regretted sleeping through the breakfast when Rosie officially introduced her to Dad. Everyone refused to talk about it. Even Cailan wouldn't divulge what happened because 'you had to be there.' Something told her Dad made his cheese wheel puppet to break the ice and the cool assassin had to suffer through it all.

Myra nodded at Rosie's lover, fully confused what Anjali would do with sending Tess away. It wasn't as if... "Oh," she smacked her forehead, her brain catching up. "Tess? Really? She was...boy, I did not see that."

"Please," Rosie whispered, "It's private, and personal, and a bit awkward now."

"All these years. All these years and I didn't even catch a whiff that she..."

"You?" her sister stared hard up at Myra, "What about me?"

"Rossie, you barely knew what you wanted. But I'm supposed to see this stuff. Just, do me a favor, okay. Don't tell my mom. I will never hear the blighted end of it. _Oh Myra, you think you're so clever and can cold read people? Well look at this warlord army you missed._ "

Her sister chuckled at Myra's impression of Reiss. Tipping her head to the side, she sighed, "Deal." Myra smiled back and began to turn on her heel, when Rosie added, "Oh, I think your mother's sitting up at the front and she saved you a seat."

"Mom's here?"

"She didn't wish to leave our father's side," Rosie said with a lift of her shoulders. After the veil shredding truth of how unrelated all the Theirin kids were there should have probably been a lot of soul searching, slammed doors, and yelling off of balconies about how they didn't know what they were anymore. But in the end it didn't seem to matter. They all loved their Dad, he loved them, and they...Maker save them all, they loved each other too. Not that they'd admit it to their faces or anything. Reputations and all.

But they were siblings, family. A messy, complicated family that could get on each other's nerves without trying. But what family didn't have that?

Waving to her sister, Myra scampered off towards the front. She spotted Reiss sitting not in her signature coat and hat, but one of the livery tunics the royal guards wore. At Myra's confused quirk of the head, Reiss explained, "My clothes were disgusting and this was all that was available. Short of me stealing your father's, but I fear that would send the wrong impression."

"Oh no, this lady elf is pretending to be our King!" Myra mocked while taking the seat beside her mom.

"More due to your father's broad shoulders how much of my chest I'd be flashing at the court. I'm too old for such tawdry things," Reiss grumbled as she leaned back.

"Ah, come on Mom, you're not that old," Myra smiled. "I mean, you are old. Like... fought in the first blight old. Saw the rise of the dragons old."

"Laugh all you like, but one day it'll happen to you."

Reiss turned away from Myra pulling a face as another round of horns did their little ditty. It wasn't something to dance to, but she knew enough that it meant the King was about to begin deliberating. Everyone rose when Alistair walked up the aisle, heads bowing to their king. He moved slowly, his feet barely lifting off the ground from injuries she knew the healers were still concerning themselves with.

Upon reaching the throne, the King turned to look out at the assembly and moved to sit. Heads popped up from their bow, people about to sit as well, when the King froze. Practically everyone hung suspended in the air, asses hanging out when Alistair smiled, "Simon didn't say."

With his joke breaking the looming fear of their King's fragile mortality, he plopped onto the throne and the other players stepped into view. Rosie took what was usually the Queen's chair beside their dad while Cailan and Beatrice sat on a bench at the side. When the door from behind opened to reveal both Gavin and Ser Daryan, Myra had to bite down on the urge to wave furiously at him. They took up the second bench, Daryan in particular sitting proud. Though when her eyes darted towards where the Hero sat she flinched. Served her right.

The rounds of sentencing passed rather quickly. Merc -- dead. Merc -- dead. There wasn't a lot of changing up the monotony of the sentencing. Every man Eldon bought was a murderer wanted for some crime or another. And even if they weren't, treason and attempted regicide pretty much doomed 'em. Myra at least expected sentencing Eldon to be interesting, but that one fell more to Cailan.

Her brother rattled off so much tax code and precedent, nearly every head in the assembly slipped to the shoulder beside it in sleep. It drew on so long, no one cared or even noticed when Cailan offered his judgment. It wasn't until Alistair clapped his hands hard that people jostled awake and attempted to focus on what was going on.

While Eldon was dragged away, Myra jabbed her mother in the side, "What just happened?"

"How should I know?" Reiss shrugged.

"Is that all?" the King asked the bailiff. "Please tell me that's all, my ass blisters are growing adorable baby blisters."

"Ah, not quite your Highness. We have one more..." the man turned towards the doors flung open and everyone followed suit. The last doomed man stood with his paper thin hands shackled against the ratty cassock tossed on his body. His bald spot was even more pronounced by how his head hung down, the neck muscles custard while his chin bobbed this way and that. Someone shoved into the Brother's back and he began to walk forward.

Oh boy. This should be interesting.

"Brother Cordell," the bailiff began, "accomplice to Lord Eldon in matters of attempted regicide, invading the palace, murdering of the royal guards, and smearing the good name of our beloved Princess. How do you plead?"

"I didn't mean for that to happen," Cordell blubbered, his blue eyes burning over in tears. "I swear to the Maker, please believe me. I tried to warn you, to..."

"Silence prisoner, or you will be silenced," the bailiff took over, unmoved by his pleading. But Myra knew who would be.

"You were there, Cordell," Alistair began inching off his seat. In her life she'd seen him show great mercy for the smallest plight, but it was obvious that there was no drop of compassion inside his body for the man who threatened his children. The man who threatened the lives of his own children. "We all saw you. You could have stopped it but you didn't."

"I...I didn't mean for it to go that far. Just, I wanted to be heard and..."

The King tented his fingers together and stared across the top of them. "I am recusing myself and giving this over to my daughter, Rosamund."

"What?" Cordell's head snapped up in surprise. Myra expected to find the same shocked look on her sister's face but she must have been warned this was coming.

The Princess stepped off her fancy dais and moved closer while speaking. "There is only one punishment for treason, Cordell -- death."

"Please," he reached out with his hands, but the guards yanked on the chain binding them together. The weak man tumbled to his knees. It was a pathetic sight but for all he put into motion he deserved far worse.

The Princess seemed to feel the same, her eyes hard as stone as she gazed down at the broken man. "Brother Cordell, I pronounce you..."

"Rose!"

Every head swiveled back to the Queen who didn't stand as she spoke at her daughter. "Think carefully about your actions."

"I am, mother," she glared, no doubt having weighed how much of a threat this man would be to her reign if he was allowed to live. In truth, Myra'd have killed him that night if she were in Rosie's place, but she was always the most brash in the family.

"Do not let anger and hatred cause you pain and anguish down the road. Daughter," Beatrice turned to her boy who was glaring at nothing, "Son... He is showing repentance. Mercy is not always weak."

Rosie's eyes closed as she sucked in a breath while weighing her mother's words. Condemning her secret father to death was a bit of a big step, really. Still, he was a rat bastard who had it coming. "Brother Cordell, I hereby banish you from Ferelden's borders. If you ever step foot upon a single grain of Ferelden soil your life is forfeit immediately."

"Rose?" he tipped his head up to her with tears glistening in his eyes. "Cailan," he added towards the prince, but Cailan turned away wanting nothing to do with him.

"Take him away, put him on a ship and get him as far from my sight as possible."

"Yes, your Majesty," the guards bowed. Both lifted Cordell up by his armpits and walked the man out of the hall.

Her sister looked flushed and flustered at her pronouncement, her cheeks bright red next to the icy pallor of the rest of her face. But a hand from their father on her back, and what looked like a smile of reassurance from her girlfriend were enough to sooth the aching princess. Was it the right call? Who the hell knew. He might try again, could make shit even more of a pain in the ass in the future.

But that was what swords were for. Messed up in the past? Stab it away in the present. Didn't fully fix things, but it helped.

Myra shifted on her feet, wanting to leap up and dash off for the food. Her stomach was already rolling around in agony begging for anything approaching tasty. She glanced up at her Dad who was smiling.

"Well," the King announced, "with all the unpleasantness out of the way, let us come to the reward section of this matter."

A few groans broke through the crowd, no doubt the rest either as peckish as Myra or wanting to get to the hangings for their bloodsport, but Alistair ignored them all. "Ser Daryan," he began, his smile flattening a bit but remaining in place.

The Knight slid off her bench and took a knee right before the King. "My liege," she said.

"For leading the attack against the mercenary band that were trying to off me, I award you the Silverite Shield," he reached behind him to unearth an actual shield. The light shifted over it like water. While it passed from king to knight, it appeared as if a continual waterfall danced down the oval shaped metal.

Myra pursed her lips, well aware of just how much help the Knight was in the scheme of things, but they needed someone to pin it all on. His bastard daughter, his elven lover, the Hero of Ferelden, and her husband wouldn't play as well in the streets. So it all got to fall in Daryan's lap. Lucky her.

She nodded her head as if she'd done a great service by keeping a few scraggly squires in order. Slotting the shield over her arm Daryan stood up and fell into line beside the throne. Her eyes sparkled in pride at her accomplishment. The shield was not one given lightly, it'd reflect well in whatever she got up to as they tried to jab her towards quietly retiring to the country. Daryan didn't know it yet, but there was a small, dark force who had the King's ear that wanted her gone, and she wasn't easily cowed by anything.

"Squire," Daryan tipped her head towards Gavin who'd been about the only person fully attentive through the entire thing. He snapped to his feet and saluted almost instinctively. It was so large, a few in the audience snickered at the boy's enthusiasm. "Fall into line," she ordered and Gavin moved to obey.

"Ah," the King interrupted, "one more thing. Squire Gavin?"

He turned away from his Knight towards the man on the throne. "Yes?" poor Gavin squeaked before dragging his voice down, "your majesty?"

"Take a knee before me," Alistair waved, unable to shake off the smile.

"Right!" The boy flew through the air to dive down deep. He lay his entire chest upon the propped up knee, head bent low as if Gavin feared he had to beg for mercy.

"Squire Gavin Rutherford..." Her dad moved his lips but gave no sound for the other part of the name he wasn't supposed to use. It was doubtful anyone in the audience caught it, but Myra whipped her head over to see the Hero and Commander both glaring a moment.

"For service to not only the crown, or the throne, or my fat arse that sits upon it, but in protecting my children with your life and taking the initiative to do what was right..." the King gripped onto the golden sword of Ferelden on his side and unsheathed it.

Myra clasped her hands to her mouth, barely able to hide the squeal of surprise while her father dangled the blade's edge just above Gavin's bent head.

"I award you a Knighthood." Alistair moved to dip the point to Gavin's shoulder, but the boy coughed.

"Um, Sire," he tipped his head up and stared eye to eye with the King while a sword tip bobbed in the way. "If I may, I am grateful for all you have to offer but..." His words fell to silence as he realized he was talking back to the King.

Alistair tugged the sword away and jammed it into the ground. Leaning upon the blade as if it were a cane, he snickered, "Go ahead. You've got me curious now."

"I don't think I'm ready for a full Knighthood yet. It's just..." Gavin sucked in a breath as he must have realized every damn person in the grand hall went deathly silent. Refusing a gift from a King? Unheard of! Insanity! Who does such a thing?

"What's he doing?" Reiss hissed beside her.

He could have been the youngest person ever knighted in Ferelden. Most weren't even looked at until they were at least twenty, but there was Gavin passing it up because...

"He's not ready," Myra shrugged, perhaps the only person in the entire room unsurprised by that choice. Her eyes darted over to his parents to find both with stupid smiles on. Okay, the third person.

"You wish to remain a squire?" the King spoke up, aware that his subject fell silent with anxiety.

"Yes, I feel I have much left to learn. To understand. To prepare for before I am ready for such demands and expectations."

"Let's see, you stopped an assassin, stopped some bandits, helped stop the darkspawn, something with the dwarves that's so big we're still sorting it out, and then saved my sorry hide. But you still don't think you're worthy?"

The poor boy licked his lips and dug both dangling hands into his ankle to steady himself. "No, Ser," he looked up into the King's eyes, "I don't."

"All right," Alistair shrugged as he sheathed the knighting blade.

"That's..." Gavin blinked in shock, "that's okay?"

"Sure," the King reached a hand out and helped Gavin rise to unsteady feet. "You can stay in service to Ser Daryan here, though I bet Rosie's got work for you and I should warn you she's a real terror as a boss."

"Dad!"

"See," he chuckled and tipped a head towards his eldest who no doubt already had plans on what to do with the only man the dwarves would accept into their circles. Patting into Gavin's back, Alistair smiled, "When you're ready, when you want it, that Knighthood's yours. Just say the word."

"Th..." Gavin turned to look out at the assemblage. Myra spun in her seat to follow suit. There was a split between people who were snarling at such disrespect, while others seemed to be ready to applaud a surprising maturity in such a young man. His eyes landed upon his parents. The Commander smiled serenely as he tipped his head to the boy, while his mother was waving a giant double thumbs up in the air.

When Myra turned away from the same inspection, she found she fell right into his amber eyes. The dorky smile that'd haunted her dreams since she was thirteen lifted on his lips and she returned it.

"Thank you, Sire," Gavin said and stepped to stand beside Ser Daryan.

"Well..." the King slapped together his hands. "If that's all?" he turned first to the bailiff, then Karelle. Both didn't rush in to plop more work into his lap so he smiled. "Let's eat! I am starving after this mess. Please tell me we have more cheese?"

"Yes, your Majesty," Karelle sighed but there was a smile at the end.

The King and his entourage all rose and walked down the aisles to begin a small parade towards the feasting tables. Perhaps that's where Bryn was, setting up things for all of the court to consume. Myra could flag her down...she should at least come for the funerals. Even if her supervisor could be a real witch about it.

Cailan picked up his mother's hand and helped her to rise. She kept patting it and tried to get Rosie to go with, but her sister was busy speaking fast with one of the advisors. Whatever vitally important business of Ferelden they were spewing, she still took the time to glance over at Anjali and give a smile. The assassin returned it with a kiss, and Rosie -- even with...okay most of the court was already shuffling out to get food, but a few could be watching. She cupped her hands in the air to snag the blown affection tight to her heart.

Beside the Knight he agreed to shackle himself too, Gavin trailed after the King. No doubt, Ser Daryan would make him stand around while the rest ate just because. Which was when Myra could sneak a few treats into his pockets. She already knew how to break into her father's secret cheese room. As he walked down the aisle, his head held high, he turned towards Myra. Their foolish eyes locked a moment, a brief beat in the grand scheme of things, but she felt herself falling into it. Amber and meadow, didn't sound like a terrible scent all things considered. She shifted, wanting to trail after to wish him luck or just say anything, when her mother grabbed onto her shoulder.

"My? Are you listening?"

"Huh? What?" Myra turned to Reiss who had her hands crossed. "What'd I miss now?"

"Your schooling. We need to arrange transport, and get in contact with..." While Reiss droned on about all that was necessary for Myra to step through the College gates and learn real magic, she kept turning her head back to watch Gavin. When her past vanished into the crowd, she turned back to focus on the future.

## Chapter Sixty-Eight

### Friends

Gavin paced about the memorial doing his best to not fidget. The new collar on the breastplate cut a bit too tight to his neck but there wasn't much time to try and fix it. By noon's light his mother appeared to be squinting against the sun bounding into the onyx statue's eyes. He'd find it a bit humorous if it didn't seem like something that would make both his parents purse their lips and change the subject.

In order to keep from clicking his nails or jostle the recently sharpened sword at his side, he untucked the letter. All it said was "Meet me at the Memorial, noon tomorrow." Found laying upon his pillow in the squire's living quarters he was a bit baffled but curious and willingly wandered off. He wasn't ditching his duties, though the spark of curiosity would have pushed him to do it either way.

A month and a half had passed since the treason incident. There was some fancy term for it the criers were passing about, but he couldn't remember it. Something about Love's Bloody Curse. It sounded graphic either way and not the sort of thing one should shout in front of children. He'd fallen back under the orders of Ser Daryan who, upon speaking to him after the sentencing only said, "Huh, so I can't even get rid of you with a promotion." That was all. No wondering why he'd do it, or even thanking him for standing by her side. Though Gavin would fear he'd be at the mercy of some demon posing as her should Daryan ever say as such to him.

His parents left a few days after that, once his mother was certain the King would make a full recovery. She'd kissed him on the cheek and wished him luck while his father ran into a starstruck Lambert.

"Are you him?" the squire gasped amazed while gazing up at the man buried in luggage.

"Him who?" Cullen began before turning to the boy and sighing. "Yes, I am him."

Most of the squires seemed shocked that the son of the Commander would in fact have the Commander as his father. Like it was all a lovely theory until the man actually showed up on their doorstep and ordered them around a bit. Cullen tried to walk through the barracks to see where Gavin slept but became mobbed by all the squires who were burning with questions.

Lambert stepped closer, his fingers shaking, "Could you sign this for me?"

"Why not," his father sighed while plucking up the parchment. When he turned it over, Cullen groaned, "It's the blighted sketch, of course it is. I shall be hounded by this until my pyre." But he dashed his signature on it and handed it back to Lambert before saying goodbye to Gavin.

He'd already received two more letters from his parents since that day. They too didn't ask why he never took the knighthood, something he wanted since he was five and tried to heft up his father's longsword. With golden bear helmet spinning on his tiny head, the blade barely made it a foot off the floor before falling back down. The squires wondered, loudly. Why come back to a life of shoveling shit and taking it from the Knights when he could be doling it out himself?

It was a good question. Maybe he could think of a better answer beyond it didn't feel right. One thing he promised to himself, if it didn't feel right he didn't wish to do it. So he wouldn't. Even if...

The dipping sun landed upon the parcel he just finished the night before. Deep into the candle, with the other squires shouting for him to put the light out, he added the last bit and bundled it all up in a bit of paper. He didn't know who sent him the note, but he had a pretty good idea.

Gavin was turned away from the entrance, trying to read through some of his mother's old letters when she was an Arlessa to not appear eager when the door opened. Light seared across the cool entrance, an angel's silhouette blotting it away.

While he wiped away the burn from the sun, she stepped forward and loudly dropped a bag on the floor. "Maker's breath, you're still here!" Myra wrung her hands out as if they required a good wash.

"I am," he stated the obvious while trying to hide away a silly little smile at her.

"That took for-ev-er! Mom kept on telling me what I should do, what I shouldn't do, what I should eat, what I..."

"Shouldn't eat?" Gavin threw out causing her to pause and laugh.

"And Dad. I mean, I knew he could blubber with the best of 'em but it was near constant waterworks. I'm not leaving Ferelden or taking to the sea to become a pirate. Stop being so dramatic," she slapped a hand to her thigh and dented the traveling coat he noticed was the same soft yellow as her mother's.

Silence fell between them, Gavin glancing over at the girl who left a note on his pillow while she seemed to be wringing her hands through the air. Her tongue kept lapping over her lips, weighing the words in her heart. "So," he began, unable to take the pressing tension, "you wanted to meet with me?"

"Yes!" Myra gasped, "Sorry, just... I know things have been crazy busy with me, and you. Wait, is that new? You are super shiny."

He laughed at her sticking her tongue out at the breastplate to try and see herself in it. "It is. I'm to head out to the dwarven kingdom soon and..."

"And Rosie thought you needed new pants, got it. How's she been? Super pain I bet."

"Your sister is, she's rather amenable to any suggestions I may have."

Myra blinked a moment and stuck a hand on her hip. "Really? That's the first I've ever heard. But I'm glad Rosie's being a bit less tyrant now that she's getting some." His cheeks lit up at the mere concept of anyone around him having intimate relations, Gavin trying to dig a finger into the tight neckline to give himself breathing space.

"What about you?" Myra continued. "You ready to go play ambassador for a bit?"

He closed his eyes tight and sighed. "I don't know. Ser Daryan is technically in charge." Myra snorted at her name and wrinkled her nose. She did that when anyone mentioned the Knight now. Her attending wasn't what was weighing most upon Gavin though. "And..." he waffled on his feet, "Cal is coming as well."

"What the shit for?"

"The various nobles think the fact he is himself one means he'll be able to converse with the dwarves better than a commoner such as myself." He managed to say the entire sentence without sneering, which was rather amazing.

"Right, commoner. They're shitting their pants scared that you'll walk all over 'em and steal their thunder. Which you should, by the way. Daryan and Cal, the three of you all the way out to Dwarflandia? And I thought a week of walking behind a flatulent druffalo was a curse."

He was going to miss this, which was probably why they hadn't spoken much since she told him her plans. Even after their romance imploded by his choice, Myra was there. More there than anyone else had been there in ways he could scarcely comprehend at times. But she had her dreams and he had his, even if they did involve Cal sharing a tent with him.

"Well," Myra scampered forward and patted Gavin on the shoulder, "I have faith in you. Also that dwarven queen blighted loves you."

"What?" he blinked in confusion. The Queen had been cordial, but as cold to him as anyone else that was human.

Myra smiled, "Oh yeah. Pretty sure she wants to adopt you. But don't let Rosie make you, even if she'll get something shiny out of the deal."

"I won't," Gavin nodded, the trepidation he felt about this trip and how easily he could fail Ferelden breaking apart. Somehow Myra made the unassailable mountain seem like a grassy hill.

"Anyway, I guess I just wanted to say goodbye to you before I left," she flinched at the end as if she didn't really want to, but he knew she did. She'd been ecstatic about the spells she could learn, the courses the college promised, and some stuffy old elven professor who promised to show her the ropes special. It was the leaving part that stung.

"You'll love it. Mom says she remembers some of your professors a bit. One is really nice and the other is rather surly."

"Which is which?" Myra asked.

"I..." Gavin paled as his eyes darted around, "I can't remember."

"I'll just ask who can tell no lies and who can tell no truth. That'll solve it right quick," she laughed so strongly she was brighter than the sun. He was going to miss her no matter what.

"When are you leaving?" he asked, trying to focus on the here and now.

"Technically, I already left," Myra squinted up her face and jabbed a finger towards the door.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Said my goodbyes to Mom and the gang, Dad, Bryn, Dad again, the siblings, Dad one last time and road out on the wagon until we got to a turn in the road. Leaped off the back and dashed out here."

"Myra, are you trying to run...?"

"Don't be such a worrywart," she waved her hand through the air and, as if it always belonged there, gripped onto his upper arm to calm him. "It's a slow as snot cart. I can catch up to it before it's even made it out of Denerim. I just..." She swallowed hard, her head tipping down while her cheeks burned, "I wanted to say goodbye to you without, without everyone around making a thing about it. That's all."

"Okay," he nodded, glad he wasn't partial to her attempting to flee into the countryside. "I'm glad," Gavin smiled wistfully, "because I wanted to see you one last time too."

Myra smiled bitterly before wrinkling her nose, "I mean, it's not forever, right. A couple years or so up north studying hard. And I'll write all the time."

He tipped his head at her, his lips flattened.

"I swear! I will, every week. Just you see. To you, to mom, to dad. Maybe I can bundle up mom and dad's into one to save on time. Bryn." Myra paused in running out her list of duties as her eyes darted up through her lashes. "I don't want to stop being friends or be as dumb as I was before."

Gavin smiled sweetly even as his heavy heart hung precariously in his chest. "I don't want that either. I mean, I do want to be your friend. I just..." he winced, the words falling from him fast. Myra found it rather humorous, the girl tugging her hand up to her nose and swiping at it as if to say 'I get ya.'

"Well," she turned to glance back at the door, "that druffalo might be slow but it's not dead yet."

"Oh!" he held up a hand for her and picked up the parcel. "Wait a moment. This is..." Aware his voice leaped into the octave of a pre-teen, Gavin tried to drag it back down while laying the package flat in his arms. "This is for you."

"Okay...?" Myra plucked it up and twisted it around a moment, the question growing on her face. Seeming to be certain nothing wild would leap out, she ripped off the paper in one clean go. Ruffling her fingers over the patch of brown fur, Myra gasped, "Is this...?"

With a roll of her hands, she unfurled the cloak. Wool dyed a soft green tumbled to the ground while the brown fur of all the rabbits that fed the caravan circled the collar to keep the wearer warm. "But I thought," she snickered in confusion, her fingers petting the soft fur, "I thought you were making it for you."

"It's far too narrow for my frame," Gavin explained while glancing a hand off of his creation, "I always meant it to be for you. As a birthday present, but then I realized I wouldn't see you then so I had to finish it now. I'm, I'm sorry it's not very fancy and it's just a bit of fur sewn to wool. You can find anything better in the stocks of a merchant on the road...."

His apology faded as Myra swung the cloak up around her shoulders. The soft, brown fur cupped her cheeks while the green that matched her eyes caressed down her body. "Gavin," she smiled wide at him, "I love it."

Forgetting the distance between them, Myra leaned close and puckered her lips to his cheek. He closed his eyes tight, his breath stilling to imprint the last feel of her touch. When it broke from his skin, a cool autumn breeze about to turn to winter filling its place, he opened his eyes. Bright green meadows gazed right beside him.

How easily he could scoop her up in his arms. Cover her in kisses. Forget everything he promised himself, every duty binding up his heart, every wish she had for her life and lay with her right here with only the cloak for a cushion against the cold ground.

Glancing down at his shoes, Gavin whispered, "I'm glad you like it."

She smiled, the moment fading as soon as it appeared. Myra slid back to a safer distance but couldn't stop petting the furry collar to keep her warm. "I do. It's very thoughtful and warm. I feel a right arse for not getting you anything now."

"You'll be at the college, I could always use a rune or two."

"Blighted practical. See, this is why you need me around. I'll be the one to get you a helmet full of fairy floss or something fun. Everyone else can give you the practical gifts," she said with a laugh but it dented and warped from reality. His birthday would arrive soon while she'd be starting the next chapter of her life, as would he. There was no changing that, not that either of them really wished to.

"You should probably go, so you don't have to run all the way out of the city," he wouldn't let himself tear up while saying goodbye. Myra deserved a strong front.

"Yeah," she tugged at her hair that was back in its braid. "I guess I should. It's been great," she reached out with her hand and he took it. They didn't shake, that seemed too informal, but he held her tiny fingers for a few beats while they stared into each other's eyes.

Hefting up her luggage, she jabbed a thumb behind her while she waltzed backwards. Her eyes wouldn't leave Gavin even as her body did. "I will write though. I swear. All the time, though...if you don't hear from me for a few weeks just send a curt message telling me to check my damn mail. In case. Things might get busy."

At the door she paused, her eyes drifting up and down his body. "Bye, Gavin."

"Goodbye, Myra," he waved as she spun on her heels and good on her word broke into a run to catch her abandoned ride. The wool cloak billowed out behind her like a green ribbon trailing that impossible girl.

It could have gone so much more different. He could have lied to himself, accepted the knighthood without question, bedded Myra when she wished and given her his heart. Perhaps even happily, he wasn't certain. Another life, it could have been a happy one -- much easier than what he faced ahead of himself now. But something told him this wasn't the last time he'd see her, that pretty girl from the city who gave him his first kiss.

His eyes darted up to the statue, his mother always gazing to the west to watch over Ferelden. With a spring in his step, he walked out into the light prepared to take on his duties with an open heart.

THE END

