Work Text:
Tears threatened Mordred's eyes, because he knew that this was Tamlen...a very tortured Tamlen...but still Tamlen. He knew, because he still retained the humanity to fear hurting his childhood friend. Mordred's shaky hands pulled his friend's body onto his knees as he sat there, praying to Myrthal for protection over Tamlen's soul as he passes unto the beyond.
He spoke in elven, shoulders eventually slumping so far he swore his wiry frame was going to give up holding his arms by the skin, and allow them to snap to the ground. Dark hair fell, shrouding his face like an unbreakable veil that gave off a sheen unmistakable to anything else.
Across the way, Alistair's sad glance crossed over the elf leader, followed shortly by a twist of his lips that sped into a frown of pity and grief. I guess they had even more in common now, despite their differences. Now - through-out this process...they had both known the loss of someone from their childhood...
Not giving any more mind to the pitiful situation as it was, and making the leading Warden anymore self-conscious on the matter...Alistair turned away.
"This is my fault. Mine, lethallin. I'm sorry..." His eyes closed, the Warden feeling emotionally drained of all strength. One could have inevitably unrelenting prowess in battle, one could have the ultimate stamina, and one could be vital and fill themselves with willpower...
But one could never face their blighted, tortured, childhood friend and have the vigor of a man that just woke up from a nights fullest rest...
Not that he'd ever have a nice rest again, mind you.
Steady as he went, he eventually had carried Tamlen as far away from the firelight as possible, making his way to a spot near a group of trees that outlined the edge of the camp's way.
He only had one thing to do...
Do the best he could with the rite for the departed, "O Falon'Din, Lethanavir--Friend to the Dead, Guide his feet, calm his soul, and lead him to his rest." Raising his hands over his childhood friends, he spoke in elvish, and eventually gave pause. He felt the need to do so, even if the item gave him re-assurance...and so he did. Taking off the necklace he bore, he sat it down between his friend's palms symbolically.
It...felt right to do so...even if it wasn't normal of custom.
He'd acquired an oak staff...ironically, just before they left the Urn. It was on a small charred corpse near the Dragon's area, and he'd spotted it in the hopes of selling it for coin. He was lucky he did...or he might not have the opportunity. Walking towards the trees, he was lucky to spot a Cedar branch amongst them. It was a simple matter of taking it along with a tree seed as he lowered his friend into the grave. Perhaps these items were here for a reason, he thought as he was noting on Myrthal's mercy.
Spread the cedar branch, then bury him...
As soon as that was over...he placed the seed unto the ground. It was a simple matter of giving up his night's water before he stood up.
The Dalish buried their kin, and planted a tree over them symbolically.
Years from now, maybe even a century...
The tree waving amongst the others here...would be thought of nothing but a tree...but to him? It would be his friend. His friend's final statement upon the world...