The Journals of Cullen Rutherford 362

melaena:

9:41 9th August

I find it fascinating how a simple smell
triggers a vivid memory. One of our resident merchants managed to procure nearly
a cartload of apples. I cannot be certain the transaction leading to this boon fell
within the legality of proper trade, but I am far too content to worry.

What I remember most about my childhood were
the simplest of indulgences. The late autumn markets often carried apples of a
few Ferelden varieties and given the season’s end most used the aged fruit for
sweets.

My mother was no exception. She would mix
honey and ground nuts into a paste and coat the apples before roasting them in
a pot. The smell kept the three of us uncharacteristically quiet while we waited.
Each of us took in the scent, anticipating the moment when she would declare
the dish ready.

Had my mother wished, she could have
demanded the worst in exchange for one bite of her baked apples, but she never
did. I believe she delighted in our quiet enjoyment more than anything.

Skyhold’s kitchens carried that smell as
they prepared the confection, and despite the delectable results, the cherished
memory of my mother and family proved as sweet.