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Clipping down the road at a steady pace atop of his stead Cullen drew in a lung full of cool autumn air. This was something he’d envisioned doing time and again, but as the call to duty superseded, he placed this on the back of the oven, as he did many things. Another All Soul’s day was coming and this time, this time, he was set to make the journey. He hadn’t expected her to come along, even though he’d asked. The Inquisitor had been a busy woman, even with Corypheus long defeated and most of the rifts safely sealed. There was never a shortage of tasks, requests, Orlesian affairs and all forms of diplomats crying out for her.
“Is it much farther? It has been some time since we have seen many people.” He nodded to her words, his mind still reeling. “You have yet to tell me the task of this venture. I was under the impression it was dear to you. Would you tell me more?”
“I will. Not yet, but I will.” Cullen was lost to the memories. It was the same, but nothing was exact. Nearly fifteen years. Maker, fifteen years. He last set foot in the town at the tender age of thirteen, so full of hope and starry eyed. How bitter he had become. How tormented by that boyish need he so tightly clung to; to protect, to serve, and above all, to keep safe. All things he’d failed many times, even if the Inquisition offered his redemption. Was he ever really worthy of it? Trying not to let the thought linger he needed to stretch his legs. Jumping down from his horse he looped the reigns in his hand. “It isn’t much further. I prefer to walk.”
About him the trees had somewhat regained their glory, vibrant crimson, deep orange and pale yellow painted the leaves, a wash between the random snarled branches of long decaying wood. While it had been nearly fifteen years since the Blight, the land still bore the scars. Some things still remained, however. Barely present, the cobblestones lead towards where the village entry would have been, weeds and grass blanketed most blocks. His boots however, still made the familiar click, that flooded his senses with a million memories.
“Cullen?” She reached out, touching his forearm. “Are you alright? I’ve called to you several times and you haven’t answered me. Is it safe to be here?”
“Yes, and no.” Cullen sighed, the heaviness upon his shoulders echoing through his core. “This was Honneleath. I… I grew up here. Before the Blight.” Walking forward he pushed through the overgrowth of bush and weed. “Here. That would have been the town well, but now…” He choked down the emotion flowing, threatening to drown him. “I wasn’t here when it happened. My… my parents sacrificed themselves to see to my siblings’ safety. They fell in the onslaught. Or so I was told some time later.” Clearing vines and branches from a half-overgrown statue his shoulders sagged. “I guess I never thought about it in earnest. There is an old saying, ‘you can never truly go home.’ Perhaps it was simple folly that I thought it wrong.” He choked out the words as the leaves tumbled free, exposing the image he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to see.
It was simple, a family with no clear face, four of them. Probably the local cheese maker’s kin were used to craft it. He though the small girl sparked a memory of her. In their arms were books. Etched deep into the stone were names. Tugging his glove off between his teeth, his hand shook as his finger just grazed over the names till, they reached the ones he sought. Clearing his throat he took a half step back, throwing the back of his hand over his mouth. A single tear slid down his cheek as he fought against the hammering in his chest, the ache in his knees and the tremble that was building, testing his ability to stand. Sucking in several hurried breathes, he couldn’t take his eyes off them. Somewhere inside, perhaps, he hadn’t believed it. Hadn’t come to the thought that they were indeed gone. Closing his eyes tight, the wind seemed to bite a little deeper.
“Cullen.” Her hand took his, her other hand rested upon his cheek, her thumb brushed aside the tear. “I’m right here.”
“I know. Thank you.” Sniffling hard he drew in a deep breath, letting his lungs fill full before slowly exhaling. Digging in his mantle inner pocket, he swallowed hard. He’s written something he’d intended to say, but it was a garble of words, words he felt were threatening to suck the air from him. Much of the village had been swallowed by the surrounding forest, vines and other detritus had grown over the remains of buildings. Looking around he saw the husk that was his childhood home. Nothing more than a half wall, some decrepit posts all tangled in knobby roots, reclaimed by the regrowth. “I don’t want to see anymore.” Tugging the letter from his jacket he looked to her, “please, if you could, set this aflame…”
“Toss it.” He flicked it into the air, letting the gentle breeze carry it. When it was safely up, she cast out, setting the parchment ablaze. “Cullen…”
“There’s… there’s a village not far from here. Inn is run by the old Olaf family. It would be best to get there before night falls.” Wiping at his cheeks he cleared his throat again. “I appreciate you coming with me. I… It means a great deal.”
“Cullen, I said it before, and I’ll say it again. Did you have to ask?” The warmth spread through his chest as her arm slipped into his. “Let’s get to that inn. I’m betting they may be celebrating a somber All Soul’s day as well. And you look like you could use some rest.”
“Perhaps. But I would prefer to remain with you. If you will allow it.” Letting his shoulders relax, he felt the weight seem to slough off his back. Her smile and gentle nod calmed him further. “Alright. Let’s move.” Looking once more at the faceless statues, honoring those lost in the Blight, he uttered a quick canticle under his breath. If the Maker were real, he would see them again. But not any time soon.