Work Text:
Gavin didn’t notice the quiet shuffle of near silent feet behind him as he pulled out a set of old letters. The paper was soft from unfolding and refolding, caresses from years of rereading fading ink, everything about the letters showed their age. Gavin skimmed the words long since memorized, his fingers tracing the words, the slanted script betraying an active mind in a rush to finish its thoughts before it moved on to the next one. Gavin’s eyes snagged on the signature and stayed there. How long had it been since he’d seen its owner? Ten years? Twelve? He’d lost track. He’d almost forgotten the sound of his friend’s voice. The childish tenor starting to break into a man’s baritone as he said good-bye one last time before leaving for the Free Marches.
Gavin had been so angry and he didn’t even know why he had been so angry. He was still angry if he were honest with himself. After all, noble sons were frequently sent to squire and learn yet more noble arts. Fergus had gone to the army after all. As a second son, Gavin didn’t have to go. He’d opted to learn less noble skills, much to his father’s chagrin. His mother was proud of him even if she didn’t fully understand the reasoning behind it. After all, he wasn’t very good at archery, a useful skill. Daggers and poison suited him, matching the poison of anger and pain in his blood. Well the poison he imagined was there. Which was the same thing wasn’t it?
“Hmm. Those letters look very well read,” remarked a lilting voice above his head.
Gavin twisted, a knife appearing in one hand, the other clutching the papers close to his chest. The Antivan assassin stood behind him, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the penned words Gavin cherished and hated. He scowled at the elf even as his heart fluttered in his chest. He hadn’t been able to get Zevran Arainai out of his head since meeting the assassin on the road. Maybe it was foolish to keep someone around who had been hired to kill him but Gavin couldn’t bring himself to end the fool. “They’re none of your business,” he huffed before twisting back around and stuffing the letters back into their envelope.
Zevran rolled his eyes and gracefully sat down next to him. “Judging by your reaction, a former lover or family,” the elf teased.
Gavin didn’t respond.
“Lover then. Or someone very close, a brother from another mother, perhaps?” Zevran’s tone turned thoughtful. Clearly he wasn’t going to drop the subject.
Gavin let out a forceful breath. “Childhood friend.” If he said any more, he wasn’t sure he’d keep his temper or tears in check. He was a fool and he knew it.
Zevran gave him an overly familiar elbow to the ribs. “Ah. Unrequited feelings then?” Zevran laughed at Gavin’s scowl. “But on whose part? Your’s or their’s?”
Gavin’s breath caught in his throat and his heart lurched. He choked back a sob, hoping Zevran wouldn’t hear it. He wasn’t successful.
“Oh my dear man,” Zevran cooed softly. He placed a gentle hand on Gavin’s shoulder and squeezed. “You didn’t even realize, did you?”
Gavin shook his head, not trusting his voice. Zevran moved his hand to the far shoulder and squeezed Gavin into his side. The Warden leaned in and closed his eyes, tears silently falling down his cheeks. The anger drained away to grief for something he’d never had, a future he hadn’t allowed himself to dream of because of its impossibility.
He lost track of the time as Zevran held him in a loose embrace and the tears fell. Eventually he wiped his face with his hands and sat up. Zevran let him go and gave him a sad smile. “Ready to talk about it, my friend?”
Gavin shook his head. “Not really but I suppose you’ll mother me until I do.” The elf gave him a shameless grin. “They’re from my best friend growing up. His father sent him to the Free Marches to squire under knights there and I just felt so betrayed that he’d go and leave me behind. Nevermind that he had no choice in the matter. It was his father’s decision, a father who was never happy no matter how hard my friend worked to impress him. He wrote to me, every month at first. But I never answered any of them. I was too angry and I didn’t even know why. After a few years, he stopped writing, tired of putting in all the effort to maintain a friendship and getting nothing in return.” He paused, catching his breath. “You know, I learned how to be a ranger because he was always so talented at archery. I tried so hard to be as good but it never took. Daggers suited me better. Poisons came naturally as well. But the original inspiration came from Nate.”
Zevran kept silent, a comforting presence at his side. Gavin took a shuddering breath. “It doesn’t matter even if we met again and he possibly felt the same way.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because his father ordered the murder of my family.”
Zevran sat up straight and stared at him. “Rendon Howe’s son? That’s who you pine for still?”
Gavin scowled. “I wouldn’t exactly call it pining but yes. He was my best friend, closer than my own brother, Fergus.” He sighed. Too many years and too much had happened. Better to let go of any dream. He watched Zevran settle back into a relaxed seat out of the corner of his eye.
He may not have had a chance with Nathaniel Howe but Zevran? There was a ripe possibility there. One man confident in who he was and who he loved, another still learning himself. Perhaps Gavin wasn’t destined to be alone or stuck in a loveless marriage as he had assumed for most of his life.
Zevran was watching him and when he realized he was caught, gave Gavin a flirtatious grin. “Just enjoying the view,” the elf remarked. Gavin turned his body toward the elf and smirked in return. Maybe there was a future of love for him. He had only to take a leap of faith to find out.