The darkspawn ambush was something nobody could predict. Even the Grey Wardens, who joined their army on the march, didn’t see it coming, and could only alarm the troops when the danger was too close. Still Cullen blamed himself. He wasn’t used to leading so many soldiers, he was inexperienced… he could have chosen another road.
To be fair, it was a victory. But he didn’t feel victorious. Too many wounded, a couple of supply carts were damaged, and food was poisoned by the darkspawn taint. But the worst was that Reginald was mortally wounded.
Reginald was Cullen’s horse, a gift from a nobleman from Kirkwall, a gratitude for eliminating a dangerous abomination that used to terrorize the man’s land. It was a beautiful and noble steed, an object of envy of many templars back in the Gallows. And now Reginald was lying on his side, his legs crushed by an ogre in a fight that Cullen himself survived by a miracle. Even if their healers weren’t busy helping the wounded soldiers, it would be still impossible to heal such injuries. There was only one thing Cullen could do for his dying friend.
He lowered himself on the grass beside the horse, and gave Reginald a gentle pat on the neck. Do the animals go to the Maker’s side? The Chant didn’t have the answer. Perhaps they don’t. But still Cullen felt like his friend deserved some parting words, some comfort before the journey into the unknown. And before Cullen knew, he found himself singing quietly. It was a song they used to sing at the funerals of their fallen brother back at the monastery. It wasn’t a part of the Chant, it wasn’t a prayer, it was just a way to say goodbye.
And Her song will lead you
Through the darkest night,
And Her song will bring you
To the Maker’s side.
He stood up. It was the time.
He has always been quick with the sword.
He looks down at the beheaded horse. Reginald was gone. Then he heard someone’s delicate cough behind, and looked back.
“General?” it was the quartermaster, a tiny elf, who reported to him about the spoiled food an hour ago. “That’s a lot of meat, Messere.”
Cullen sighed.
“As far as I can tell,” he said, “the meat isn’t tainted. You can use it.”
The elf nodded, and Cullen strode off towards his tent, to clean his armor and tend to his own wound. He knew he would not eat the stew that night.