Epilogue

Last Words

A laugh skirted around the tables. Gavin missed the set up, so the punchline meant little to him as he stirred a mash of gravy around with his finger. There was bread to mop it up properly, but his stomach growled in anger. After so many days skirting by on little more than water and broth, having such a heavy meal was doing him in. Glancing around the spread brought to them -- roast pork, nearly the entire shoulder no less, summer squashes steamed and sliced, and enough desserts to satisfy even his aunt Hawke's sweet tooth -- if he ate all that was offered they'd have to let his armor out.

The thought stilled his stained finger. He wasn't returning to Denerim for some time, that much he knew. More than just his father needing him, the idea of standing in court, of passing pleasantries as if his heart wasn't mush in his chest seemed beyond impossible.

"How ya doing there, boy?" Albert skirted a hand along Gavin's shoulders to help himself down onto the bench. The old scarecrow had a plate full of fixins that would feed a team of oxen. No one knew where he put it.

With a shrug, Gavin tried to force on a smile, but Albert waved it away as a capon's leg shredded apart in his teeth. Gavin's lips thundered back to the grimace that he feared may never leave. "Clinging, as best I can."

"Your Mom, she was..." Albert's thoughts faded as every polite conversation died. Eyes glanced around the room, the tears that never seemed to truly vanish threatening to resume. "She was something else. When you look at her she seemed sweet as peach pie, but cross her and..." The old farmhand shuddered, "Let's just say I wouldn't even want to be the Maker Himself and say anything bad about you or your pop in front of her."

It was foolish, but it brought a quick smile to Gavin. "There were more than a few squires in my company who'd run the other way when they heard the whack of her cane." She didn't visit often, but his mother seemed to have a preternatural ability to sense when someone was mean to her baby boy and sink her fangs into just the right spot. Even Daryan stopped being quite as big a pain in the butt for a few years until she was sent off to watch over the southern lands, and Gavin chose to accept the title that'd been waiting for him.

"I remember this one time," Albert began, both hands digging in deep to the table as he tipped back to stare at the ceiling, "when you was just a teeny little ankle biter. Like four or five. And you had this nasty habit of sneaking off into any tiny corner you could afind. Quiet as a mouse too."

Gavin's cheeks burned white hot at the old man reminding him of his childhood. He had a few recollections of finding solace in the darker, silent places of the abbey, but nothing concrete.

"Didn't use to be no problem," Albert clearly wanted to get this story out, a few more people leaning in tighter to overhear. "They'd send the dog to sniff you out. Honor was always quickest to find you. But one day your Pop was out on some big errand and took the mabari with. Your mum comes clip clopping up and down the stairs, her head whipping back and forth. She wouldn't say nothing, but it was obvious she was looking for something important and in straits."

Albert took a great drink of the mead drifting around the table, then continued. "That was Lady R for ya. Terrible about asking for help."

A single scoff broke from the door. Gavin turned in his seat to find his father standing forlornly in the frame. People offered him a seat, tried to get him food, but he refused. He wouldn't talk to anyone, wouldn't eat, just remained aloof from all. In truth, Gavin was surprised his father hadn't run off into the forest to be alone for a few days. It was impressive he remained near so many even at this distance. At Albert's assessment, Gavin expected Cullen to defend his wife, but he seemed to be nodding in agreement.