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Nathaniel watched as Commander Tabris tossed the lit torch into the pile of remains. He’d never seen her so distraught. Not even when surveying the damage to Vigil’s Keep had she looked so lost. For a time he’d assumed elves were incapable of certain emotions due to how tightly controlled she always seemed. But since the awful discovery of a glade filled with torn and eviscerated bodies of templar and wardens alike and their two dear friends missing in action, the thick wall she’d built around herself had come crumbling down.
Her hazel eyes seemed to glow as the flames grew higher, shimmering with the tears that had kept their steady flow down her face most of that day. They’d prepared for this for weeks, the chantry finally releasing back to them what they decided did not belong to their templars, lost valiantly in the line of duty. They’d ruled it an attempt at subduing an abomination gone horribly wrong, though none of the Commander’s inner circle believed it. Nathaniel especially couldn’t see Anders taking on a demon. After everything he had done to secure his safety and freedom, the man wasn’t stupid enough to risk it all for a demon’s false promise.
“Someone should say something,” Sigrun piped up from behind him. He turned to see the dwarf walking up beside Commander Tabris placing her hand on the small of her back.
“What do you say for a mage like Anders?” Velanna scoffed.
“Or Justice? Kristoff? I don’t even know who we’re mourning any more,” Oghren added.
The flames were now as high as Nathaniel’s chest, he could feel its heat from several paces behind the Commander, yet she stayed right next to the pyre watching in silent vigil over the flames. Did she expect the man and spirit to be whisked to the Maker’s side? They were already dead, there was no saving them from this pyre. Whatever failure the Commander must have felt for their loss had already happened.
“Commander, unless you’re trying to catch flame yourself you need to step away,” he said unable to soften the harsh edge to his tone. He ignored the look Sigrun shot him. She’d been urging him for a week to try and have more compassion. It wasn’t his fault these things didn’t come naturally to him. He had one voice and one tone. Just because a dear friend was now dead didn’t mean he could suddenly modulate himself.
Sigrun helped guide Commander Tabris back a few feet as they all resumed the quiet viewing of the pyre.
“Anders would fucking hate this,” Commander Tabris finally said, her voice thick with emotion.
Nathaniel couldn’t stop himself from laughing, loudly and abruptly garnering more than a few shocked glares from their friends. But finally, gratefully Commander Tabris joined in, a sputtering giggle that she had failed at holding in. Slowly their companions joined in agreeing in the absurdity of giving a man who had finally made the ultimate escape a quiet and morose funeral.
“Which do you think he would be more proud of?” Nathaniel asked, turning to the group, “That he took out practically a battalion of templars with him or that he made the biggest spectacle possible out of his death?”
“The soddin’ templars!” Oghren laughed, as Sigrun and Velanna agreed.
“He could have taken a few more with him, honestly,” Velanna remarked leaning against her staff with a wry grin.
“I think he would have liked the idea of making such a big mess for the Commander to clean up,” Sigrun teased.
“A mess indeed,” the Commander sighed wiping the tears from her face. Nathaniel noticed for the first time since their discovery her face finally looked dry, though still puffy and red.
“What about Justice?” Velanna asked.
“What about him? He’s a spirit, I’m sure he just slinked back off to the fade,” Oghren barked.
“Do you think he’s hanging around? Trying to see what we’re all up to?” Sigrun made a motion to look around at the growing darkness around them.
“It’s a shame if so,” Nathaniel couldn’t help but say, “It seemed he came to love this world. He wanted to help it.”
“Can’t help a world that doesn’t want to be helped,” Oghren said, drawing up the phlegm in his throat to spit onto the flaming pyre.
“It doesn’t feel real,” the Commander said, taking another step toward the fire. Nathaniel had to stop himself from reaching out to stop her, fearing the worst for a moment. “Every morning I open my door expecting to see Justice standing there ready to pelt me with questions about the whys and hows of the physical world.”
“Why didn’t he just ask Nathaniel?” Sigrun suggested, garnering odd looks from the group. “Cause he’s a Howe? Get it! Oh, come on when Anders said it everyone laughed.”
“It wasn’t funny then and it isn’t funny now,” Nathaniel replied though he failed to hide the smirk on his face.
“This is a terrible send-off for them,” Commander Tabris said heaving a sigh and turning away from the burning remains and looking back toward their friends. That is what they were wasn’t it, friends? Companions? “We should do something better.”
“What do you suggest?” Velanna asked, a thin brow rising on her face.
“Let’s get absolutely piss drunk,” she replied, cracking the first real smile he’d seen from her in weeks, even since before the terrible loss.
“That’s my Commander!” Oghren shouted, further cheers echoing from the rest of them.
“Really that’s your solution?” he said rolling his eyes at the group.
“Tell me you don’t think Anders would love it?” the Commander challenged.
“No he’d fucking love it,” Nathaniel relented, “That’s the problem.”
Sigrun popped up next to him clapping him on the back hard enough to send him stumbling forward.
“Come on ole long face, let’s go honor our friends by forgetting our sorrows,” she said.
“Someone has to make sure this doesn’t set fire to the whole Keep, we can’t afford to rebuild it again,” he muttered.
“Fine, you get first watch then, soldier,” Commander Tabris said.
Nathaniel turned to look at the burning pyre while the others began to walk off. He was familiar with the sting of loss, with death, but this was preventable. It kept needling at him that Anders and Justice hadn’t needed to die, they could have come to someone anyone about their concerns instead of trying the unthinkable and joining together. He was certain that’s what had caused it, knew the others were too, but no one dared speak it out loud. No one could stomach the thought of Anders and Justice as an abomination.
“You know what I think is worse than missing them?” Commander Tabris asked, startling him. He assumed she’d gone off with the others. Instead, she’d been standing quietly at his side watching the fire starting to die down, the remains now dark charcoal within the center of the pyre.
“What’s that Commander?” he asked, trying not to watch her too closely or make it seem like he was overly concerned for her.
“First of all, I have a name,” she said, turning now to face him directly.
“I’ve heard rumor all elves do,” he replied, but the narrowing of her eyes made him regret his response.
“It’s Zukal,” she said, looking back into the flames, “Zukal Tabris. I’m not just the Warden Commander. I’m an elf, my father’s daughter, a rogue, and yes I’m also your Commander. I just hope I can do a better job reminding you all of that.”
He was shocked to hear her speak so openly about herself, but he appreciated it as well. It wasn’t lost on him how much she surely blamed herself for this tragedy.
“What were you saying was worse?” he asked instead.
“How mad I am at them,” she sighed, “They should have said something to someone. I understand if Anders didn’t want to tell me of all people, but anyone else could have talked them out of this. Right?” The Commander, no Zukal, turned to look at him, the melancholy she’d been plagued by starting to cloud her eyes again.
“You can’t blame anyone but the dead for that,” he said, patting her on the shoulder, “And what’s the use in that? They’re already dead.”
She cocked her head but seemed to accept his words. “You’re not going to stay away from the drinking are you?” she asked, “This isn’t some sort of excuse to get out of processing the loss with the rest of us?”
“No I genuinely don’t want the Keep to catch fire again,” he said, “I don’t want to sleep in tents again.”
She snorted a laugh at him, nudging him softly with her shoulder.
“Fine, I’ll see you inside, but don’t be mad when Oghren has already drank all the good ales,” she called over her shoulder as she sauntered away.
He hesitated, looking back at the dying flames, and heaved a sigh before turning to catch up with her.
“Alright you’ve convinced me, but only because that’s what Anders would have wanted,” he said.
“Anders would have wanted us to piss on the templar’s ashes too, but you can’t get everything you want now can you, mage!” she cried up into the sky shaking her fist.
“Let’s not yell at the dead yet,” he laughed, pulling her arm down, “Save those for when you’re at least a few bottles deep.”
This was quite the funeral, he thought as they left the burning remains to smolder on their own. The dead didn’t need supervision. Tonight was for the living. And the drinking.