Chapter Text
After the Landsmeet, the guards didn't even wait for the body to get cold. As soon as the sun went down, the pyre was lit.
Tabris didn't show up to see it. She was never fond of funerals.
Neither would she be welcomed there, she'd imagine. There was little to be gained with her presence other than more headache and sideways glances.
She did, however, watch the ceremony from afar, back resting against the cold, stone pillar of the castle. She could see the small number of silhouettes gathered around the wooden altar in which the body was laid to rest, partially reunited with its head. The ceremony itself was fast. There was not much to be said, and for many that was merely a formality. In truth, the majority of the people reunited were there out of respect for the once Hero of River Dane - but their hero was no longer found in the man before them. So it was much more a scenario crafted out of patriotic sentimentalism rather than any mourning indeed, and that was highlighted when the few people present began leaving just moments after the pyre was set aflame.
The now former queen stood there, tall and unwavering, as time and ashes passed her by - not one glance in any direction other than the dancing flames. The warden, however, remained still in the shadows - quietly tugging at the straps of leather in her own arms, as the cold wind blew the ashes of both wood and man into the grey skies. She wasn't going to let Anora see her - there was just enough sorrow she could bear to cause for a day. So she waited, until the lady took one last mournful look at the pyre, and left with a still breath. Only then, her own seemed to come back to her - in an disorderly fashion, with each step she took out of her coveted rest. Checking twice, thrice that there wasn't anyone around anymore, she made her way to the flaming structure, inhaling the mixture of burned smells. For a moment, she wondered if those would ever leave her clothes - after so many deaths and burned memories in the path she trailed to where she stood now: facing the kindled remains of the man she used to look up to - in what seemed like a lifetime ago.
With all that happened in the last months - from his betrayal to their duel, and his subsequencial execution -, she'd imagine that there, alone by his ashes, she would have some things to say. In truth, however, there were none.
None that mattered, anymore.
And so, she reached for the loosely packed item she brought with her, hastily undoing the leather strips that held the cloth together around it. In a sharp exhale, she allowed her eyes linger through the worn cover of the book - calloused fingers tracing the yellowed, dirty edges. The memories of old games by the Vhenadahl's shadow and dramatic readings beneath covers assaulted her mind, and she could feel her heart tightening behind the chest plate.
A long breath in, and the book was placed amidst the burning wood.
Another breath, followed by a deep bow - and then, the memories and the book were no more.
And neither was she.