Sivak Funeral

Rotta’ghan felt as though the world was going in slow motion. Dressed in his full armor as with all formal events, he heaved a stretcher up and onto his shoulder. Three others were assisting him, marching slowly much like pallbearers. Taking it to the ceremonial chamber the clan had carved into the base of the mountain long ago, he tried his best not to look at the reflective ice that coated the stone in thick sheets. He and the others brought the stretcher to the center of the small room and placed it onto an obsidian table. Turning, the three saluted and bowed before quietly exiting the chamber.
Alone for a moment, Rotta’ghan looked down at the body on the stretcher with sorrow welling up inside him. His wife, Gol’thaga, lay there before him. Her body was covered in cuts and blood, wounds ranging from minor to grievous. There were several that would have ended a normal person’s life immediately. That was something to be proud of in the eyes of most of the Sivak Clan. It brought no peace to him though and was made worse by the streaks in the grime and blood on her face. Gol’thaga had died weeping.
He removed her harness and clothing, gently putting them aside before picking up a pristine white cloth. In the innermost part of the chamber was a pool where a spring came up. Rotta’ghan knelt and dipped the cloth into the ice cold water. Wringing it out, he stood again and held back the pain in his heart as he began to clean the blood from his wife. He washed away all the signs of battle, grabbing a new cloth each time the current was saturated red.
The last part Rotta’ghan washed was her face. He had been unable to bring himself to look at her during the process. Holding her hand in his, he carefully dabbed and wiped away the streaked tears until Gol’thaga was clean, the only evidence she was no longer among the living being the wounds in her now glistening scales. Rotta’ghan squeezed her hand, pressing his forehead to hers. With one last caress of her cheek, he cleared his throat to stop himself from sobbing before sitting down with her attire.
Once he had cleaned the blood out of any of the fabric, the leather needed to be oiled and buttons and buckles needed to be polished. Her weapon lay beside her, waiting to be cleaned as well, the metal hidden as though painted on, rather than bloodstained. He had to pause as he got to the last piece. The Tlhogh Stone, the gem he had given her to propose, needed care as well. Rotta’ghan stared at it for a long moment before finally polishing the surface until it sparkled again.
The task done, he redressed Gol’thaga and folded her arms in a position of rest. She deserved to be at peace, so he had placed her in the way she slept, rather than with her arms crossed in front of her chest. Still fighting the lump in his throat, Rotta’ghan took the maul and walked outside the chamber where several clan leaders had gathered, as well as his niece and daughter. Wordlessly, he held out the maul in his palms, bowing to the archivist as he took it from him. Holding out his hands, the two children hurried to him. His niece’s little hand held two of his fingers as best they could, but his daughter went to his side, letting his arm wrap around her in a comforting embrace.
Neither had gotten to meet her, but he could see the pain they shared with him. Little B’lanna tried to give him a reassuring smile through the tears welled up in her eyes. His daughter though. Gol’rotta stared forward as if in a state of shock. Rotta’ghan held her a little tighter, getting her to look up for a brief moment.
The three of them walked back into the chamber, followed by the praetor, praetora, Gol’thaga’s commanding officer and the kresh mother. Stepping inside, B’lanna gasped and averted her eyes as the obsidian altar came into view. Gol’rotta’s eyes stayed fixed on her mother, a hollow gaze with disbelief etched onto her face. The praetor started speaking, something ceremonious that Rotta’ghan barely heard as he started at Gol’thaga much in the same way his daughter was.
“We honor you, Sivak Captain Gol’thaga. A life dedicated to service, a life given in service. Your name shall be remembered as an inspiration, a hero of our clan. Rest now, in your well earned peace and know that the tragedy of your loss shall not be in vain.”
The praetor finished speaking, sprinkling a mix of powdered silver and cold iron over Gol’thaga’s body. With a nod to her family, Rotta’ghan and the two children stepped forward. They all breathed out their dragon’s breath, carefully coating her in a layer of ice. The pristine, crystalline case it formed around her was beautiful in its own way, sparkling with the rest of the ice in the chamber around them and protecting her body from the outside world.
With that, Rotta’ghan lined up with the stretcher again, the clan leaders each taking the remaining pall and lifted Gol’thaga. They walked at a slow pace, much of the clan standing on either side of a path leading to the place she was to be buried. Gol’rotta and B’lanna stayed at Rotta’ghan’s side, clinging onto him as they trudged to the site. The kresh mother followed behind, making sure that as they carried the fallen warrior the clan members wouldn’t crowd them after moving past.
The four carrying Gol’thaga gently lowered her into a hole that had been dug within the burial grounds. It was close to her brother’s and surrounded by her ancestors’ resting place. Once placed, the praetor, praetora and general bowed their respect to the family before taking their leave. The kresh mother hugged them each individually before taking her leave as well, politely encouraging the rest of the clan to give them some privacy.
The two children stayed silent, Gol’rotta still staring blankly at her mother, willing it to not be true that she was gone. Gone before they even got to meet. Rotta’ghan couldn’t bring himself to reach for the shovel yet to cover his wife. They had made such plans, had so many hopes. It was just him now, left to care for two children that he had only just met.
Finally looking at him for the first time that day, his daughter gazed up at Rotta’ghan, tears streaming down her face. She had been trying so hard to be stoic, or maybe it was sinking in, but now that they were alone the tears began to pour. Rotta’ghan dropped to his knees and held her close, letting himself cry with her. Both silent and still, but with no will to keep their tears from shedding anymore. A moment together and they opened their arms to pull B’lanna in as well. When they had let everything they had out, they turned to the grave, only to see that it had already been filled in by some silent force. From the center of the loamy soil was a small iris flower blooming before their eyes. The faeries were watching over Gol’thaga while she rested as well.
With a heavy sigh and a reassuring smile to the children, Rotta’ghan guided them home, hoping they would all be watched over as they tried to make their way without her.