Snippet #1716524

She was growing tired of funerals, truth be told. Then again, she supposed the same was true of those around her as well; gods knew they’d attended enough of them in the past few weeks. Garbiel’s had been first, just as soon as Danterus was fit enough to attend. Gilgamesh’s had been next, though she’d only attended because she had to, and certainly none of the others had been forced to come. Scheherazade had, but then there was more to that than there rightfully should have been.

Her mother’s had been the hardest, partly because she’d never seen it coming. They’d managed to find and locate all the threads in the plot besides that one, and it wasn’t until she’d arrived home, bloodied, exhausted, and recovering from what was nearly an agonizing trauma the like of which she’d not really thought to experience, that Alia had found her and recounted the story of the poison in the Queen’s food. A fool. She’d been a fool for letting that angle, so obvious, slip past her perception. She hadn’t been able to weep at the funeral, instead swallowing the tears like a monarch should and trying to keep her thoughts from straying to all that had been lost.

An entire city neighborhood. Half of the rebel mage group. Countless soldiers. A master of his craft and valued ally. Her mother.

And here, now, a very public funeral of strangely mixed attendance. Amidst Loki’s friends and allies and guards were several people dressed much less well, most of their eyes fixed on the ground, shuffling feet as though thoroughly uncomfortable with the surroundings. A matron wept in the arms of her aging husband, and the Queen-to-be surmised these must be Pandora’s grandparents.

When she’d told them of her plans to bury the mage-woman in the District Alpha citadel, they’d been wary at first. Understandable, considering that the healer’s kind had never been welcomed there before. Loki, though, was done with that artificial divide, and if anyone deserved to be buried like a hero, it was Pandora. The account was a little different depending upon who told it, but the important part was always the same: the shield that had protected mage and soldier alike had weathered chunks of masonry and concrete bigger than a person, draining her energy beyond repair, and by her sacrifice, she had saved many. More, if those who had turned and departed after her harsh words counted as well.

It troubled her to know that the ever-bright young woman had died painfully and with bitterness creeping into her heart. Normally, Loki was not one for sentiment, but even she was not without feeling, and it was hard not to think that there was something horribly wrong about the way it had turned out. They’d won the day, but not without considerable loss. She wondered if it was even worth it, but of course it was. It had to be. Even if it wasn’t, she would transform it into something that was. She owed that much to the deceased.

The Elisian priest finished his words, and the casket was slowly lowered into the ground. Loki took a deep breath, her hold tightening on the white rose held in her right hand. The thorns dug into her skin, but she was hardly mindful of it at present. She glanced beside her at the still-injured but thankfully alive Caelin, but said nothing. That day had been kind to none of them, she supposed, and she imagined that none of the people here were suffering less than she.

She’d been opening her mouth to say something- she knew not what- to Eos, when her eyes followed the same path and alighted on the nobleman collapsed on the floor, wrist snapped and bent at an awkward angle, sprawled on the floor in what appeared to be a pool of his own blood.

For all her knowledge of the reality of death, she’d never had to watch a friend die (perhaps partially because she’d never had friends). She was unprepared for the sick, rotting feeling that bloomed in her chest cavity, and for the way panic closed her throat. She’d always been in perfect control of such reactions, but it was… well, suffice it to say she’d had no practice with this, no training that could adequately convey what it felt like.

Heedless of the consequences, she’d been off like a shot, hip-checking one of the men still standing over her friend and throwing her right-hand blade with rather more force than was strictly necessary into the one about to land the last blow. He’d dropped, and Carlisle had cut in to end the one now on the ground but otherwise unharmed. She'd suffered a rather painful abdominal wound for the trouble, but it had hardly mattered comparatively.

The rest of the company she’d designated for this task arrived within seconds, and she was left to try and staunch what bleeding she could until the actual medical professionals had arrived. Never in her life had she felt so powerless as when she realized that she needed to know how to treat wounds, and had been at a loss on where to start. Luckily, what little she was able to manage had been enough.

Approaching the grave, she placed the first flower gently on the casket and stepped back, clasping her hands in front of her and reading the inscription she had requested for the gravestone. Sighing inaudibly, she turned and made way for the next person in line, ignoring the twinge as the new scar tissue on her ribcage pulled. Her eyes wandered over the crowd, picking out faces here and there that she recognized, but Eos was not immediately visible. Not that she necessarily expected him to be in the mass of onlookers, but she was fairly sure that he was around somewhere.

After they’d taken Caelin away for medical treatment, she’d spent much of the next while refusing similar ministrations and instead devoted herself to clearing the bodies out of the Parliament Building. Silly as it was, part of her was actually occupied wondering whether or not she’d have her own trial now that the only one who’d press charges against her was dead. Perhaps it was counterintuitive, but she actually sort of wanted to be held accountable for it. Too many people had gotten away with too many abuses of power, and she was not so blind that she did not count herself among them.

She’d wound up working beside him, able to actually give his question some thought, though she knew well enough what the answer had to be. The only question was how exactly she was supposed to say something like that. But hell, why not? She’d been out of her element all damn day, and next to that, getting over her social shortcomings was hardly of any consequence.

“I…” she’d started abruptly, still working at the business of dragging bodies across the floor. She was half-tempted to make a dry remark about awful timing, but then it was too true to be funny anyway. “Can’t.” Oh fantastic. She’d taken the coward’s way out and was going with the duty excuse, wasn’t she? It certainly seemed that way. Of course, that was probably your only option when the real reason was something you weren’t even willing to admit to yourself, much less anyone else. He should have asked her a year ago- it would probably have been better for all involved.

A flash of red hair informed her that Zade was present, but Loki wouldn’t seek her out. The girl had been released from the terms of her employment, a decision that had troubled the Princess, but one that she had thought it best to make. Victoria was there, too, as was Amon, and she might have seen Danterus earlier… they were truly fortunate to have made it out alive.

Loki lingered until the last of the guests had filed away save Pandora’s grandparents, then took her own leave, turning her back to the scene of their grief. For the first time in her life, she truly understood what they were feeling, and she left them to their misery in peace. She had a coronation to organize, and then a world to change. This would be worth all the pain, or at least as much worth it as she was capable of making it in a human lifetime.

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