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Though the canopy of the Arlathan Forest was today a vibrant summer green, as Tiresian stared ahead, he could see only the blazing oranges and reds of that long-faded autumn day. Packed earth greeted him underfoot as he followed an old path. Along the trail were displaced columns of stone — of Stone — that could not be accounted for by the usual trickery of these woods.
He remembered every boulder and pillar she had brought forth from the ground that day. Each one following the sound of her call with greater ease than the last. She would smile, and her auburn hair would shine so brightly in the sun. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.
He fell in love with her that day. He wondered if she was the same. They never did have time to discuss it. They were so coy for so long. It was so short what they did have. Maybe if she were still here, he could ask her. When did you realize? Was it a gradual realization? Did it happen all at once? If only they had had more time.
Tiresian smiled wistfully. Time. Was there anyone for whom that was not a regret?
He reached the end of the winding path his feet had worn after so many visits. He knelt before a puddle of ash and brushed aside the old charcoal. He arranged a miniature pyre anew from kindling he had brought in his pack.
A funeral is intended to ease the grief of the deceased's loved ones. It is a farewell to the soul and a thank you to the body in which it had made a home. But they never did find her body. Could something as simple as that be the cause of this hole in his chest.
That would be so much easier, wouldn't it? A simple answer, even if made in absence of reality, brings a sort of comfort a messy reality never could.
He poured a fragrant oil over the small pyre. The funerary practices of Ferelden were foreign to him, but they were the best way he knew to honor her memory.
Orange flames licked across the wood, spreading quickly. Tiresian took a half-step back, lest the smoke overtake him.
Did this bring her spirit peace? Whatever warmth or comfort this ritual would bring her, could she feel it wherever she was?
He closed his eyes. The gentle heat of the fire cradled his face.
"I will remember you, Lace," he whispered to the air and smoke. "I love you."