As soon as heād been sure that everyone had made it back safely from the ordeal on the Coast, Lucien went to retrieve the one who hadnāt. Lia led him to the spot where Tessa had been buried, and heād turned the shallow earth with his hands until heād reached her, laid out unceremoniously in a pile of dead Coterie fighters. Without the faintest hint of hesitation, Lucien had brushed the sand off her face and picked her up out of the mass grave, careful to support her half-severed neck in the crook of his arm, his other held under her knees. Rigor mortis had come and gone, and so while she was cold, she was not stiff.
He carried her back on foot, disinclined to do her the indignity of being tied to the back of his horse and transported that way.
The customary funeral rites in the Free Marches were like those in Orlais, in most ways: unlike everywhere but Nevarra, Kirkwall burned the dead. He double-checked to make sure that was what they did in Starkhaven as well, and Nostariel was able to inform him that it was. The Lions had lit her pyre in a private ceremony not long after, gathering to say their farewells to their comrade, friend to many and first to fall. No words had been spoken, a reverential silence enforcing some kind of moratorium on noise or even overlarge gestures.
Then had come the even less pleasant part: informing Tessaās family. She had told him she was estranged from them, and so he did not expect to be well-received, but he felt it his obligation, anyway, to bring them her ashes and inform them of what had happened to their daughter and sister. His reception was mixed; though her mother was cold to him the entire time and her father simply looked perturbed, her siblings by and large seemed grateful that heād gone to the trouble to return her home at the last. The trip to Starkhaven took him three days, and upon his return, preparations began for the wake, a more public and open thing that would serve as the chance for any and all who had known her to pay their respects, share stories, and celebrate her life, even as they mourned her death.
It seemed only right, after allāTessaās death had been honorable, but the same could be said of her life, and more besides.
For the occasion, the long tables in the barracks had been arranged into two lines, himself seated at the head of one of them. There were drinks to be had in plenty, and food enough to feed everyone who came through. Lucien was finishing the last of the necessary paperwork even as it startedāall of the Lions were entitled a modest pension in the event of their deaths, to go to whomever they desired to support. Without any dependents, Tessa had written that hers was to be split between Nostarielās clinic and a small group doing charitable work in Darktown. The others had since turned down her room, and everything that wasnāt returned to her family was to be sold, to go to the same places.
He affixed his signature to the death notice, which would eventually become an official death certificate issued by the Viscountās office, and returned all of the documentation to the folder he was keeping it in, stowing it in his office before rejoining the others in the common room. The mood was solemn, thus far, though not oppressively so, exactly. The Lions were muted, but they talked amicably among themselves, mostly on the topic of their departed friend.
āI justā¦ I canāt believe sheās gone, you know?ā That was Donnelly, who tugged a hand roughly through his hair. Idris reached over to squeeze his shoulder.
āSeems like she should be here, doesnāt it?ā The elder man smiled sympathetically. The death of a dear friend was a loss he knew better than most of the young ones did. Estella stared too intently at the pattern in the wood grain of the table, her face set into an expression that was difficult to read, exactly. Cor kept shooting her concerned glances, but appeared to have decided it was better not to inquire. Havard was deep into his third cup already, nearby the others but not currently adding to the conversation. Guests continued to filter in and take up places at the tables, occasionally earning a glance or a tentative smile from those already present.
Nostariel was one of those who came in around that time. Sheād been surprised that part of Tessaās pension was to go to her clinic, but then, she did see an awful lot of the Lions in and out of the place, so she supposed it was a way of looking after her friends, even after death. There was something at once extraordinary and perfectly ordinary about that kind of sentiment, and though Nostariel would have gone to the wake anyway, the gesture left no doubt as to her attendance. Smiling softly at the cluster of Lions she knew best, she took a seat on Corās other side, declining a drink but consenting to nibble on a bit of the provided food.
She knew well what it felt like to lose a close friend or a comrade, and as such, she knew that there was little to be said for it, but also that being present was important, that sometimes that was the best kind of support one could offer to someone who had suffered such a loss.
Sophia was present as well, and had been for some time. She sat next to Lucien around the corner of the long table, her posture best described as withdrawn. She drank sparingly, and had eaten nothing. She made the barest attempts at conversation when spoken to, though it was clear she was working hard to maintain a pleasant attitude towards the others attending. Everyone had a different relation to the death that had occurred, and Sophia felt particularly troubled by hers.
She tried again and again to rationalize it by thinking that Tessa had died in a line of duty, but that voice was consistently drowned out. The stronger one reminded her that it had been a personal affair, one that felt utterly unnecessary now, days after. She had yet to deal with the issue awaiting her in the Gallows, but she did not feel any need to rush. He would be there when she was ready to confront him. In the meantime, she had this to struggle with. Sophia was unused to this feeling, of others paying the price for her boldness. It was significantly harder to deal with. It was the first death they'd had to fight through. It would not be the last; it couldn't be, not in this line of work. But Sophia imagined this one would always stand out in her mind.
Lia, meanwhile, seemed to be doing better, chatting mostly with Cor and Donnelly and occasionally trying to poke at Estella. For a time she had struggled with thoughts of things she could have done differently, but as hard as she thought, she could think of nothing that would have saved Tessa, only things that would've made it worse. She'd lived, and returned in time to free the others before more death could happen. That, she decided, was the best way to honor Tessa.
Ashton was the next guest to arrive, along with Vesper and another guard who wished to pay his respects. All three of them were immaculately dressed in their plate, buffed and polished spotless as a sign of respect. After stepping over the threshold into the barracks, he nodded to the other two and allowed them to filter out and find their own places, while he himself took a seat on the other side of Nostariel. "I'm sorry we're late. I had to work through some paperwork," He explained.
Once everyone was reasonably settled into place, Lucien used a natural lull in the conversation to stand, a glass of port in hand. He didnāt really lead in the kind of way that entailed a lot of speeches or anything like that, but he knew that, nevertheless, it was important for a Commander to address his people. They had suffered a loss, and to a certain extent, the responsibility for that, even if not the blame, was his. That was the burden of leadership. Another part of that burden was that in times like these, it was his job to care enough to make this impossibly difficult thing a little easier for them to cope with. That part, at least, he would do gladly, and to the best of his ability.
āThere are not adequate words, for a situation like this. Three days ago, we lost a comrade, companion, mentor, and friend. Tessa is the first Argent Lion to pass in this manner, and I regret to inform you that she will not be the last.ā This, of course, was something that they all knew by this point. Being a mercenary was a highly dangerous occupationādockworkers were not asked to provision their resources in the event that they died, nor did merchants leave their boss with a list of people to contact should they expire in the line of duty.
āOurs is not a safe life, nor one that will always earn us the praise and thanks of others. Those are things we can do little about. What we can do is what Tessa did: we can live our lives, however long or short, with kindness and honor and laughter. We can extend the warmth of regard and consideration to everyone around us, no matter who they are or where they come from. We can strive to leave the world just a little better than it was when we entered it, better for the fact that we lived. We can face death with courage, and we can sacrifice willingly on behalf of those who need our help. These are the very things upon which I counted when I began this company, and they are the same things you counted on when you joined it.ā Heād made rather sure of it before he let them join, after all. Lucien paused a moment, sweeping his eyes slowly over the room.
āI will not tell you when or how to grieve or stop grieving. She was important to all of us, to some of us especially so. It is not wrong to grieve for those we lose. It is not weak or childish, and there is no reason to pretend that you arenāt, if you are.ā He lowered his head for a moment, eyes falling to where his fingertips lightly touched the table in front of him. āI am.ā He looked back up, his mouth tilting into a rueful smile. āBut I ask you, in your grief, to think not just of what we have lost, but what we never will. Look to yourselves and each other, for she has left traces behind on all of you. The memory of a practice match, an old inside joke, a touch, a word. These things linger, as they rightly should. They are the ways, however small, that she has influenced you, affected you, changed you.ā
He paused a moment, clearly thoughtful. It was fairly evident that he hadnāt really planned the speech beforehand, but he didnāt think he was doing terribly at it. He did have some sense for what was required to speak to groups of people, after all. More than anything, he was just being honest. āSo let your grief be also about these things. Let it be about what you still have, because of her. Let it be about her life, and not just her death. Let it be not only about extraordinary courage and tragic circumstance, but also about the most ordinary and meaningful thing of all: the love we have for our comrades and our friends. We drink to her, as comrades must, so that we do not forget.ā He raised his glass.
āTo Tessa Orkney, Scout-Lieutenant of the Argent Lions. To our friend.ā
Lia raised her cup, downing what was left of her drink and setting it back down on the table. Sophia drank as well, murmuring a few words that were likely lost under some of the louder Lions.
"May she find peace at the Maker's side."
He carried her back on foot, disinclined to do her the indignity of being tied to the back of his horse and transported that way.
The customary funeral rites in the Free Marches were like those in Orlais, in most ways: unlike everywhere but Nevarra, Kirkwall burned the dead. He double-checked to make sure that was what they did in Starkhaven as well, and Nostariel was able to inform him that it was. The Lions had lit her pyre in a private ceremony not long after, gathering to say their farewells to their comrade, friend to many and first to fall. No words had been spoken, a reverential silence enforcing some kind of moratorium on noise or even overlarge gestures.
Then had come the even less pleasant part: informing Tessaās family. She had told him she was estranged from them, and so he did not expect to be well-received, but he felt it his obligation, anyway, to bring them her ashes and inform them of what had happened to their daughter and sister. His reception was mixed; though her mother was cold to him the entire time and her father simply looked perturbed, her siblings by and large seemed grateful that heād gone to the trouble to return her home at the last. The trip to Starkhaven took him three days, and upon his return, preparations began for the wake, a more public and open thing that would serve as the chance for any and all who had known her to pay their respects, share stories, and celebrate her life, even as they mourned her death.
It seemed only right, after allāTessaās death had been honorable, but the same could be said of her life, and more besides.
For the occasion, the long tables in the barracks had been arranged into two lines, himself seated at the head of one of them. There were drinks to be had in plenty, and food enough to feed everyone who came through. Lucien was finishing the last of the necessary paperwork even as it startedāall of the Lions were entitled a modest pension in the event of their deaths, to go to whomever they desired to support. Without any dependents, Tessa had written that hers was to be split between Nostarielās clinic and a small group doing charitable work in Darktown. The others had since turned down her room, and everything that wasnāt returned to her family was to be sold, to go to the same places.
He affixed his signature to the death notice, which would eventually become an official death certificate issued by the Viscountās office, and returned all of the documentation to the folder he was keeping it in, stowing it in his office before rejoining the others in the common room. The mood was solemn, thus far, though not oppressively so, exactly. The Lions were muted, but they talked amicably among themselves, mostly on the topic of their departed friend.
āI justā¦ I canāt believe sheās gone, you know?ā That was Donnelly, who tugged a hand roughly through his hair. Idris reached over to squeeze his shoulder.
āSeems like she should be here, doesnāt it?ā The elder man smiled sympathetically. The death of a dear friend was a loss he knew better than most of the young ones did. Estella stared too intently at the pattern in the wood grain of the table, her face set into an expression that was difficult to read, exactly. Cor kept shooting her concerned glances, but appeared to have decided it was better not to inquire. Havard was deep into his third cup already, nearby the others but not currently adding to the conversation. Guests continued to filter in and take up places at the tables, occasionally earning a glance or a tentative smile from those already present.
Nostariel was one of those who came in around that time. Sheād been surprised that part of Tessaās pension was to go to her clinic, but then, she did see an awful lot of the Lions in and out of the place, so she supposed it was a way of looking after her friends, even after death. There was something at once extraordinary and perfectly ordinary about that kind of sentiment, and though Nostariel would have gone to the wake anyway, the gesture left no doubt as to her attendance. Smiling softly at the cluster of Lions she knew best, she took a seat on Corās other side, declining a drink but consenting to nibble on a bit of the provided food.
She knew well what it felt like to lose a close friend or a comrade, and as such, she knew that there was little to be said for it, but also that being present was important, that sometimes that was the best kind of support one could offer to someone who had suffered such a loss.
Sophia was present as well, and had been for some time. She sat next to Lucien around the corner of the long table, her posture best described as withdrawn. She drank sparingly, and had eaten nothing. She made the barest attempts at conversation when spoken to, though it was clear she was working hard to maintain a pleasant attitude towards the others attending. Everyone had a different relation to the death that had occurred, and Sophia felt particularly troubled by hers.
She tried again and again to rationalize it by thinking that Tessa had died in a line of duty, but that voice was consistently drowned out. The stronger one reminded her that it had been a personal affair, one that felt utterly unnecessary now, days after. She had yet to deal with the issue awaiting her in the Gallows, but she did not feel any need to rush. He would be there when she was ready to confront him. In the meantime, she had this to struggle with. Sophia was unused to this feeling, of others paying the price for her boldness. It was significantly harder to deal with. It was the first death they'd had to fight through. It would not be the last; it couldn't be, not in this line of work. But Sophia imagined this one would always stand out in her mind.
Lia, meanwhile, seemed to be doing better, chatting mostly with Cor and Donnelly and occasionally trying to poke at Estella. For a time she had struggled with thoughts of things she could have done differently, but as hard as she thought, she could think of nothing that would have saved Tessa, only things that would've made it worse. She'd lived, and returned in time to free the others before more death could happen. That, she decided, was the best way to honor Tessa.
Ashton was the next guest to arrive, along with Vesper and another guard who wished to pay his respects. All three of them were immaculately dressed in their plate, buffed and polished spotless as a sign of respect. After stepping over the threshold into the barracks, he nodded to the other two and allowed them to filter out and find their own places, while he himself took a seat on the other side of Nostariel. "I'm sorry we're late. I had to work through some paperwork," He explained.
Once everyone was reasonably settled into place, Lucien used a natural lull in the conversation to stand, a glass of port in hand. He didnāt really lead in the kind of way that entailed a lot of speeches or anything like that, but he knew that, nevertheless, it was important for a Commander to address his people. They had suffered a loss, and to a certain extent, the responsibility for that, even if not the blame, was his. That was the burden of leadership. Another part of that burden was that in times like these, it was his job to care enough to make this impossibly difficult thing a little easier for them to cope with. That part, at least, he would do gladly, and to the best of his ability.
āThere are not adequate words, for a situation like this. Three days ago, we lost a comrade, companion, mentor, and friend. Tessa is the first Argent Lion to pass in this manner, and I regret to inform you that she will not be the last.ā This, of course, was something that they all knew by this point. Being a mercenary was a highly dangerous occupationādockworkers were not asked to provision their resources in the event that they died, nor did merchants leave their boss with a list of people to contact should they expire in the line of duty.
āOurs is not a safe life, nor one that will always earn us the praise and thanks of others. Those are things we can do little about. What we can do is what Tessa did: we can live our lives, however long or short, with kindness and honor and laughter. We can extend the warmth of regard and consideration to everyone around us, no matter who they are or where they come from. We can strive to leave the world just a little better than it was when we entered it, better for the fact that we lived. We can face death with courage, and we can sacrifice willingly on behalf of those who need our help. These are the very things upon which I counted when I began this company, and they are the same things you counted on when you joined it.ā Heād made rather sure of it before he let them join, after all. Lucien paused a moment, sweeping his eyes slowly over the room.
āI will not tell you when or how to grieve or stop grieving. She was important to all of us, to some of us especially so. It is not wrong to grieve for those we lose. It is not weak or childish, and there is no reason to pretend that you arenāt, if you are.ā He lowered his head for a moment, eyes falling to where his fingertips lightly touched the table in front of him. āI am.ā He looked back up, his mouth tilting into a rueful smile. āBut I ask you, in your grief, to think not just of what we have lost, but what we never will. Look to yourselves and each other, for she has left traces behind on all of you. The memory of a practice match, an old inside joke, a touch, a word. These things linger, as they rightly should. They are the ways, however small, that she has influenced you, affected you, changed you.ā
He paused a moment, clearly thoughtful. It was fairly evident that he hadnāt really planned the speech beforehand, but he didnāt think he was doing terribly at it. He did have some sense for what was required to speak to groups of people, after all. More than anything, he was just being honest. āSo let your grief be also about these things. Let it be about what you still have, because of her. Let it be about her life, and not just her death. Let it be not only about extraordinary courage and tragic circumstance, but also about the most ordinary and meaningful thing of all: the love we have for our comrades and our friends. We drink to her, as comrades must, so that we do not forget.ā He raised his glass.
āTo Tessa Orkney, Scout-Lieutenant of the Argent Lions. To our friend.ā
Lia raised her cup, downing what was left of her drink and setting it back down on the table. Sophia drank as well, murmuring a few words that were likely lost under some of the louder Lions.
"May she find peace at the Maker's side."