Work Text:
Not having the body didn't actually make the funeral rites any more difficult.
In Piglin culture, a deceased loved one was entrusted back to the fire that was believed to have given them all life. They were wrapped in precious cloth, bestowed with golden jewelry and perhaps a handful of significant items that would burn with them when they were lowered into the lava, body consumed by flames. It was considered the least important part of the ceremony though, one carried out swiftly after death before the proper rites were to take place. The Nether just wasn't a great biome to keep corpses lying around, lest the smell drew in something horrid.
(besides, Technoblade couldn't imagine Ranboo would have preferred the lava pit to the shallow grave Sam had probably put him in)
When he first came to the Overworld, graves were such a foreign concept to him. The expression on his face when Phil had explained ever so patiently that most people were expected to bury their dead was one of both confusion and disgust. The latter in part because Techno didn't need any pictures to imagine in vivid, visceral detail what happened to a body once put underground for a while. It was hard to imagine anybody deliberately wanting that to happen to themselves, or those they cared for.
Even more so he did not understand the importance most Overworld folks put on being able to visit a specific place and go there to mourn their loss. The body might be there physically, but the person who had died wasn't. They resided in the memories they had left behind, the spots they had visited, the souls they had touched.
In Piglin culture, you carried your loved ones with you forever.
Usually, the person who had been closest to them before their death was chosen to be what was called 'the burdened'. Some sounders decided it would be easier to share the load by letting several family members partake in the rites, or on the opposite side of the spectrum they might choose one elder piglin responsible for burdening themselfs for the entire pack so others didn't have to. A holder of the departed that would stay responsible for keeping their memory alive.
If the deceased had been slain in honorable combat, the one who took their life was expected to carry their burden. If they had fallen while defending the sounder from enemies, it was their pack leader who rose to the task in a show of gratitude for their sacrifice. If they were a child, their parents carried them onward forever.
And Technoblade didn't know which would even apply to Ranboo, but he knew there was nobody else who would do this except himself.
Phil helped him prepare the ink, mixing soul sand into it until the color was closer to a grayish turquoise than black. Several needles in different sizes were laid out on the table before them, a candle with an open flame flickering pale blue had been prepared too. Phil shuffled through the papers they had gathered, looking a the different symbols and their placements. Techno was just glad such extensive research on Piglin culture even existed in the Overworld, it wasn't like he remembered many rites from when he was a piglet.
"Were you thinking the shoulder or...?" Phil asked, picking up the largest needle and holding it slanted against the light. He was wearing only a loose shirt over his usual pants. No hat, his glasses pushed up his nose to read the small text better and assure the accuracy of the symbols they would use. It did nothing to hide the pale skin and sunken eyes, sleepless nights etched into every inch of Phil's face. He looked smaller like this, wings tucked away behind him. The feathers never having healed.
(maybe helping Technoblade with this was in a sense Phil's own way of mourning)
"Wrist." Technoblade was already rolling up his sleeves. The shoulder would be where the symbols belonged if you were burdening yourself for a close friend, a comrade in arms. Somebody who stood by your side. Wrists were a placement normally used only in the rites for those who had not come of age yet, children. Those you were supposed to support, hold onto, protect. "I know it was technically his birthday the other day but it was kind of a crappy one so, I'm thinking we don't count it."
"Oh?" Phil stopped, turned the needle over and over, and stared at the soul fire reflecting off the metal. "Yeah..." he said eventually. "Yeah, I think so too."
With a towel, he wiped clean the inside of Techno's arm, before settling in for the work. It was a laborious process, not made any easier because Phil was doing it for the first time. He dipped the needle in ink, always pausing to stare intently at their collected research first before carefully pressing it to the skin. Techno only flinched once, at the initial touch. The ink burned – soul sand and soul fire scratching into his veins. But that was to be expected.
In fact, that was probably the point.
He remembered an elder at his sounder, skin a mosaic of burdens laid out on them. They could name each one, could muster up at a whim the most precious recollection they had shared with them. They had seen so much and lost so much and even as a child Techno looked at them and felt pain for those he had never known.
Grief was supposed to hurt.
Ranboo's name was imprinted onto Technoblade's skin, each letter painstakingly translated into a Nether rune. The single word bent itself to form a circle, and inside it Phil marked the three symbols Technoblade had chosen to represent the burden and their shared history.
Hesitancy -Technoblade watching with weary eyes as Ranboo built his shack but a stone-throws from his own. Holding back and standing still and clasping an axe in battle-tired hands joking about rent (about obligation) because it was easier than joking about the starting growth of fondness.
Kinship – the heat of the Nether clinging to their bodies while Ranboo asked about the voices, talked about his own, shared it like a secret. The laughter that seemed to burst through Techno's entire ribcage as he stole a gapple straight from under Ranboo's nose, only to give it back to him later when the amusement grew stale and was won over by affection.
Guilt – because it had ended how it did.
And the symbols were just slightly off-centered, making room for a tiny addition courtesy of Phil. Techno held his wrist with his opposite hand to keep it from shaking, from messing up the final sigil.
"Phil-" Techno choked on nothing, swallowing to recover. "I don't-" He didn't know what he wanted to say. That he didn't deserve it, maybe?
Phil passed over the markings with the towel again, smudging the leftover ink on the surface and gently rubbing it away. Pinpricks of pain made it hard for Techno to concentrate. "You do," Phil said as he laid the finishing touches on the symbol he had added – one reserved for parents mourning their children. "It belongs here."
Techno nodded, unable to refute again.
"I think that's those all finished with." Phil pulled back, wiped his brow. His face relaxed some, showing how tired he truly was. "Not my best work ever, but they came out nice for me being a complete novice at this."
"They're perfect," Techno said. "Thank you, Phil."
(there was a lot more he could express, but he knew Phil didn't need him to. Everything was neatly packed into those two words. Between them, those would suffice to lay out the entire world)
An easy grin met him, Phil getting up to walk around him with the strips of fabric held in his hand. "Let's just hope they come out just as nicely the second time 'round, when they'll be lasting."
Techno picked up the remaining items they'd left on the table, a salve and bandages to treat the tattoo with. The soul sand would stay visible – and smarting - for a few weeks, though the exact timing was highly dependent on a lot of different factors. Once it had faded, the mark would become a vague outline of itself to signal the mourning period was considered over.
Then, golden ink would be used to retrace the symbols and make them permanent.
"It's fine, it's the thought that counts anyway." He pulled his sleeve down again once he was done applying the gauze.
"You say that, but-" Phil interrupted himself to tug on Techno's hair. He spent a lot of time earlier washing it and combing it out. "Here?" he asked, fingers pressed behind and a little higher than his ear.
"Higher, at the scalp," Technoblade instructed.
Phil adjusted his position, starting the braid up top. "You say that, but that doesn't mean it's not important still. Otherwise, why would you have asked me to help?"
Techno laughed, but he couldn't angle his head back. "Otherwise why would you have agreed to help me."
Phil hummed. With careful fingers he weaved the long strips of red fabric into the braid he was making, intertwining ribbon with hair. When he was done his hands stayed, fell down to Techno's shoulders. Techno leaned back.
"Do you think Ranboo would have minded?" he asked softly. "Ruining his tie, I mean. That's a little...it's a little bit rude of us. We kinda went into his house uninvited to nab it too, like-"
"You worry too much," Phil told him. When he bent forward he could pull Techno into a semi-embrace. "The dead do not grief, Techno. Only the living know what it is to mourn." He exhaled, hand sliding down to finally come to rest over Techno's wrist again. It barely hurt anymore. "Does it feel right?"
"It feels..."
And Techno couldn't give an answer. Ranboo dying and them being left behind and the empty shack he could see from the window (lights off to leave it dark and lifeless and cold) and the cape he had taken from Ranboo's house when they went to grab the tie so he could bring it down to the Syndicate room and drape it over the chair of its owner because Lethe would remain there forever even when Ranboo didn't-
Nothing about this felt right.
But he had made the pledge to burden himself all the same. The memento of a physical presence to join with his own and the symbols of memory to carry its remembrance. Both were made in a way that would allow him to keep them eternally.
There was no better way to honor a fallen member of the sounder.
"It felt necessary," he decided on. Because that much at least was true.
Phil held him tighter. "Then we did what we had to."
Technoblade didn't know how long they stayed like that, though the sun was already rising over the horizon again before either of them could bring themselves to move.