Mercedes Lackey - Exile's Honor

It would be an honor guard, and it was an honor to be included in it. And here was the one factor that leavened, just a little, the sadness of the journey for Alberich. No one, not one person , had objected to his presence at Selenay's side. Talamir had already been sent north with the wounded, and there was no Queen's Own to ride with her. But she wouldn't need the Queen's Own on the journey, only bodyguards. The Council had gone on ahead, and now that the most urgent needs had been answered, all decisions were being held until Selenay reached Haven. So when it came down to it, Selenay only needed her bodyguards, not Alberich.

Yet no one said a word when she posted the final list of who was to accompany her, and chief on the list was "Herald Alberich, acting Queen's Own."

"Are we on schedule?" she asked, packing up her writing case with greater care than the simple task warranted.

"Ahead, a little," he told her. "In readiness, all will be, for leaving at dawn."

She closed and locked the case, then sighed. "I suppose I'll be expected to make a speech."

"Yes." He did not elaborate on that; he felt horribly sorry for her, but it was her duty, and she knew it. But there was another aspect to this journey of grief that he didn't think she ad considered. Not only the army mourned its King, but the country. "It is wondered, Majesty, if pausing you will be at each village?" They'd left it to him to ask that delicate question, that and any others that might come up. He was acting Queen's Own, after all; delicate questions, it seemed, were a art of the job.

"At each village?" she asked, looking blank.

"A speech to make?" he elaborated.

She frowned, and looked as if she had suddenly developed headache. "Oh, gods. I don't want to... but people are going to want to pay their respects, aren't they? But each time we stop, it's just going to make this whole thing drag out longer, and—" The frown turned into a look of despair, and he sensed that if he told her she should make all those stops, she'd do it, but it might break her.

He racked his brain for an answer, and finally thought he had a compromise. "Majesty—perhaps not a stop , and not a speech. But—spectacle. Something for memory and showing honor. A Herald sent ahead to warn each place that we come, then... drop pace to a slow walk? With—ah—muffled drums? Lowered banners? Through each place's center, though a detour we make? No speech, but—" he sought for the word, desperately, "—on your part, to be the icon of grief? You need speak not, only mourn, publicly—"

She looked as if he had taken a huge burden off of her shoulders. "The very thing—would you go see to it for me, get it all organized?"

She must be near the breaking point, or she wouldn't delegate that to me. "At once, Majesty," he promised. "Please—be eating would you? Little have you had since morning."

That got a thin ghost of a smile from her. "Except for the accent, you sound like Talamir. Or my old nurse. All right, Nanny Alberich, I'll go get something to eat, and I promise I'll get some sleep, too. Maybe I'll have Crathach give me something to make me sleep, and go to bed early."

"That, most wise would be," he said. "And eat you must. Too thin, you are. How are you to get a husband, so thin you are?"

She stared at him for a moment in utter silence as he kept his face completely expressionless. Then, weakly, she began to laugh.

He allowed himself a smile.

She wiped away a tear, but he could see that some of the lines of grief and worry around her eyes had eased. "And they say you have no sense of humor," she said.

"Nor do I. All know this," he assured her. "Go now, and something impossible demand of the cooks."

"Impossible?" That caught her off guard. "Why?"

"First, that a reason they will have, at last to complain. Cooks must complain; in their nature, it is. Second, that injured their pride has been, that you have asked for nothing. Their pride is in that their masters demand much of them. Third, concerned they have been, that you have asked for nothing. They fear you need them not. Fourth, they worry for you." He raised an eyebrow. "But be certain, though impossible, it is something you want . Suspect I do, that they will create it."

"Ah." She blinked. "Do you know everything that is going on around here?"

He shook his head at that. "Not I. But Kantor I have, as Caryo you have. Our Companions know much, and what they know not, generally, they can discover. Sendar made use of that, often and often."

"I'd better get used to doing the same, then." This time her smile was a little stronger, as she picked up her writing case and stood up. "And I'll think about impossible things to eat on the way to my tent. Can you find Crathach and send him to me, while you're doing all the other things I've asked you to?"

"Without difficulty." He returned her smile. "Ask Rantor, I shall."

They left the tent together. She picked up her escort of Ylsa and Keren at the door of the command tent, and went her own way in the golden light of another perfect evening, while Alberich started off on the last of the errands she had set him.

The last turned out to be the first; Crathach was nearby, and heartily approved of Selenay's wish to sleep early. Most of the rest were trivial and easily discharged. That left the organization of what were essentially funeral corteges through every hamlet, village, and town on the road to Haven. But rather than solve that one himself, he asked Kantor to have all the Heralds that were left in camp—save only Selenay's bodyguards—meet him back at the command tent, and bring with them the remaining highborn, officers, and Bards. The latter because Bards tended to be very good at concocting ceremonies, and he suspected they would have some ideas.

They did. And it didn't take very long either, since this was only going to be a procession. The greatest amount of time was spent in deciding what the order of precedence was going to be, and then, what places in the procession would belong to whom. He left them at it, after about a mark; his place would be with Selenay, and if they settled their differences without any interference from him, even if not everyone was happy, they couldn't attach any blame to him or the Queen.

And nothing would be required of her except to follow the wagon carrying the coffin on foot, with Caryo walking beside her. Certainly no speeches. The focus of attention wouldn't be on her, but rightfully, on the King's remains, which should be something of a relief. So he hoped, anyway. If she wept, all the better. He hoped she would weep; she hadn't done nearly enough.

By this time, it was full dark, and the camp was quiet; with an early start planned for the morrow, most people had, if their duties allowed, made an early night. He moved down the now-familiar lanes of tents in the light of the torches stuck on either side of his path, thinking that this place would look very odd when all of the canvas had been struck and there was no sign of what had stood here but trampled grass.

:I'm glad to be leaving,: Kantor said.

:So am I.: At least in Haven, there would not be the ever-present reminders that this was the place where they had lost a King.

His tent had been moved inside what had been the royal enclosure to adjoin Selenay's, and out of habit, he glanced at hers to see if there was any light showing.

There wasn't, and with a feeling of relief, he nodded to the guards at the tent door, and entered his own. They didn't trouble to leave guards inside the tent anymore; Selenay's little pages all slept in bedrolls spread out across the floor, and anyone trying to get in would probably step on one of them. He certainly wouldn't get in quietly; those children slept lightly and the least little sound sent half a dozen heads shooting up. Any intruder would set off more noise than disturbing a flock of geese.