In the shadows gracing the ground, he caught it. An extension off the lump on his back lifted up and began to twist back and forth. "Duncan," he groaned, his heels stopping up instantly, "stop waving. You can't do that here. It's not the time for frivolity."
"Why?"
"Because," he winced, his eyes whipping around the gathered crowds who were all staring agog at the toddler unaware of the somber event.
"Why?" the mocking bird continued.
"Because I ordered you to, that's why," he pulled out his stern voice that'd brook no trespasses, the child silencing a moment as he butted his pouting lip into the back of Gavin's head.
"Kay," Duncan muttered, both hands returning to lock around his father's neck, when Myra turned fully around. Her eyes skirted around the nobles glaring from behind, then back out to the line of people all pushing to get a view of their late King.
"It's okay, Dunny," she reached towards her son but didn't lift him off of Gavin's back. After rustling his hair a moment, she picked up his hand and gave it a shake. "You can wave all you want."
The little shoes lifted in glee, his body twisting to match the arm pumping through the air. Myra smiled a moment, her own hand raising to do the same. "Dad wouldn't want everyone all gloom and doom," she sniffled through the grin, "He'd be waving just as hard as his grandson."
With one hand keeping his boy safe, Gavin wrapped the other around Myra. She didn't stop waving to the crowd who were returning some of them now, but she rested her head on his shoulder. After placing a kiss to her warm forehead, Gavin lifted his hand off of her stomach and gave a single wave to the crowd. A young elven girl, at most a year older than Duncan, giggled on her mother's shoulders and returned it.
Even through the acrid pit in his stomach, Gavin smiled.
By the time they reached the chantry, nearly everything was in place. The mourners were already sat, filling up the back standing area. A handful of chairs were left unoccupied at the front, no doubt for the close family. Queen Beatrice led the line in, her arm held by the Grand Cleric of Denerim. Both women shuffled in slowly, trailed by Rosamund and those important after as the entire chantry fell silent. Eyes watched their Queen Mother and future Queen as well, both for sympathy and scrutiny. Ferelden wasn't just mourning their King but his rule as well, while wondering what changes would come next.
Myra moved closer behind Cailan's family, her hand wrapped around Duncan's while Gavin held him too. The boy was still pumped from the parade he got to be in, his jaw jabbering no matter how often Gavin leaned down and tried to shush him. It would be a miracle if they could make it through this without Duncan doing something loud and embarrassing.
Pausing, Myra crumpled into a flimsy chair. Gavin moved to sit beside her, but she waved a hand and said, "That's Duncan's seat." While she helped hoist their wiggly son up onto the chair, Gavin fell to his weary legs full of questions.
He turned back to look at the chantry overstuffed with people, most of them forced to stand and wait. "He doesn't need a chair, he could sit in my lap."
"Gavin..."
"It will allow someone else an opportunity to sit," he whipped back around, trying to determine who would need the chair the most, when Myra's warm fingers graced his jaw.
She turned his eyes to her, her lips thinned to almost nothing. "It's Duncan's, okay. It's...it's the only way we could get it to work."
"Get what to...?" he asked, when a body began to push its way through the multitude. A few were fighting back, but whoever was coming would brook no trespasses. Hunched over to try and sneak in unnoticed, Reiss paused at the row holding her daughter.
Reaching out, Myra gripped onto her hands and helped guide her aching mother to Duncan's chair. With a shattered smile, Reiss scooped up her grandson who was ecstatic to have her here, and sat with him pivoting around in her lap. She was stoic, her skin pale and wan, but no tears leeched from her eyes, and her mouth remained neutral.
"Gammy," Duncan began, "shoes." He pointed at his feet, showing off his latest party trick of naming the various articles of clothing he had on. Reiss patted his full stomach and pressed a kiss to the back of his head.
"I see that," she said to him before closing her eyes.
Gavin glanced behind her head to catch Myra's eyes. "I'm sorry," he mouthed and Myra shrugged. Reiss had no official standing in the court, nor in the royal family. She wouldn't be given any rights to even attend her love's funeral much less sit. But Myra found a way, even if she was to act as their son's nanny for the day.
"Daddy!" Duncan squeaked, fishing a piece of flint out of his pocket. Confused where he got it from, Gavin happily accepted the gift and tucked it away.
"You're going to be a terrible sneak thief," Reiss whispered to her grandson, her eyes fully upon the boy in her lap and not the man's body being laid to rest upon the pyre. He couldn't blame her, even Gavin was having troubles looking towards the King being doused in more holy oil by the sisters.
They would have done up his skin earlier to make certain the body burned, but it was tradition for the chantry clerics performing the rites to give one last drizzle. For their King it seemed as if every sister, mother, and grand cleric wanted a censer of their own. As the Grand Cleric dabbed her final spray of oil upon Alistair and slid back to the rows of chairs near the altar, a woman stood off the gilded throne.
Her hat stretched high through the air, hiding away what had once been orange-red hair that Gavin as a child foolishly asked if it was on fire. Porcelain cheeks marred by age and also pain fell flat while Divine Victoria leaned over Alistair's body. Using the sleeves of her fine robes, she wiped away the oil that spilled onto the King's eyes -- so he could see the Maker fully in all His glory.
For a moment, it wasn't Divine Victoria who paused to look down at the deceased but Leliana. She bit into her lip while staring at Alistair as if he were asleep and about to rise. The moment passed in an instant and the Divine turned to the assembled masses.
"People of Ferelden," she shouted in her Orlesian accent. It should throw Denerim off, but they knew this sister. She fought in the Blight, she was born in these lands. Ferelden claimed their newest Divine as much as Orlais did, sometimes more fervently with the King often siding with her more liberal proclamations. "We have come to mourn not only the loss of a King, but a father, a husband, a son, and friend..." she paused, unexpected tears jamming in her eyes, "for whom the world is lesser without."
She moved to turn to Beatrice, the Queen veiled in black sitting in the first mourner's chair. It was designated for the widower, the one who lost not only a friend but partner in life. Divine Victoria tipped her head, assuming she'd finished her recognition, when the Queen Mother suddenly stood. A few hands reached for her, Rosie in particular to tug her mother back to the chair, but Beatrice was set. Turning in place, Queen Beatrice hefted up her dark skirts in her fingers and stepped through the rows of chairs. Her thick veils were aimed right at Myra and Gavin.
No...no, she was staring at Reiss.
"Blighted hell," Myra cursed to herself, "I didn't think she'd notice."
Gavin's entire body tensed, uncertain what he could do if the Queen attempted to have the King's lover booted from his funeral. While he wanted to protect Reiss, and he knew the King's wishes would be for her to remain, it would reflect very poorly upon him if he even raised his voice against the Queen in mourning. For her part, Reiss lifted her head in defiance and stared right into the Queen's darkened eyes.
Saying nothing, Beatrice extended her hand to Reiss. Myra and Gavin shared a glance before both glared at the royal palm hanging in the air. Slowly, Reiss shifted Duncan off her lap and into Gavin's. By the time he had his son safely in his arms, Gavin realized she did it specifically so he couldn't leap to her defense. With no fear and no hesitation, Reiss gripped onto the Queen's hand and rose to her legs.
It wasn't to the back of the chantry that Beatrice escorted her, nor into the arms of a guard prepared to drag the shattered woman from the
chantry. With her skirts rustling against the floor, Beatrice guided Reiss to the front line of chairs. Reiss' lips hung open, confusion written clear as day upon the detective's face as the Queen extended her hand to the first chair Beatrice just left.
"Please, sit," she said, her voice clear enough it rang over the held tongues.
Reiss glanced down at the chair as if it all had to be an illusion or a trap, when she suddenly spun on her heels and embraced the Queen in a deep hug. After returning it warmly, Beatrice patting Reiss' back, the elven woman who'd been Alistair's love for over three decades sat in the widower's chair. Without saying another word, the Queen Mother scooped up Rosie's son and fell into his chair with the boy in her lap.
Every breath was held as if anticipating a great riot to break out. Who does that elven woman think she is? Acting as if she was the one truly married to the King? As if she was his one great love in this world? But no one would voice it, no one would dare go against the wishes of their Queen who was happily whispering to her grandson. Rosamund leaned over to Reiss and the pair joined hands a moment.
Hopping a chair over, Myra took up the vacated seat, her fingers entwining with Gavin's while she pressed a kiss to Duncan's head. Their son, unaware of the unprecedented and heartfelt moment, continued to dig sand out of his pockets and litter it on the floor.
Divine Victoria nodded her head at Reiss, allowing this second widow a view of the body of her lover, before she folded her hands and stepped to the middle of the altar. "The dear King Alistair's first daughter will now speak a few words."
Taking in a deep breath, Queen Rosamund rose from her seat and stepped up beside the great Divine. She looked stoic, as unmoved as the statues bearing her likeness. But for a moment, her body swayed, Leliana wrapping a comforting hand around her as the pair stared out towards Ferelden -- her new kingdom. The rest of the family only had a view of Alistair.
"What can I say about my father that you do not already know?" Rosie began, "He lived his life without pretense, without shadows, and without lies. He was every bit as hilarious, kind, loving, and full of terrible puns as you knew him to be..."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Fault
A massive bowl of beans made the third loop of the table. Myra wasn't watching it. No, she'd been engaged in the time honored tradition of everyone sitting around talking about how lovely the ceremony was, how beautiful the music/flowers/words were, and how it was just what the person who was now ash would have wanted. She knew one thing, her dad would have abhorred those beans. Nary a strip of bacon in them. No, someone added celery, honest to the maker celery into perfectly good beans.
Who did that?
Monsters. Or maybe the undead. What were their thoughts on celery again?
"Uh huh," her husband was nodding, his face struggling to make a smile while he attempted to small talk. Blessed Andraste, so many years on at this and he was still abysmal at it. But he tried. There were few things Gavin didn't try at. The woman he was talking to was older, perhaps as old as her dad, and kept a small nug on her lap. It was tinier than the usual ones Myra'd find scattered around the city, as if it was bred for proper ladies to cart them around in bags they were free to shit in.
She should rescue him, recuse him, or reuse him? Do anything to distract the woman who was less babbling on about her Dad and talking endlessly about herself, but Myra jabbed at her plate instead. The food she didn't want to take swirled around on the baked clay. Way to skimp out there, Rossie. Dad's funeral and aside from the big wigs at the front getting dragon bone plates, everyone else was dining on whatever they had in the back.
Gavin's fire warmed eye drifted over to her and he frowned. To emphasize what was giving him the extra wrinkles, his sight darted to her full plate. She thought maybe he'd think she ate something by mushing it all together into one giant brown glob, but no luck. He'd been on her for the past week to eat something. Drink something. Get some sleep.
What was the point? Her stomach was in no mood for food, her eyes were in no mood for sleep, and her chest... It wouldn't stop aching with every breath.
Silently, Myra's eyes darted over to her mom. Reiss had remained silent through the funeral, but she knew she'd been psyching herself up for it for days. Mom wasn't big on showing weakness, not when anyone else might see. But in front of Myra, in front of Lunet or a few of the others in the agency family, she'd crack. She'd stumble. She'd grip onto her desk and wail in agony and there wasn't a damn thing anyone can do.
The damn nightmares started up again after that. Myra didn't realize how much she'd buried in her brain from the turmoil of when her Mom had her ear cut off until she heard the same soul gutting cry erupt from Reiss' throat. Only difference, there was no Dad there to help the wounded woman through it. Reiss and Myra were left alone, stumbling to try and find any sense in this fucked up world.
"Gammy!" Duncan called while kicking both feet up in the air. He sat between Myra and Gavin, more to try and keep him pinned in, but he couldn't stop waving at his worn out grandmother. She'd put down her spoon and return it with a twist of her fingers, which would make Duncan giggle.
"You should eat your dinner," Myra said while jabbing a finger towards his also full plate. Her boy stuck out his tongue and shook his head. Sighing, she rolled her eyes towards her husband who could get Duncan to do anything he didn't want to, but Gavin was staring directly at her instead.
"You should eat as well," he said, causing Myra to glare at him. She wasn't two years old, she knew what was best for herself. She knew what she deserved.
Snagging a loaf of bread off one of the further platters, Myra began to tear small pieces off and lay them in front of her son. "Here, you like this," she explained. He wasn't a picky eater at home, but when over stimulated by lots of people and lots of change in his world, Duncan seemed far too interested in anything but food. Her Dad would disown him on that alone.
She laughed a bit at the thought while sifting through Duncan's curls. They were practically ringlets now, growing so long as to damn near stop any little old ladies in their tracks until they could pinch his adorable cheeks. Unaware of his looks, just like his Daddy, Duncan snatched up pieces of bread into both fists and shoved them in his mouth. With a wide grin, he chewed, half the bread sloshing down his throat.
"You are disgusting," Myra said to her son who grinned wider and reached with his crumb coated hands for her cheeks. She tipped her head down, letting him smother her in loving goo before she got a quick kiss in against his forehead. "Now eat your peas."
Duncan folded his arms, prepared to fight her on it, but Myra was in no mood for the usual games. Snatching up her spoon, she rolled three of the offending vegetables onto it and held it up to her boy. His green eyes glowered, the boy blessed or cursed with his father's sneer in the trappings of her coloring.
"Nice try, kid, but I've grown immune to that. Eat 'em," she said while hovering the spoon closer to his lips. Duncan didn't open up, but his chubby fingers picked up one of the peas and inspected it. When he squished the overworked pea in between his fingers, green slime squirting out, Myra groaned.
Of course, that was the perfect time for the tallest hat in the chantry to wander by. Gavin practically leapt to his feet, then bowed to his knees in her presence. "Your most holy!" he greet/cried to her while Myra attempted to clean the pea juice off of Duncan.
"Please, call me Leliana. It has been some years since I last saw you."
Gavin blushed, scrambling to rise up far taller than the Divine. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, "My life keeps me busy."
"No doubt. Having an entire treaty named after you will eat up a large mass of it."
"Oh that's..." his eyes wandered away as always happened when anyone brought up the Gavin Treaty. It wasn't its official name, but anything official went out the window with that mess. "It's not anything special."
"I beg to differ. It doesn't often take much to start a war, but ending it before it really began, especial
ly one between three different nations is an impressive feat."
Her husband was gasping now, his eyes darting around the room as if he feared he passed out and was dreaming all this, "I was lucky. Right place, right time and all..."
The Divine smiled, her stained lips lifting not from a force but genuine emotion. "Your mother would say that often to explain away her triumphs as well. Humility runs in your blood."
Gavin folded inward, his amber eyes clouding as he raced to wall away the always eroding pain of losing his parents. And Myra used to act as if she understood what that felt like. Maker's balls was she naive. "I try...to do what is right. What they'd want."
Patting him on the shoulder, the Divine said, "Lanny would be extremely proud of you. And this one..." She turned, her crystal blue eyes falling upon a scrubbed up Duncan. He too was following her, a hand in his mouth while he felt around counting his teeth. It was one of his go to's when he wasn't certain about people.
"Blessed Andraste, he is a beautiful baby. There is much of your mother in there," Leliana praised Duncan whose bright eyes swung over to his Dad. When Gavin smiled at the compliment so too did Duncan.
Her baby yanked his slobbered fingers out and shouted, "Hi!" to the Divine.
"And there is Alistair. I knew it'd be lurking in him somewhere."
At her dad's name, Myra wrapped an arm around her baby boy. Not to protect him, he was enthralled with the Divine's hat now and in safe and friendly quarters. No, it was just because she needed to touch her son. To remind her heart that he was here with her, and that sometimes she could see her Dad's blinding smile in Duncan's chubby cheeks.
"You must be very proud," Leliana addressed Myra who gulped and nodded, tears rising up. She tried to shake them away, exhausted of all the crying, but Gavin caught on. He always caught on, watching, waiting to try and soothe it all away. As if it could go away. As if she wanted things to be normal.
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