InsaneJournal

the lost boy (alcuin) wrote in 4bidden, @ 2015-02-21 13:34:00

Alcuin knew what he was doing was wrong; his master had been more than generous when it came to his personal freedom, yet the mere thought of being accompanied had been enough to stay his tongue. Surely, his master must have realized by now that there would always be things better left unsaid; things that were so painful he had little choice but to exile them to some faraway and unexplored corner of his psyche where they could never hurt anyone ever again. Not anyone living at least, for the dead were, by their very nature, beyond mortal concerns. They cared naught for how much he'd come to envy them their peace of mind, nor the bone deep ache he felt when faced with death and dying. Alcuin imagined his master's beautiful brown eyes filled with concern, his mouth forming uncomfortable questions – questions he dare not answer – and swept the reflection from his mind.

He'd expected the journey to his former household to be more difficult somehow, yet there was nothing ahead of him but glittering black pavement, fresh fallen snow, and a whole lot of nothing besides. By the time he finally arrived at the ornate wrought iron gate of his childhood home, ennui almost had him convinced that he was merely returning home from an errand, and that everyone and everything inside would be as they were before. His hand lingered over the security keypad for a moment before he realized the electricity hadn't been on in months. “Fjandinn...” Alcuin swore under his breath and pressed his shoulder to the gate until he could comfortably squeeze through the gap along with the items he brought.

He was right about one thing; everything was just as he remembered it, right before the ambulance doors slammed shut and he was whisked away to a new life in another world. Everything, except the bodies of the people who kept their home strewn about the property, and for the second time in his life he regretted not having memorized their names. Alcuin wondered what became of them, alongside every other living creature that used to live there. The pasture was deserted, devoid of livestock, and the stables were empty. His heart twisted sharply in his chest at the thought of his grey mare being sold off to someone else. It felt suspiciously like sympathy.

It felt for all the world like the spirits of his past had climbed upon his back, thankful for his presence, by the time he neared enough to the sacred shrine to be able to make out the smile on their Blessed Elua's face. Less obvious was the unobtrusive tombstone on the outskirt of the shrine, half buried in the snow. Alcuin dropped to his knees in front of it as if his strings had been cut, weighed down as he'd been by a dozen wailing and whooping spirits that only he seemed to hear. His foster-sister would have been less than impressed by his poise in that moment, he thought.

He needn't trace the letters to know who laid there but he did it anyway, fingertips clearing the snow from finely cut grooves in the granite until the name was visible. “Guy,” he whispered reverently, his fingertips skittering along the top of the stone, displacing several inches of snow. “I promised you that I would come. Are you very happy?”