Mercedes Lackey - Exile's Honor

It made Alberich shiver a little, and he sensed he wasn't the only one—but not everyone seemed to notice the change. Selenay didn't, for one. But perhaps she was too young, too involved with her own grief, or both—

Alberich was just glad to acknowledge Talamir's thanks, and drop back farther into the procession, selfishly grateful to Talamir for having recovered quickly enough to take his proper place back; it hadn't been a position he had been comfortable with. He hated being in the public eye, on show. Now, in the Formal Whites that the young Queen had asked him to don for the funeral, he was just one Herald among many.

Besides, now we're into Haven, we come into Court protocols and precedence, all the pomp and ceremony that I know nothing about. The arrival of the state funeral coach had been the first sign that he was rapidly getting out of his depth of experience.

He and the other Heralds—and the Royal Guards that were left—rode alongside the walkers, between them and the crowds of onlookers and mourners. Here, as out in the country, the streets were carpeted with flowers and the green herbs of mourning, rue and rosemary, but there were far, far too many people here to allow folk to pile more flowers on the carriage; it would have been covered within a single block. That was all right; they seemed content enough to strew their blossoms in the path of the carriage and the procession.

The muffled drums, augmented now by more mounted and walking musicians, made a dull throbbing through the too-quiet streets. That was the strangest part of all, the quiet in the city. Alberich was used to the noise of Haven, but today, the silence was broken only by the sound of people sobbing, and even that was muffled, as if the mourners did not want to spoil the solemnity of the occasion by being too vocal.

They stopped three times in the course of the morning, at three of Sendar's favorite temples, for memorial services that were mercifully brief—just long enough that the walkers could rest before carrying on. Similar services were being held all over the city, and would be all day, and well into the night, but these comprised the official funeral for the citizens of Haven.

And it took most of the day to get from the city gates to the Palace Gates. They took one break at noon, at one of the huge Guildhouse Squares; Selenay and her entourage retired to the Needleworkers' Guildhouse for rest and a meal, while Sendar's coffin lay in state in the enormous Guildhall of the Wool-merchants' Guildhouse, and lines of folk, some of whom had traveled for a day to be here, filed past.

Then the procession began again after two candlemarks, stopping twice more for two more memorial ceremonies. And at long last, they entered the Gates of the Palace. By then, they were all exhausted, even those who had only joined the procession when it entered Haven.

Sendar was to be interred in the crypt beneath the floor of the Palace Chapel, along with the rest of his line; all was in readiness there, and had been, presumably, for days. The Guard now marched off to their barracks, leaving a much shrunken company to enter the chapel behind the coffin. They all filed inside, where at least it was possible for those who had been walking for so long to sit down.

Candles had already been lit all over the chapel although the last light penetrated the western windows, and the interior was overly warm, with the golden and reddish light making it appear warmer still. Incense warred with the scent of lilies for supremacy. The chapel was packed solid, shoulder to shoulder; Alberich, who had been riding all day rather than walking, took a standing position up against the wall beside the Royal pew. He was glad to be there , truth to tell; the stone wall felt cool against his back.

It could have been awful; speaker after interminable speaker eulogizing the King, until grief turned to benumbed boredom. And that would have been a terrible thing to do to Selenay. But someone had been wise; there were no interminable eulogies, only a few, brief speeches by those who had known and loved Sendar the best, punctuated by some of the most glorious music that Alberich had ever heard. Not for nothing was this also the site of Bardic Collegium; the Bards had exerted themselves to the utmost, and even though he had thought that the depths of his grief had been plumbed and exhausted, it was the music that brought tears again to his eyes. Anyone who could have listened to such music and not wept must have had a heart of stone.

Needless to say, when it came time for the last of the speakers—Selenay—she mounted the podium with reddened eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. But her voice was clear and steady as she spoke.

"Sendar was my King as well as my father," she said simply. "He was outstanding at both tasks. It can't have been easy to rule this unruly land of ours, and at the same time govern an ungovernable child, being father and mother to her—but he did it, and did it well. I will spend the rest of my life missing him; wishing he could be here to see—so many things. I suspect Valdemar will miss his steady hands on the reins, too. I can only pray that I can be as wise and compassionate a ruler as he was; I doubt very much if I can ever equal him as a parent. And I would gladly give my own life to have our positions reversed." She raised her head a little. "Nevertheless, such a sacrifice demands more than just words; it demands deeds. It demands that we be worthy of it; it demands that we all go beyond what we think is enough, making our own sacrifices in the name of a better life for all of Valdemar. That, in the truest essence, is what he did. That is what I will do. That is what he would expect of all of us; he deserves, and should have, nothing less than excellence as a fitting tribute to his memory. Only then can we be worthy of such a great and terrible gift—the life of a King."

She sat down in silence. And it seemed to Alberich that she had surprised many of her listeners—nonplussed some—and actually startled others. They were not sure how to react to her. This was not the speech of a young woman, overwhelmed with grief, that they had expected to hear....

More music filled the silence, then, a final prayer, and the service was over. A small and very intimate party followed the coffin down into the crypt for the final interment; Alberich was not part of that procession, nor did he wish to be. He had been an integral part of a funeral that had stretched on for far too long, from the Border to Haven, and—meaning no disrespect to Sendar's memory—he was weary of it, and wanted only to rest.

:Believe me, Selenay feels the same,: Kantor told him, the weariness in his mind-voice clear as cut crystal. :She's going straight to bed, and she told Caryo that she is going to sleep for a week. We're already bedded down, and Caryo and I intend to stay here and rest. I told Caryo to stay as long as Selenay stays asleep.:

:Good,: he said, and meant it. He remained where he was only long enough to see them all emerge from the crypt, see that the Seneschal cut short the line of those wishing to offer condolences, and watch Selenay vanish through the private door at the rear of the chapel that led straight into the Royal Suite with Talamir, Crathach, and the Seneschal in close attendance. Then he made good his own escape. Perhaps he should have stayed to listen to the Court gossip and read what he could out of expressions and what was not said, but—

—but that, frankly, was Talamir's job.

Then he recalled what Talamir had looked like, and wondered if Talamir was even capable of descending to such mundane and petty depths now. All right. I had better start to learn it. But not tonight.