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WHO: Gavin and OPEN
WHAT: After returning to the Mire, Gavin goes around delivering any mail that had arrived at Skyhold for people.
WHEN: Now
WHERE: Fallow Mire
NOTES: There's probably going to be some shippy shit with him and Maxwell sorry not sorry

Open.

Gavin has two satchels slung over his shoulder, full of mail, humming as he walked through the camp. For the letters whose recipients he knew by name, he simply went directly to them with a smile and a wave, to hand them their post. It wasn't until they'd all gotten their letters that Gavin started looking through the ones with unfamiliar names.

He frowned - because reading was hard - and had to spend several minutes mouthing out each name, or asking someone else to read it for him, before calling out for the person in question and just sort of hoping they, or someone that knew them, would hear him.

For Maxwell.

"Maxwell! Got something for you," Gavin called as he jogged up to the man, grinning from ear to ear as he pulled out the scroll. The seal had already been broken - by Leliana's spies, of course - but they'd done a pretty good job of putting it back together.

"Letter came for you, at Skyhold."

For Varric.

Of the two satchels, one, in its entirety, was for Varric. So he left the dwarf for last, and went to find him once the rest of the deliveries were finished, before holding the entire bag out to him.

"Here, you ah - you got a lot of mail. They asked me to bring it back for you, from Skyhold."

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"Bribery, Gavin. You are attempting and managing bribery. Do it as much as you like but at the very least be honest with yourself about what it is you are doing." If it worked, it worked- but it should not be a lie Gavin believed as well. That would leave him at a disadvantage in the future to assume it something so simple and so easy. The world never was. Less so when one was an elf.

Of course that comment, well. Zevran turned slowly, quirking a brow at Gavin. Did he constantly forget who it was he spoke to? "No, I cannot possibly understand at all why that might happen. It happens most where there are the impoverished, and where there are the noble. At least when nobles arrange such things the cattle are fattened."

"You don't have to put it that way," Gavin replied, his voice growing smaller, his ears drooping. Bribery.

He didn't bother to disagree. (It was basically true.)

"Well I don't understand any of it," He said, a little defensively, though the defensiveness was mostly out of embarrassment. The reproach in Zevran's voice was hard to ignore. "But then I don't understand how a thing like Corypheus exists, and I don't understand why Orlais keeps fighting itself, and I don't understand why templars and mages have to kill each other."

He didn't understand why he could be born and just immediately not be right.

He sighed.

"No, I do. Because the gods don't care, and nor does anyone else. Sorry."

"I do. You should as well. Call it what you like around everyone else but for yourself? Know what you are doing. Own it. The sooner you are able to do that the easier your life will be. Pretending it is anything else is a disservice to everyone involved." Even if whoever he gifted things to thought them as gifts- Gavin ought to be mindful of the truth. It was a hard truth, an uncomfortable one, but a truth none the less.

"...How old are you? Truly." Because this was the whinging of a child. A particularly sheltered and ignorant child. "Because it is more than gods and caring. Pinning it on that is childish, and you are most certainly not a child. Or at least I would hope not considering I have bedded you."

"I'm thirty-two, Zevran," Gavin said, a little wearily. "I'm old enough to admit when things don't make any sense to me. So no. Not a child. Just an idiot, who bribes everyone he knows into forgiving him."

He looked over, and for once, perhaps, actually looked his age. There was no cheer on his face now. "Better? You could at least let me have some self-delusion about it."

"..." That he had not called. Mid twenties he might have pegged for all the cheer and the gifts and the naivete but thirty?

Maker.

He was more a fool than Zevran thought. "If you don't understand, you do not give up and go 'it is because people do not care'. That will get you killed. You ask, you learn, you teach yourself the nuances of the battle because something this large? Will follow all of us even should we try to leave. Understanding the sides, the angles, and the odds is the best way to make certain you back the best play and do not end up dead."

Zev reached over, flicking Gavin's ear tip. "Self-delusion does nothing but get elves killed. You know better."

He bit back the words on the tip of his tongue and swallowed them. Of course he knew better. But the assumption there was that one didn't want to end up dead.

Willful ignorance was the happy point.

He considered just getting up, but he didn't. Instead he just winced when he was flicked again, and rubbed his ear. "That all sounds an awful like learning," he said instead, trying to make it sound natural. Luckily, sounding like an idiot was never hard.

"But alright - alright. She's selling him off for name and glory and probably titles. Hard to say without actually knowing who the intended match is. I've gotten the impression that she would be much happier if Maxwell simply had absolutely no will of his own."

He needed to get the subject off him, and fast.

"That is the point. Stay aware, stay alive. Unless you are trying to see yourself dead in which case, Bello, you truly only need to ask. You know I will make it quick." Joking- perhaps. Perhaps not. There was enough of a curl to his lips it could be called a jest and enough of a glint to his eye that he could be taken seriously.

As much as anyone could ever take Zevran seriously.

"That is usually the case. Ask about. Find someone that knows someone- if they keep elves in their employ? That is usually a good place to start. No matter how well paid, odds are they've some manner of grievance." Such was the way of things.

It seemed half a joke and half not. It also seemed far too easy. But it wasn't the first time he'd seriously considered it. A snap of the neck, quick and painless. He had to admit it was tempting.

But not now. First, help Maxwell. Help close the breach. If death found him before then, at least his death would have meaning.

It was getting harder to push the thought away once it had started, like an ex lover cooing at him and drawing him back. It had been a while since he'd let himself get upset enough to drag it out into the light this pathetically, though.

"I'll keep it in mind, mir din'an." He managed something close to a teasing sort of voice.

"I'm sure they must, they seem the type. I have some friends in Starkhaven, maybe they have some connections."

"Let me know how it is you wish to proceed." Zevran did not elaborate on which issue he was speaking, instead looping an arm casually around Gavin's shoulders to tug him in close. As frustrating as the boy might be (and Zevran would never not think of him as a boy) he was fun. Relatively safe. Friendly enough.

Though the talk of bribery and gifts does make him wonder after how often Gavin has simply appeared with a meal or a trinket.

His ears flickered as Zevran pulled him, but he'd always been a creature of comfort and the physical affection went a long way to soothe any bruised egos he might have about the bribery. (Did it really count as bribery if the only result he obtained was seeing the people he cared about actually happy with him, for a little while? Yes. Yes, it probably did.)

"What if we just told them he was dead?" He asked finally, after having letting his head flop onto Zevran's shoulder. (Your fault, Zevran. Give him an inch and he'll take a mile.) "Maybe he would be less mad at me for just faking his death instead of actually causing his mother's. Or maybe we could find his father a mistress and make her worry about something else for a while."

"That would take a lot of paperwork, recovering a body, bribing a few officials, a fake funeral, and changing Max's name and appearance. It can be done but it is so much more complicated." Killing is simpler- the death is caused and hidden or posed as an accident, and you move along.

Faking a death- that is a great deal more difficult.

Without much thought he reached up to pet Gavin's hair, hoping that will settle him somewhat.

Gavin sighed. Zevran was right, of course. Way more work.

"Maybe I'll just go and piss on their dog," Gavin said sullenly, now obviously just giving up on actually figuring it out until they had more information. He closed his eyes, still slumped on Zevran's shoulder. He'd no idea that he'd felt so exhausted...

"Now that is terrible. What has the dog done to you, mm? Nothing. Just because it's owners are terrible does not mean you should punish their Mabari. Besides. they hold grudges." HE remembers that well enough.

"Fine," he mumbled, as if from far away. "Just train the dog to piss on..." It sounded as if he had intended to finish that sentence, but the voice suddenly died off - Gavin having completely worn himself out with worry meant that as soon as his head had fallen horizontal against Zevran's shoulder, all hope was lost. He was already asleep.

"..." Honestly if that had been his intent he'd have gotten him closer to his tent. He could just dump him on the log, but- With a sigh he hefted Gavin into his arms and carried him to his assigned tent. A few hours in a bedroll would be better for his neck.

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