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It feels wrong to have a funeral without a body. In Tear, corpses are wrapped in colorful shrouds and set on funeral pyres beside the river. The community sings and mourns together, and the family stays through the night, stays with the deceased until the last flames have burned out and their loved one’s soul has returned to the Wheel.
There is no body here in the Hall of the Tower. Instead, there is crystal placed with the statues of the other Amyrlins. Siuan has never been so grateful the Tower did not see fit to commemorate her rule with a statue. Siuan watches Marin and Bran al’Vere holding each other with tears streaming down their faces. This memorial should be in the Two Rivers, should be in Egwene’s home.
Siuan thinks of Egwene and her insistence that the White Tower was her home despite how little time she’d spent here. Siuan spent decades of her life here, fell in love here, lived joyful, happy years with Moiraine here, and still it had never been home. Egwene had been devoted to the White Tower, had the makings of a great leader, someone who could help the Tower heal, help it change in this new Age. Instead, Cadsuane wears the Stole. She’s part of a past generation, entirely wrong to lead the White Tower now. Siuan reminds herself that the Tower’s fate isn’t hers to worry about any longer.
Moiraine squeezes Siuan’s hand, hasn’t let go since they walked onto the first balcony of the Hall to take their place at the crowded funeral. Siuan looks down at marble that had once been stained with her blood, remembers being dragged along that floor, remembers pain so severe she’d thought she’d be sick with it, thought she’d die from the pain alone. Siuan fought to keep her composure in the Hall, fought for her dignity that she had already lost in the days of torture in the dungeons.
Moiraine looks at Siuan with worry, ready to take Siuan away from here, to take Siuan home to their little house on the water waiting for them to return when the funeral is over. Siuan smiles reassuringly at Moiraine. Today is not about Siuan, despite the constant stares and whispers since she arrived in Tar Valon, despite the Aes Sedai who look at her with regret and shame, women who helped still Siuan, women who had been in the dungeons, who heard her screams, heard her beg – No, Siuan must stop thinking of this. She wills herself to tamp down the wave of shame for begging in that prison cell, for pleading with Elaida for a break from the pain, giving up too much information, giving up everything except Moiraine. That Siuan held back, only that.
Siuan lets go of Moiraine’s hand so she can wrap her arms around Moiraine. Let the others look. Let them all see that Siuan and Moiraine survived, that they love each other as much now as they did when they swore the Three Oaths. Let them see that despite the torture and humiliation and stilling, they did not break Siuan.
Siuan doesn’t cry until Bran starts speaking, speaks of how his daughter was a natural leader, kind, brave, clever. Siuan smiles through her tears. Egwene wasn’t her child, but still Siuan felt protective of the young woman, felt so proud of her accomplishments. Moiraine kisses Siuan’s wet cheek and holds her tightly. Siuan does not deserve to be consoled. Not when she led Egwene, little more than a child, like a lamb to the slaughter. If Siuan hadn’t trained Egwene, hadn’t helped her become Amyrlin, Egwene would still be alive. She will carry that guilt to her own funeral pyre, hopes in another turn of the Wheel she might find Egwene’s soul again and try to make amends.