#evienne

She privately doubted it, but it would be unseemly to argue the point. The Midlander was young and impetuous—which did make him one of the best fighters she ever had the pleasure to work with, and an asset to the Path of the Twelve. And, privately, she enjoyed his boundless enthusiasm and optimism.

Could do with slightly less sass, though. The boy’s manners oft times left her sighing in frustration.

The hamlet of Fawn’s Hollow had seen better times, she thought, as they rode among its buildings. It was a sleepy little farming village; always had been, likely always would be. They were far enough south that the buildings were mostly built of wood, with foundations and perhaps partial walls of stone. But some buildings were empty, and there was obvious space for more animals than she saw in the barnyards and open stables, even accounting for the sheep that must be out in the fields at this time of day.

“No one rebuilt it,” Zaine said, incredulous, as they paused in front of a ruin of a house. It had been burned down many years ago, the still-useable materials long since scavenged, the frame and rotted remnants left to the elements, in between two other homes. The one to Evienne’s left had a slightly-less-weathered addition built on the side facing the burned house. The building to their right had been repainted recently, its trim and windows redone, so it was hard to say what damages it had suffered, if any, from the event.

Zaine dismounted, patting Snowlight’s shoulder as was his habit, as he stepped between the low garden walls and into the short front yard. “I remember this fence being taller.”

“You were a child,” Evienne said, dismounting from Sunflower. “Of course all looked larger.” She tried to keep her tone kind for him.

“I suppose so.” He walked up the two shallow steps and into the ruin of his childhood home. “I know I’m not likely to find anything here, either,” he continued. “Not sure what I’m looking for, really.”

Evienne said nothing, simply nodded. She turned, sensing the attention they had garnered, and so saw the middle-aged Hyuran man coming to hail them. She signaled to Zaine to let her speak first. “Hey now! What might you two be doing?”

She smiled politely. “Hello, and we are sorry if we are causing a disruption. My companion, you see, was born here, but has been abroad many years, and wished to visit.”

The man peered as Zaine came closer, the fellow’s eyebrows raising halfway to his receding hairline. “That can’t be little Zaine Striker?”

“Yessir, I am.”

Evienne had to admit Zaine cut quite the figure in his adventuring gear, with the war axe on his back. He wasn’t especially tall, nor broader built than average, yet the confident way he carried himself made him seem bigger somehow, like one of the heroes from the stories.

And to many people across the realm already, he very well might be.

Evienne, for her part, was simply happy if the boy did a better job trying to keep himself alive—but that was what she was for.

“Well I’ll be,” the man said, shaking his head. “Last I heard, your ma’d taken you and your sister to Thavnair. Now here y’are. Look just like your pa, too, even got his eyes.”

“So I’ve been told,” Zaine said. He looked shy for a moment. “I was wondering, is Nana Michelle still here? Or…?”

“Ah, she is,” the man said, shaking his head. “She’s not long for this world, though, Halone bless her. Helped raise up the children in this village long enough she certainly deserves her place in the Heavens.” The man considered and then pointed toward a small house with faded blue trim. “Still in her same place, with folk checkin’ on her through the day. Could be she’d like to see you, and hear of your family since…well, since leavin’.” The man looked at the ruin of the house.

“I’m surprised no one rebuilt it,” Zaine said. 

The man shook his head. “No one knew who had the deeds after, and your ma hadn’t the mind to settle it before leavin’, with the runaround the magistrates were given’ her, not to mention the Inquisition investigation. It mostly served as a warning that the war can even touch us here. Then many of our younger folk left to find their fortunes elsewhere, after we had a few bad seasons. There’s talk of clearing the lot entirely to repurpose, but always something else to do.”

“I see,” Zaine said. “Well, we don’t want to take too much of your time.”

“Oh not at all, not at all,” the man said, urging them to follow him. “Not every day one of ours comes home, and from Thavnair! What a difference that must be!”

“It is,” Zaine said, smiling politely.

The man jabbered on, pointing out places and people for Zaine to remember, as he took them to the house marked out as Michelle’s.

From conversations on the way, Evienne knew that the distance from his mother’s family, and some sort of issues with his father’s he was never clear on, meant Zaine had not spent his first ten years with the usual support of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Nana Michelle, a woman widowed young with no children of her own, had aided his parents in caring for Zaine and his sister. And, apparently, most of the rest of this village.

The man knocked, a young elezan woman answering. “Visitors for Nana,” he said. “She’s not sleeping, is she?”

The woman shook her head. “She’s having her tea, and will be pleased to see you.”

“I shall wait—”

“You’re coming too, Evienne,” Zaine interrupted. “She’ll be happy to meet my friend.”

The young woman led them in, and introduced them to an elderly elezan woman sitting in a chair propped up by pillows at a small table. She beamed. “Oh, Zaine!” she said, holding her hands out.

He took her slim, shaky hands and gently squeezed them. “Hello, Nana, it’s been too long.”

“It has, it has! I’ve gotten some letters from your mother over the years, dearie, but I didn’t know you had returned to Eorzea!”

“She wasn’t too pleased with the idea, to be honest,” he said. “But I wanted to return.”

“Of course, of course. And this is your friend?”

“Evienne, my comrade in arms. She keeps me in one piece.” He grinned.

“Thank you for that, dearie,” Michelle said. “Please sit, both of you, and join me. Patrice, dearie, can you get them—”

“Already working on it, Nana,” the young elezen woman said, soon bringing them mugs and plates.

They passed a pleasant hour, Zaine and Michelle catching up, and Evienne only had to kick his shins twice the entire time to remind him of manners; he was perhaps the best behaved at table she had ever seen him.

But eventually, the elderly woman needed her rest after tea. Zaine was quick to get up to help her stand, and she reached up to pat his cheek.

“I’m so glad I got to see you, dearie, even as bad as my sight is now,” she chuckled. “You should visit your father, too.”

“I plan on it,” he said quietly.

“Very good. Do send my love to your mother and sister, dearie. Gracious, little Aeryn must be quite the lovely young woman now, like your mother at that age.”

Zaine grinned. “I suppose, though Mama’s still the prettiest woman on Hydaelyn. You still give her stiff competition though, Nana.”

Michelle chuckled. “Charmer; it was lovely to visit, dearie.”

Evienne listened to them give their goodbyes, lingering as much as possible before the elderly woman simply had to be put to bed. Then Evienne gave her own, proper goodbyes, signaling to Zaine it was well and truly time to leave.

As they left he let out a deep breath. “It was nice to see her; I doubt I will again,” he mused.

“We never do know,” Evienne countered. She looked at him. “Are you ready to visit your father, then?” she asked gently.

He nodded, and turned to the lichyard behind the little chapel.

They did not speak as he moved between the graves, searching for the right marker. “There wasn’t much left, from what I remember. He was in the center of the fire. The Azure Dragoon said he was taken quickly by the dragon.”

Evienne simply nodded, and pointed to a marker. “I think there.”

Zaine followed her eye, and then went that way. It was a simple mark, with Corran Striker’s name and dates of birth and death, ‘faithful husband and father’ scrawled below.

“Hello, da,” he said quietly, pulling a pressed Nymeia lilly from his pack to leave at the mark, then bowing his head in prayer.