506-05-21-Requiem Aeternam

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Requiem Aeternam
RL Date	November 20, 2008
Players	Athar Soranus, Helena Soranus, Joshua Dhaval, Leon Maritus, Linette Barca, Mildryth Lachlan, Raelyn Kordheim, Tiege Soranus, Traian Maritus
Location	Gwencalon, Caerdach, Guardians
Crossroads Time and Weather
IC Date	May 21, 506
Season	Spring

Gwencalon, Caerdach, Guardians

The cliffs and the harbor are the dominant features of landscape, and the city has grown up around and over them. The quays, through which so much of Guardians' shipping passes, are located on the northwest edge of the harbor, with the accompanying warehouses and mercantile institutions sprawling south and west of them. The magnificent Customs House presides over these, and a lighthouse guides ships from the northwestern most point of land.

Three avenues spread outward and upward from the shipping center of the city, the easternmost widening into a broad marketplace over which the high cliffs preside. The cliffs have been worn down in past generations to allow the two others to lead upward through the city at a steep but passable slope. Closer to the docks, the city's streets are a warren of alleys, home to the poorer and less desirable elements of Gwencalon. As the avenues proceed upward, the shops and houses grow larger and wealthier, many owned by merchants who have made their names and fortunes through trade from this city.

Atop the cliffs stands the hereditary castle from which the Barcas have ruled Guardians for nearly five hundred years.

Gwencalon. A port city, the largest on all of Guardians, a hive that plays host to wealthy and poor alike. Most of the isle's trade with any other passes through its streets and from its docks, and like any true city, it pulses with the life of it: gold runs through the veins of Gwencalon.

But today, as the bells strike the hour past noon, much of the city slows to a halt. Much, not all. Through those streets winds a procession, rising from the quays where a ship docked earlier this morning, passing through the warren of smaller, narrower streets in that part of the city, along the broad avenue that passes through the shadow of the Barca keep on the cliffs above, and toward the villas of the wealthy that crown the city's heights.

It's led, followed, and accompanied by men of the legion stationed at Gwencalon, and those who served under and with her lord; the marines take the place of honor at the fore. Torches are borne by those who follow, despite the sun's clarity on so bright a spring day, and the bier follows, drawn by a pair of black-festooned horses.

There follows then the old lord's youngest son and daughter on horseback, and other relations as well as the lords and ladies who have come to bid their farewells, and more than a handful of the city's noted citizens and traders. The cavalry brings up the rear.

Ravelle rides side saddle in the procession where her family is located behind the Maritus clan, her black cloak a sweeping cascade down her palfrey's side. Her posture is uncompromising and her features are set with a whisper of sadness as she watches the parade of military figures helming the fore of the line.

Leon rides among this number, at the fore of those following his father's bier as it creaks its slow pace through the city he ruled for more than thirty years. His features are set, his eyes catching the blue of the spring afternoon as they remain straight ahead, looking neither to one side nor the other. He wears the black of a son mourning a father, though touched here with silver, or with red, and a new sword hangs at his side, longer than his own, and its scabbard deepest red as blood.

Like her sister, Helena rides sidesaddle, the somber colors of her gown and cloak sweep over her legs and across the dappled grey she rides. She sits up straight in her saddle, but her gaze barely leaves the group around her. The city and streets are invisible to her as her thoughts are kept inward and prayers are focused on the man carried before them.

Neither Maritus nor Soranus, Raelyn moves silently and unaccompanied. Her face shows no expression, set into a somber state of neutrality. While her eyes do occasionally stray to the people gathered nearby, they remain mostly focused on the processional.

Baron Ethos rides in somber silence, his gaze moving over those nearby in quiet consideration.

Behind the Maritus children ride Ambrose's cousin Sylvia and her son Traian, both clad in black for their lost relative. Sylvia's head is lowered, seemingly in thought while Traian looks out to the crowd as he rides in somber silence.

Dhavals are represented even if it is just Joshua that does so. Keeping company with Tiege as both of their players are mostly idle but definitely here in spirit.

While not a Maritus or Soranus, Denali is of the ui Niall family: another long-standing family within Guardian. Representing the bare few of them that remain, the Lady Caer Carthartha is be-gowned in green and black, with grey accents; sombre, but still representing her own lands. She has fallen in with the other nobility that has come to pay respect. Likely rather quiet, on the whole, as her player has to depart for work soon.

The procession wends its way along the switchbacks of the avenues, through an empty market square -- a ghostly empty market square, for the trade in Gwencalon rarely ceases. It passes beneath the shadow of the cliffs, rising with each turn into a higher level of the city until reaching that height at which, after one final turn, the cliffside city spreads out below and the sea rises to glitter beyond it.

The city falls away below, then, and the road spreads out into a plaza ringed already with the city's denizens and, before them, a line of solemn infantry. The sun gleams off plumed helms and polished buckler; shod hooves clatter on the stones; and the villa that hosts the Lords of Gwencalon spreads out around it, two storys high, embracing its fallen son.

Ravelle lets her dark gaze rove over the terrain and unspirited market square. Everyone mourns. It is appropriate. Her uncle ruled for so long and it is testimony of his people's love that they show such respect. Her gloved hands renew their command of the reins as she simply drinks in the mournful sight of Gwencalon's darkest day in so long.

Helena lifts her head as they head towards the villa, finally taking in the sights around them. Her eyes are dull, and while she sees, she doesn't react as she might usually. That pale gaze falls on the building and then on the infantry waiting for the procession.

It's in this place that the procession draws to a halt, the bier coming to rest in its center, and it's here that Ambrose Lucian Maritus lies in state. He's dressed as befits any warrior lord of Guardians, as though prepared to face the darkness of that longest battle -- in helm and armor over his finery, a sword held between both hands, a shield resting at his feet.

It's in this place, too, that grooms appear to take the mounts of those who've ridden this long distance. The smell of food -- the funeral feast -- wafts from the villa, though there's little activity to be seen in it.

Leon's mount follows the bier, its steps slow and guided -- it seems -- more by that it follows than by any power of his own. It's only when they reach the plaza -- that open expanse before his home -- that he looks up properly and seems to see the world around him once more. He spares a soft word for Portia alone before he dismounts, booted heels clicking on the paving stones, allowing another to lead the horse away.

He is here, and Ambrose's youngest daughter; but his eldest two seem absent from this procession, and are absent still at its ending.

Ravelle waits for a groom to come closer to aid her and then puts her hands on his shoulders when he lifts her from the mount. Her feet lightly touch the ground and she thanks him softly before glancing ahead to her cousins, concern marring her fair brow. She doesn't approach, however, awaiting their lead as the procession begins to prepare for the next stage of the funeral.

Raelyn hangs back for a few moments before continuing forward, apparently not wanting to be near the front of the procession. Her booted feet make little sound as she walks, still silent, still somber like the rest of the people who are here to mourn.

Helena is like a mirror to her sister, being helped from her horse and offering a few murmured words of thanks as she steps back. She doesn't even notice that her horse is led away, instead she focuses on her siblings, stepping up alongside Ravelle as she awaits Athar to dismount.

As the horses are drawn away, as the crowd begins to settle, Leon steps up onto a small platform beside the bier. He rubs his hands lightly against his trousers before he speaks.

"It -- it's traditional," he begins as the quiet crowd falls into even softer silence, "For a lord's son, or -- or his heir, to make an address here, at such a time. Providence knows, Grear would be better suited to it than I am. If he were -- if he were to do it. He served with my father, worked closely with him while I was still a boy. He would -- he would tell you, maybe, of my father's service in the Marines, of the men and women he led, and who -- and who respected him for it. Or he might tell you about my mother, Lady Justina--" There are, it seems, those in the crowd who remember her, and they do it with a cheer that draws a slight smile on Leon's features. His voice grows stronger at it.

"He might tell you about my mother, and how Lord Ambrose loved her more than he -- more than he loved anything else in all the world. I never knew her, but you don't -- but I needn't even say it, really: it showed in how he spoke of and remembered her." He pauses a moment there, but it's clear he's not quite finished.

Traian dismounts before helping his mother off the horse and gathers near Leon and Portia, listening to the heartfelt eulogy delivered by the younger Maritus son.

All dressed in the black of mourning, the Baron Ethos keeps close to his kin as Leon takes to the platform and begins to speak in eulogy of the great man that life has laid low. His dark eyes are riveted upon the youngest son of Ambrose Maritus.

Raelyn links her hands together, resting them behind her as she watches Leon in stoic silence.

Helena focuses on Leon as the young man steps forward to speak. While the younger Soranus sister does not smile, there is strength in her gaze, a silent offer of support in this hour of grief.

"He -- he might speak, too, of Lord Ambrose as Lord Gwencalon," Leon continues, blue eyes following over the crowd gathered to bid his father that final farewell, "A -- a manner in which many of you knew him, when I only called him 'Father'. How he -- how he brought peace and wealth to our city after a time of -- after a time of unrest under my gentle grandsire. There are -- I know there are others who would speak of him less kindly, and those who, though they didn't like him, respected him all the same.

"But for myself, I can -- I can only truly speak of my father as I knew him: as a man who was -- who was devoted to his family. And to his city. And to his people. And who -- who served them -- all of them -- endlessly. Whether they liked it or not. Whether they wanted it or not. Whether they understood or not. And now that Providence has seen fit to -- to take him from us, it's time for us to -- to dedicate ourselves to -- to seeing his work through."

Leon ends there, and it is clear ending; he bows his head a moment, lips moving soundless, and when he looks up again it's with a look cast 'round the square that lingers, longest, on those who knew his father best. "If there's any who -- who wishes to say a word in his memory," he offers, voice softening as he makes that offer, "Do."

And that said he steps down, steps aside to stand at the foot of Ambrose's bier, hands behind his back, silent. Watching.

Linette has arrived.

"Anything you want to say mother?" Traian asks the late Lord's cousin, but she just starts blankly at body of Ambrose. "Mother...?" Before he could finish, the woman breaks down in tears and sobbing uncontrollably. She would have fallen to the ground had her son not help her up.

As the young Maritus man leaves the podium, it is another relative that takes to its pulpit, dressed in the black of mourning, a light cloak hanging around his shoulders to ward off anything of the ocean's chill. "Today we put to rest a great man. A man whom through his lifetime saw what the world was about him... his men, his family, his Gwencalon, his Guardian, his Empire... and never failed to ask how things could be /better/. What he could do to make what he found in front of him better, to raise it up, for the benefit of all." Athar's dark eyes travel over the assembled crowd, though they especially find Leon and Portia as he speaks. "He was an example that all of us would do well to emulate. To look beyond our own petty squabbles, our own private ambitions... to look to our neighbours and ask ourselves... How can we make this place better? How can we build something to hand those who will come after us, something better then what we ourselves inherited? He meant many things to many people, but when /I/ looked into his eyes, I never failed to hear the clarion call of that personal crusade. And I pray... I pray that I shall not fail him. That /we/ shall not fail him. Ambrose Maritus casts a long and impressive shadow. And while we mourn the passing of his life, let us not forget to keep alive the spirit of his purpose. He would expect no less."

And with that said, the Baron Ethos bows his head, murmuring a moment's prayer, and steps from the podium to rejoin his kin.

Ravelle inclines her head in agreement with her brother's words, folding her hands before her and joining in that soft prayer.

Leon listens as his cousin speaks, his eyes touched with relief as another stands to eulogize his father -- and perhaps especially as it's that kinsman who does it. He keeps his place by his father's feet, by the shield that rests there, glittering platinum, ruby, and gold in the spring afternoon's sunlight.

That look of support lingers in Helena's eyes as she watches her brother move forward to speak. There is still no smile, but there is a look of pride shining among the stormclouds in her eyes, pride for the words spoken and the man they speak of. Her head bows and she speaks a quiet prayer to Providence.

Even as Athar speaks, the legionnaires who ring the perimeter have begun to shift, to create an alleyway, that those among the populace who wish to pass by the bier, to bid their farewells to Lord Ambrose may do so. The citizens of the city, first, now, as others stand to speak his praises; those closer to him will no doubt follow in time, but not while words are yet spoken.

Traian holds his mother up by the shoulder with his left arm as she continues to cry. His own eyes are clearly red though there are no tears, yet. Listening to Athar's words, Traian simply nods with a somber look. Whether he is actually listening or simply nodding idly no one will ever know.

Linette has been quiet throughout the entire funeral, procession and speeches alike, in the second rank with the more distant relatives and a few members of her own family. Her face is a mask of tight control, mouth pressed tightly together, but her eyes let a few silent tears slip through along the way. There is a small shine of pride in her eyes when Leon speaks, and she watches him closely through the whole speech, giving a tiny twitch of a supportive smile after he finishes. But for the most part, Linette is silent and strained, hands folded tightly.

Tiege steps up before those gathered, letting his gaze play over people. He meets eyes rather than avoiding them, his dark gaze proffering a somber comfort. "I realize that not all of us here know each other, or are of similar belief, creed, or station," he begins, solemn words given strength and richness to carry. "In this moment, none of that matters, for we have been brought together to honor one man, Ambrose Maritus. To me, he has always been larger than life, and even now I can feel his shadow upon me, a shadow that oddly feels like Light. I will not belabour many words about his greatness, but I... if you would permit a prayer for him, a devotion to the One who watches us all."

When Tiege bows his head, his hands come together at his waist before himself, and his words ring clear and true, filled with conviction, compassion, sorrow, hope. His prayer is the outpouring of his heart. "Providence, blessed Mother, we come before you today all of one accord, our hearts feeling the loss of a man, Ambrose Maritus, who touched each of our lives. Our prayer is not for him, for we know that his faithfulness has earned him his rest and reward. Our prayer is for those of us who must go on without him here to lead, exhort, inspire, and comfort us. It is for those of us who find the world a darker place without him. Providence, help us to each hold dear his memory in our hearts, cleave tightly to it, and find in the testimony of his life a message of how we should live our own. Let us honor him by facing adversity bravely and celebrating the blessings with joy, by being uncomplacent when faced with entrenched evils, by holding to honor as the precious treasure that none can steal from us. He has been an example to so many, and now we in turn must seek to live the example he has been, to show Ambrose Maritus to the world around. He is now and always will be unconquered by death, a man whose integrity and devotion will shine through the ages. Let us stand in the illumination of such, ignited in its glow. Bless his family who feels the loss most keenly, and every person who has an absence in their life now. Let that absence be limned with Light, as he is forever more."

"So mote it be."

when Tiege lifts his head, he looks over the offspring of the deceased man, Portia and Leon. A bow is directed to them, sweeping and respectful, before he returns in silence to listen.

There are those among the populace who murmur at a Purist's prayer being said in the memory of their lord; there are a few who call that this, Gwencalon, is no place for that, that Ambrose was lord of Gwencalon, not Ethos, and to let him go a Guardian to the last.

There are those, yes; and more likely who murmur more quietly, for enough of the crowd is made of Ambrose's supporters to hush those who call out such challenges, and the red-plumed legionnaires stand firm.

"So mote it be," Helena murmurs in echo of Tiege, her head bowed in prayer. As her cousin returns she glances up and gives Tiege a brief nod. "Beautiful," she mouths, the words are barely a whisper to carry from her lips to her cousin.

There may be those who balk at such a prayer, but Leon is not one of them; appreciation for his cousin's words is clear as the afternoon sunlight in his eyes, and he bows his head as it's given. At the end, he, too, murmurs softly, then raises his head to keep his watch once more -- though now his eyes skim gently over those so gathered, seeking those familiar of his family.

Quiet support is there in Athar's expression as he listens to Tiege speak and eulogize the fallen Lord Gwencalon, though he does bow his features down to offer a few quiet words to Providence in the wake of it, expression still grave.

Traian's mother continues to sob through Tiege's prayer while Traian mutters a short prayer before he continues to comfort his mother.

Raelyn neither balks nor praises the offered prayer. She simply stands off to one side and watches, listening to the memories of Ambrose.

Linette does not speak the Purist prayer along with the others, but she bows her head in respect, and a few more tears slip out - which do not at all dampen the warning look she shoots backwards at the grumbles that follow. The fierce flash does not last for long, though, slipping quickly back into that pained restraint that had marked her expression for the rest of the funeral. She darts a quick look up at Leon now and then, offering what mute support she can from afar.

Joshua remains silent as he has been. Only looking up every now and than. Studying people when he can when it doesn't look stalkish or odd. Showing his respect for a family friend. Hands clasped before him as he offers his own silent prayer. Not offering any other words or making to speaking in front of others.

It is not only those from the Soranus side of the family who speak, either: more than one Guardians noble stands to praise the fallen lord; a handful of merchants and traders, too, stand to say a few words, and one of the Maritus cousins stands to tell a humorous tale of Ambrose's youth and his ventures in the Marines. A dear friend of Ysora's stands to deliver heartfelt words of ehr own, and a loving and meaningful message from Ambrose's eldest daughter, whose absence is only a cause of joy, occasioned as it is by the birth of her own daughter so recently.

And throughout, people pass in a slow line by the bier, paying last respects to the fallen Gwencalon lord. Even when the words have ended they continue, until all who wished have bid farewell.

Only then do those who have stood in stony silence move once more: those who walked or rode with the procession now have their turn to say such goodbyes as they will.

Throughout the whole of it, Leon remains -- as he has, with his sister -- at the bier's end.

Traian helps his crying mother to the bier. "Let eternal light shine on him, Providence, and grant him eternal rest, because You are merciful. Let the clarion sound throughout the earthly sepulcher and gather the fallen before Her Divinity. Our Prayers are unworthy, but Providence, have mercy and rescue us from eternal darkness. Lord Ambrose Maritus was a good man. He stood us well, and may he continue to stand us now and ever," Traian speaks softly before joining Leon and Portia with his mother.

Linette Barca is near the front now, with the rest of her family and the other Marituses. She stands for a long silent moment, hand pressed to her mouth as she looks down at the still silent face of the man who was her vassal, and who would have been her father-in-law. Linette closes her eyes for a moment, and bends to lay a small cluster of flowers, blue and white, by the bier. "Farewell, Father," she whispers. "Providence keep you, and bring you peace." And then a pause, and she draws a shaky breath, and adds, "I swear I will keep your family safe." That last oath steadies her a little, although the tears still flow and the strain still shows around the corners of her eyes. But Linette stands resolute for a moment more, and then makes her way to the end of the bier where the family stands.

Linette spends a long moment with Portia - lost amid a crowd of mourners, Linette can be, for a moment, not Portia's Baroness but just her oldest friend - arms wrapped tightly around each other, their heads on each other's shoulders as they murmur quiet, teary words.

And then Linette goes to Leon - but she does not fall into his arms as she did with Portia. She reaches out both hands to him, offering a tight clasp - but leaving him to take the lead on anything else. Linette's eyes hold Leon's steadily, though, wide and dark, and full of tears and love and support.

Josh has been silent as is his nature. When it is his turn to pay his respects he does so. Looking down at the fallen man as if to put him in his memory. A picture to remember him by forever. Silent words are given as his lips move and then he moves to where his friend Leon and family move. His words are simple but sincere to the best of his ability. "I am sorry for your loss. That you have to go thru this." Trying to not intrude in the support already there but giving his voice.

When it is her time, Helena approaches the still image of her uncle, but her words are kept private between her and him. She does not speak out loud, but her lips move with words meant for Ambrose and Providence. She speaks for a few minutes and then bows her head, words stilled as her thoughts are heard only by Providence. She finally steps away, returning to her family.

Leon remains, as he has, at the foot of the bier, keeping that vigil; though as Linette approaches, he takes her offered hand in his own and murmurs a quiet word before placing a brush of a kiss on her temple.

Following Ravelle in the procession is Athar, the last of the Soranus to make their way past that sight of Ambrose Maritus. He pauses before his uncle and remains there a moment, his hand reaching out to find one of those cold ones, so robbed of their strength and warmth and life. His lips move, in quiet words spoken only to Ambrose and Providence, before he finally lowers his head. A moment longer, and he straightens, a final glance spared his uncle before he walks away. A quiet expression of support, and shared grief, is for Leon and Linette when he passes them both.

You whisper, "He'll lie with Mother soon; he'll be pleased, with that." to Linette.

Linette whispers: He will. And so will she. It's right that they're together now. Do you want me to stay with you for the rest of it?

When all but Ambrose's closest kin -- his children -- have said their farewells, the rest are led toward the manor: the smell of food has only grown stronger, and there's no doubt now but that a fair and fine feast awaits within -- food and drink, enough for all comers, as tradition dictates.

But there's one duty yet to be fulfilled, and Leon and his sister undertake it: the horses that drew the bier hither are gone, and their place is taken up by strong infantrymen, who draw it from this place and toward the entrance to the crypt, around the villa's other side. Leon spares another whispered word for his betrothed before he follows along.

You whisper, "No. I'll see it done, and say my farewells there. I'll find you inside." to Linette.

Linette whispers: I'll see you inside. I love you.

The din and soft solemnity of the occasion might drown out the sound of a rider outside upon a horse. The cloaked figure dismounts and ties the horse off before flipping the hood back to reveal Mildryth, whom walks briskly towards the rest of the contingent.

A last few whispered words, and a kiss to Leon's cheek, stolen while he is bending down to speak to her, and Linette steps away, rejoining her own kin and leaving for now the family she is marrying into. She follows the procession at the same slow pace, her posture just as strained and still as before, save for the lifting of one hand to brush away the last few tears that have fallen.

Inside the manor a handful of rooms are opened to this purpose, and the largest of them is that which hosts the long table: a table spread with a feast fair enough to have seen the kitchens working double-time for two days past. There's drink -- it's Gwencalon, after all -- enough for all who wish to drown their sorrows or celebrate a life well-lived, and drink better suited to the slaking of more mortal thirsts as well.

And there's musicians, too, for now the solemn words are spoken and now the children go to bury their father, and when that's done and they've returned, the time will come for celebration. The funeral feast is no solemn assembly.

And this being Guardians, no doubt more than one guest will leave bloodier than he arrived.

With rather quick steps, and keeping her head down from most of the others, considering how late she is. Late to a funeral, she's going to have a curse on her, isn't she? Mildryth comes up behind Linette and gives the barest of touches to her shoulder to let her know that she is there. If she looks back at her, she gives a quiet apologetic smile.

Raelyn is a wallflower. What do you expect from a Mistian? As things begin to shift towards the food and drink, Raelyn's arms fold loosely over her chest and she releases a slow breath through tight lips.

Linette goes past the food and straight to the drink - well, as straight as she can when she is stopped every few paces by mourners. When she finally manages it, a goblet of wine does something to lift the tight, strained look from her features. Linette certainly looks a little more at ease here inside the manor rather than outside among the crowds, but she is still far from tranquil. That tap to her shoulder brings her head swiftly up and turning - and finally a smile comes to light her face, although it does not entirely chase away the sorrow or tension. "Mildryth!" Linette reaches out to give the mountain woman a swift,one-handed embrace. "Thank you for coming!"

With his mother still sobbing, Traian approaches Leon and Portia. "I think my mother is quite upset. Pardon me if I take my leave to send my mother to retire for a moment, Lord and Lady cousin."

It's some time before Leon and his sister return from the crypts, the latter on the arm of the former, though they part soon after appearing, the one disappearing into the crowd as Leon makes his own way toward where drinks are served. His, likewise, is slow; and he pauses at Traian's approach. "Of course," he answers quietly, clasping that kinsman's arm. "Be well. Providence keep you. Keep you both."

Mildryth returns the embrace to Linette, but allows it only as long as the Barca seems comfortable with it. "I's sairy I's late. I's wuz detained." She manages a partial smile at that given, but intensity brightens it in effort of comfort and support. "I's gae ta say me g'byes tae da Laird, boot, I's wanted ye tae know I's be 'ere." And with that, and further ado, she turns to go back and head for Ambrose.

Linette is only too happy to let Mildryth hug her, and her own arm tightens to pull herself gratefully closer. But she needs to pull away sometime, and gives the older woman just one last touch on the arm before she steps back and takes another long sip of wine. "Well, you're here now," Linette declares, her smile lifting up again, "and that's what counts." Her expression stiffens a little at the mention of going to see the lord, though. "He's - he' s not - " Linette has to stop and draw a long, deep breath before she can make herself say, "They've already gone to the crypt. You can say your prayers there, though, if you like."

Helena lingers with her family, finding something to drink, but refusing the food, even though it smells delicious. A large number of the people here are unknown to her and this isn't quite the social event of the season.

There is only a brief period that Mildryth is gone, and then, she is back again. And again, she comes up to near Linette and gives the brief touch of the shoulder to let her know that she is there. "'ow be ye, lass?"

"I'm..." Linette has to pause again, hovering between a desire for truth and a desire for strength, until she can say, "I'll be all right." She reaches out to catch Leon's hand in hers as he passes. Once he has returned, Linette is rarely far from him if she can help it - and although she drinks enthusiastically, she does not drink in as much abundance as some of the guests. She accepts others' good wishes, and exchanges tales of Lord Ambrose - and can laugh at some of them, surprising even herself. And even though the strain hangs more and more heavily on Linette as the night wears on, she stays resolutely by Leon's side, still giving more comfort than she receives.

Mildryth watches Linette and Leon go off for the night, her lips pressing thin as she steps to nab a glass of whiskey. For now, she hands in the background and the shadows, keeping to herself as she drinks.

The funeral feast is just that -- a feast -- and both food and drink are plentiful. The music grows louder as the evening grows longer, the toasts grow rambling, the guests grow more besotted (saving, of course, those who don't), and sooner or later the sun will rise again.

And Leon? He'll remain in the midst of it, likelier nearer Linette than not, save when filial duty requires attention -- though that, rarely. And he'll raise a glass of fine scotch in his father's memory, when the time comes: but just one.