Epilogue

CHAPTER ONE

Home

Nowhere in all of Ferelden smelled of here. Nor other parts of thedas he'd been sent on missions to, come to think of it. Sweet as fresh hay, the earthy life he ran from wafted on the winds as any good farm in the Hinterlands would. But weaved into every cow hide sunning in the warmth was a static bolt of magic. It hissed through the very bones of the place, following on the trails of an almost sterile medicinal smell. It smelled as if one were to shove your head into a giant basket of recently plucked corn and then menthol in one go. He never realized how much of his life was spent with magic around him until he stepped away from it.

Nowhere was like the little abbey out in the woods of Redcliffe, and nowhere was quite like home.

As Gavin stepped through the gates, he anticipated his father to be wandering around outside doing his best to keep busy and not watch for him. It'd been awhile since he'd last visited, duty always keeping him tugged in a thousand different directions. His parents would somehow find time to sneak on back to Denerim and see their boy when they could, but it wasn't the same.

He'd been hoarding his leave, planning to head out to the farm in order to help during harvest. But then a letter arrived from his father asking rather cryptically if he'd consider a visit. Gavin put little thought to it for its vagueness, until the King popped his head in and all but dragged him out to the road. The entire week long trek he couldn't shake away the growing concern in his guts even as they bounced on the back of a horse.

By the bend around Lothering, he convinced himself that it was either darkspawn or a fire. Seeing as how the abbey walls were standing without a hint of ash anywhere, and there were none of those dark creatures chittering about, he was left uncertain. Perhaps his mother used her influence to get a wish from the King?

Wouldn't that be his luck? He wasn't of high rank but enough in the order knew he bore some strange halo about him. The Princess wouldn't make a great fuss about Gavin, but the King was a different matter entirely.

Heaving the traveling pack off his shoulders, Gavin stood in the courtyard that was whisper quiet. Afternoon, most people in hospice would be napping, while the fields were entering into a senescence themselves. The late summer heat tried to dig into his shoulders, most of the sweat already streaking down his back as he wrung against the neck of the traveling coat.

Well, well, a voice called from the stables. Gavin turned but instead of his father, old Albert stood by the wayside.

The man was a scarecrow come to life, to the point he would on occasion have straw stuffed up his cuffs and no explanation to give. Lean face, gaunt in the cheeks, but with a haunting sparkle in his eyes, he'd been a staple around the abbey's farm for years.

Young Master Gavin, Albert snickered before slapping a hand to his thigh. Dust erupted from the move, burning in the air. Sorry, lookin' at ya, you ain't so young no more.

The man's finger jabbed towards the weeks worth of stubble that was leaning to a beard upon Gavin's jaw. He rubbed a palm over it and snickered. There wasn't much of a chance to freshen up on the road.

Get over here, Albert waved wide, his hands extended far. When Gavin fell into them for a congenial hug, the old man snickered, Or should I be bowin' instead.

No, Gavin stepped back, unable to stop the blush burning on his cheeks. No, don't be silly.

Ser Gavin, he drew his fingers in a circle over his chin while staring up at the man who couldn't cease fiddling with the scabbard at his side. Expected you to be done up in all that fancy metal like a true Knight.

We only wear that when facing down a foe, this... Gavin tugged up the riding leathers with a bit of padding and splintmail, this is the more typical Knight outfit.

Suits you, Albert smiled wide, patting Gavin harder in the shoulder as if to test Ferleden's latest son. Suddenly his grin dimmed and the sparkling eyes clouded over, Yer mom's real proud. Been telling everyone about it.

Gavin rolled his eyes and sighed, That does not surprise me. Where's my father?

He's... Albert swallowed hard, his head pivoting up to the second floor. The pit in Gavin's stomach opened wider as he realized the old farmhand was staring right at his parent's bedroom door.

It's why I'm here, he shook off the dour thoughts in an instant, giving a bigger smile like a fool to throw Gavin off. Your pa's had his hands full so brought me in early. Keepin' way too many mages in line is exhausting.

The man was clearly giving it his all to distract Gavin but the trepidation inside of him was growing larger with every beat of his heart. Albert...?

Go and see yer Pa. You, uh, the scarecrow slunk back a bit, his fingers hefting up a pitchfork left lying in the sun. His father would have blown a blood vessel if Gavin had ever done something like that. Tools belonged in the shed, safe away from the elements.

What was going on that his father didn't even care about such things?

Just head up, Gavy, Albert nodded his head and turned back to the hay that didn't need any stirring.

Flexing his fingers and doing his best to stop the hitch of a breath burning through his lungs like fiery acid, Gavin began what felt an unending climb up the stairs. Barely any doors opened, or were left open. There seemed to be fewer and fewer residences as the years went by. Some of that was due to his mother's skills, some to the march of time. It was hard to imagine this not being a place of healing, but who knew what the future could have in store. Perhaps it'd finally be a chance for his parents to retire properly, instead of their half assumed one when they moved out here.

He was trying to distract himself. To focus on other matters that didn't matter instead of the gaping hole burning in his brain. Doing his best to disguise the tremble in his fingers, Gavin clamped down on the door latch hard. It didn't entirely work, the lift rattling in his grip, but he prodded open the door and stepped into his parent's room.

Darkness seeped into the normally sunny bedroom. The shutters that were thick enough to stop the breath of the Maker were all drawn shut. A single candle danced upon a nightstand, casting a haunting glow upon the man sitting on a chair beside it. He had his head tipped down as if he was less catching a few winks than deep in prayer.

Gavin turned from his father to the bed, when all the fear he'd been carrying since leaving Denerim bloomed. Skin of a grey ash, her eyes sunken deep into the sockets, hair thin to the point it appeared as if clumps fell out, she looked as if she was already across the veil. Tucked into the great bed his father built, his mother looked so frail and tiny, like a quail bone about to snap in half.

He must have made a sound at the sight, as his father's head snapped up. It took a moment for the weary eyes to find the intruder before Cullen wiped across his face to try and snap a semblance of normalcy into it. Gavin! he called, the voice splintered in half. Turning to the weak body in bed, he whispered, Lana, our son's come home.

Death drew its icy claws away from its hold on his mother as her lips rose from the news. Slowly, her eyelids opened and she stared in rapture at her boy left dumbstruck in the doorway. Cullen rose from the chair, his bones creaking and back hunched as he no doubt sat there for hours watching over her.

Son, he moved to wrap a hand around Gavin, when the boy met him with both. Trapped in a full hug with his father, Gavin's heart gave out a single sob. It was only one, while a multitude sat chained inside, but his father tightened his grip. Did he not want Lana to see her boy come undone or was he trying to find his own strength from his son?

We didn't think you'd be out here until later into the year, Cullen said. Scratchy stubble claimed most of his jawline, what used to be white as snow now an ashen grey from dirt he hadn't taken the time to clean off. The bags under his eyes lengthened down his cheeks and he teetered a bit from his underused legs.

Why didn't he tell him? Why didn't he warn him how dire things were?

Gavin wanted to scream them all at the man, but his father looked as if he too was about to drop from a dead faint. Trying to shake the anger away, he rubbed his neck, I had a bit of a lull and thought it'd be nice to see you.

We missed you, his dad said softly.

Sweetie, the brittle voice cracked, but even the pain inside couldn't deny the joy on her lips. His mother struggled to sit up a bit, her head rising from the pillow as she took him in.

Mom, Gavin tried to smile in response, but his stomach was tying itself in knots. How long had this been going on? And no one would tell him?

Come sit by me, she turned to gaze at the vacant chair. By the candle light it looked as if his father's shadow was permanently etched into the surface. Gavin glanced over at Cullen, uncertain if it was wise, but he gestured a hand to it.

Bundling up his limp fingers, Gavin curled up onto the chair when he was struck by a far too familiar smell. Not of candies and cold tea, but rot and illness. His mother didn't seem to be aware of it, her head tipping a bit to the side as she looked up at him.

Look at that beard, Maker's breath.

I... he absently scraped a hand over his jaw, I didn't have a chance to shave it.

It suits you, his mother smiled and nodded her head. Far better than anything your father could ever grow. Instead of a barb, she smiled serenely at her husband who shrugged.

Dark hair makes that work far better. You're lucky in that department.

There were a thousand unsaid words seeping through the floor. Each one crowded around his legs begging to be voiced, but looking at his father -- broken, hungry, terrified -- he couldn't speak a one. Instead, Gavin focused fully on his mother who wasn't about to let this opportunity pass her by.

How was the trip?

Good, not many out on the King's Highway this time of year. Too hot for most, he paused and reached into his bag, I did bring a few things from Denerim, um... Rifling over the satchel, Gavin's fingers glanced across a few foolish bobbles he thought to snatch up for his parents. Books, candies, a fresh whetstone, it all seemed so trivial.

This tea, he selected the tin which was actually a gift from Ms. Sayer.

Ooh, his mom's clouded eyes focused on the green box. What is it?

Some special blend, apparently a few of the college brewers are gathering together to create their own Ferelden themed teas. This one's for the, uh, memory of the Hero of Ferelden. He thought it'd be a lark, drinking her memorial tea same as all the times she'd insist they stop by her memorial in Denerim when she was in town. His mother seemed to enjoy walking around her old things telling him about them.

Looking at her now, her skin pocked and hanging like wet sacks off her brittle bones, Gavin felt like a demon for even bringing it. But his mom's hand skirted over the tin and she lifted it free. Sounds delightful. I can't wait to try a cup.

His father scurried forward and picked up the blend, I'll go and get a kettle and some cups while you two catch up.

Thanks, love, Lana called with a small wave of her fingers.

It was a simple task, but at the door his father paused and turned back. Broken eyes skirted over the woman in his bed as if...as if he feared he'd never see her again. When the door closed, his father off to perform his duty, Lana sighed.

I'm glad you're here. Your father needs a break but will he take one? Of course not.

Mom... Gavin shifted in his seat, his lip trembling at the wave of accusations building inside of him. Mom, why wasn't I...?

Her shoulders dragged even further downward, elongating the far too thin neck as she sighed. Cloudy eyes turned to him, I assume you're here because of Ali?

Yeah, he nodded, clinging to whatever he could. Yes, the King he ordered me out here. Why didn't either of you? How long has this been...? Mom?

Over a month now, she groaned, fingers slumped onto her thighs. Gavin hissed at the thought. He'd received at least three letters from his parents since then, none of them mentioning her illness. Sensing the change in her son, Lana glanced over, You know your father. He can't fight this, he can't slay it, he can't... Sweetie, he can't save me, so he's denying it.

Mom! Can't save her? Was it truly that definite? Was she...?

Maker, even he couldn't think it. His heart constricted tight in his chest, Gavin struggling to suck back in the tears that began as the truth crashed against him.

What is it? Maybe I can...I know people. They know things that...

Gavin, her paper thin fingers fell into his. She couldn't grip onto them, and they felt cold and so fragile in his trembling grasp. It's okay.

It's not fair.

She tipped her head to the side and a smile flitted about her lips. That may be, but it's also okay. He wanted to bawl on her shoulder, to bury his face into her stomach and cry ugly tears the way he did when a child with a skinned knee. But she was far too fragile to take such a beating, and she needed him to be strong.

The door opened, Cullen stepping in quickly with a tray in his arms. The kettle's not at boiling, but considering your tea issues I didn't think it'd much matter.

They both did. His dad was trying to smile in his own pinched lip way, but that denial wasn't reaching his eyes. All his life, his father looked at his mother in open awe, as if she was the only person in the room. Now, he risked furtive glances from the side, terrified that at any moment she might flee from them both. Flee so far neither could reach her.

While the tea steeped, his father took a seat on the bed beside his mother's legs. He kept patting a hand near her while jostling a cup until it was ready. How long will you be able to stay with us? Cullen began, acting as if everything was normal.

For awhile.

Nothing with the dwarven kingdom on the horizon?

As the abnormalcy of it all struck hard to Gavin, he accepted the cup of tea from his father. Ah, no. The Queen is in commune and she's opened up negotiations to more than just me. Hopefully I won't be required to visit out there as often.

Maybe you can finally get a place of your own, his mother said with a smile. She had to circle both hands around her cup of tea and slowly brought it to her lips. Ooh, tangy.

There's a raspberry swirl to try and bring out the chocolate undertones, Gavin said. He tipped the lip to his mouth, but couldn't taste anything of the hot leaf water washing down his gullet. Everything smelled of ash burning on a hot pyre.

Gavin, his mother suddenly turned her head to him. Is that a scar on your bottom lip?

Uh, guiltily, he thumbed the deep cut and gulped. Yes. From a landslide, one of the falling rocks struck me in the face.

Lana chuckled and turned to her husband, Another lip scar? She moved her hand forward a bit, and Cullen met her first. Locking her hand tight in his, they stared deep into each other's eyes. It must run in the blood.

Quietly, Gavin sipped the tea doing his best to not think that each breath from her could be the last.

CHAPTER TWO

The Truth

The sword became a plow, his cuirass traded for an apron as Gavin buried himself back into the world he ran so far from. Five years he'd been serving in Denerim, rarely thinking of what awaited back at the abbey. All his life it was as unchanging as the mountains, and now...now it felt as if the entire peak was going to crumble into dust.

He wiped a hand against his forehead, trying to clear away the sting of sweat dripping into his eyes. The sun wasn't about to let anyone escape easily, certainly no upstart who thought himself too good for this work. For the past two weeks he stayed and waited. Every day his father insisted that it was a minor illness and given enough rest his mother would recuperate. Even as he had to dribble soup into her aching lips and wipe off the spill, Cullen remained deluded that there would be a happy ending in sight. There was no chance Gavin could break that illusion, even if he had the power or will.

Albert, Gavin waved to the man who was practically running the place in his parents absence. He took over the handful of animals they kept about -- never much beyond a small head to feed the occupants and grow another season. Gavin picked up the weeding and haying as much as possible, though he didn't realize how flabby his arms had grown while sitting prim on a horse until he was knee deep in grass. The scythe had never despised the prodigal son more.

Oh, ah, youngling, Albert smiled, giving a cheery wave.

The pigs? he began to walk towards the sty Albert was overseeing in the meantime.

Got 'em fed. Though, that one... his wizened finger jabbed through the air at a boar who looked as if he was about to gore everything in his path, with the one eye, he ain't up to no good.

You don't say, Gavin chuckled. He'd seen his fair share of that same look, often on the faces of brigands he was about to put a sword through.

Best be eating him up soon afore he eats you, Albert laughed and jabbed a finger into Gavin's side. He did that when the boy was younger, always warning the small lad that the pigs were just as likely to take a bite as anything. This time his digit didn't even manage to dent past the nail into Gavin's taut body.

I'll keep that under consideration, the young man responded, eyeing up a surly sow who was far too old to be worth keeping around as well. Father will have to make the final decision.

Ah... Albert grew deathly quiet, his pale eyes darting around the summer sun.

Gavin caught on quickly, What is it?

Just, your ol' man. Not that he ain't, well, he was never much of a peach truth be told. I've known bears less grouchy. That caused Gavin to laugh. But he...he ain't been in his right mind as of late. And, slowly, Albert's eyes trailed out towards the horizon, I don't foresee that fixing itself anytime soon.

Gavin followed the gaze to spot a shadow seated in the middle of the field. It looked dark as night by the sun's rays, not moving much beyond the small turn of a head. Who was out in the grass he had yet to hay?

I'll...I'll consider that as well, Gavin said, stumbling towards the shadow.

Should call you Ser Consider, Albert shot back. He jammed his straw hat on tight and with a whistle under his breath moved on to appeasing the chickens who were also long past culling. Quite a few of the layers ceased earning their keep, to the point Gavin caught on. While the farm wasn't in ruin, and the animals were all being fed, the few patients tended to, it did seem as if...death itself had been banned.

With both hands wafting over the knotted tops of the grass, Gavin waded into the field. As he drew closer the shadow lightened but not by much. The dark, curly hair spilled off of both sides of the chair. Much of it was matted at the back because trying to untangle it caused her far too great a pain. A blanket was tossed over her lap, despite the high heat, and she kept lifting her finger a bit almost as if she wanted to cast a small spell off it.

Mom, he began, coming to a stop just beside her.

Sweetie, she struggled to turn her head to find him, but the smile was genuine.

What are you doing out here? How did you even get out here?

She couldn't walk. Even before this took over, she'd reached the point a cane wasn't enough. Most of her life was spent being carried around by a man who was growing hunched by the work, but would he complain? Never.

Gesturing towards the abbey, Lana smiled, One of the girls helped. We have a system in place. Don't make that face, young man.

He blinked a moment, trying to shake away what was no doubt a familiar glower at the facts. She belonged in bed, resting. In theory, healing. Trudging all the way out here could cost her...

It's a lovely day, she sighed, sliding back in the chair. I always preferred summer to the winter chill. Hilarious I know, she referred to her ice spells which couldn't be surpassed by any mage he ever met. Come, Lana jabbed at the grass beside her, stand by me.

Gavin sucked in a breath and hobbled over. He tried to stand beside her chair, but it felt strange. Around age twelve he grew taller than his mother, but never larger -- even with her softer voice, and gentle touch, there was a terrifying power inside that could rock nearly every stone in Ferelden. Now, as he gazed down at her gaunt form swaddled in a blanket while sweat coated his body, he felt the stronger of them and hated it.

Crouching down, Gavin nearly sat upon the muddy ground until his head was level with his mother's. It's beautiful, she sighed to herself.

The azure sky wrapped itself around the frostback mountains far in the distance, their white peaks shattering it as if they too wished to be clouds. Greens sharper than anything he'd seen prodded against the bright blue, the flat lands of the farm giving way to pressing in forests. Deeper inside were deer leaping through the winding creek Gavin used to splash in as a boy. Even further was another farm, owned by a woman Gavin convinced himself was a secret witch because she owned an apple farm and he had a dangerous imagination at times. If one kept going eventually you'd reach Redcliffe itself -- the village that once caught his captivation seemed so small now.

You see it, don't you? his mother turned to him, the clouds in her eyes parting a moment.

The lovely day? Gavin stuttered.

Ferelden, thedas itself. A thousand mothers sitting with a thousand sons watching the clouds float by, her chapped lips lifted in a small smile at that thought.

He devoted himself to protecting Ferelden, to following his duty to the end of his life should the need be. To protect those same mothers that his mother once saved. Gavin tried to shy away from the enormity of the view before him, of all those people who depended upon him and people like him to combat the darkness.

Sweetie, her hand, delicate as the finest tissue designed for a lady's thin nose, skirted over his. Gavin gripped tight, his callused and mud stained fingers embracing hers. Do you know why I did it? Why I set out to save the world, to throw my life to the void for a cause I barely knew about?

He swallowed hard, his eyes hunting over the horizon. They spoke of it sometimes, Gavin wondering why his mom was this great war hero that people didn't talk much about. She tried to explain it, but the explanation always rang a bit hollow. At least until he too stood at the gates of death and didn't flinch.

Because someone had to.

The smile on his mother's lips thinned, all her long years stretching out before her with very little ahead. And, she whispered, do you know why I stopped?

Because... Gavin began before his throat clogged. No, he didn't. He had no grasp of why his parents both gave up the fight. But if they hadn't he wouldn't exist. The abbey wouldn't exist. Who knew how many countless lives that they saved here would be lost. And who knew how many lives out there in the rest of thedas were lost because of it.

I am so proud of you, Gavin, his mother said, her fingers cupping his cheek.

That... Humility rampaged up to burn on his cheeks and he tried to turn away. He hadn't done much in his life so far, it felt as if there was always more to do. Too much at times.

Be happy, okay, she said, tears sparkling in her eyes. The change was so sudden, Gavin gasped and reached for her.

Mom?

I know, it's a lot to ask, she didn't flinch but the tears wouldn't cease either. But please, make yourself a life you can live with. A life that fills your heart... She placed her cold palm to his chest, this giant, far too generous heart, with joy.

He glanced down at her hand as it landed back