The Pyre of Marcus.

Roar: Son’s of Kings.

Dei`dra came upon Uther and Bjorn, the twins sat side by side identical to height and hair, the only subtle difference showed in the brilliant blaze of their eyes., their eyes showed their difference. Bjorn stood as the kohl eyed woman approached them on their bench, her stride was long and was before them shortly. She was stopped by his curt bow. Returning the well dressed lads greeting , her head inclined, she watched him from shrouded violet eyes as his keen gaze caught her. Bjorn’s long leather overcoat was trimmed with entwining  silver and gold Dragons and stars weaving down the length of his brilliantly embroidered auburn sleeves. A collar of blue wolf’s fur was draped over his shoulder.To finish the simplistic awe of a young lad, he wore the large gold torque of the Chieftain’s son. The snarling lions heads caught her studied gaze, the cats eyes where filled with deep crimson rubies.

He is a son well loved.

“I am Dei’dra daughter of the last star, First daughter of Rhiannon, And beloved sister to your Mother, Aurora Fae Ferrum. Dux to the Wraith, First daughter of Epona.” The lad looked the lengthy Rennian over with coarse gray eyes, his dark hair inflamed with red highlights.

“I am Bjorn, second son of Aurora, First son to my sire, Marcus of Yohn’shire. It is my pleasure and sadness that we finally meet.” Dei’dra was stilled by the youths cool even tone, he was hardly a hands breadth taller then a doe’s shoulder but spoke like he had ridden the roads for nigh her age. He was Dra’fae, she could smell it. His quiet sky like orbs rested upon her, he was waiting politely; for her.

Bjorn came to stand beside his mothers guest, his shoulder was just shy her elbow. He’s got roots to grow, at least an oak if he fell from his father’s branches. Bjorn’s quiet stature and stillness caused a sense of unease in her stomach. Her companions son gestured before them towards the large pavilion backed up against a woodsy backdrop. The funeral pavilion stood amongst shrubs lining either side of the tent, a path way of forest laden with fresh snow.

This was a Funeral to reach the Gods.

Two stout Huantsmahn stood on guard with large hounds baring striking resemblances to canine gargoyles. Their dark eyes watched them approach, sharp and following the pair as they stepped beneath the pavilion’s awning towards a heavy canvas drape.

“How is she?”Dei’dra whispered, but was silent in her surprise as a small warm but firm hand clasped hers, Bjorn had taken her hand and drawn it near his chest, making her kneel in front of him, her hand pressed to the boy she listened intently.

“I should warn you, “ he began, his pitched voice held as deeply as his age would allow. “She hasn’t been,… herself.” His eyes were over shadowed by the dusky awnings shade but they where damp, not even the light of a childish nuisance could lift the burden and gravity of his position.

She inclined her dark head her beads and braids clattering together. “Be patient, it’s a quiet madness. Or so the medicus claim. She’s been still in her resolve for the last three eves, all preparations have been made around her. She slept shortly, but other wise remained a gaze over the pyre and the valley view. Not one of us broke her thoughts, she’s only taken drink, and paces in the evening.” Bjorn stood still, lifting her hand, aiding the lady stand. He with drew his warm grip and pulled back the drape.

Dei’dra gave a final nod and stepped into the smoky haze of the pyre tent. She was not prepared for the view, the shrubs, the trees all had worked their magic. The snow pitched right over the edge, and down into the valley at least a league bellow.

The wood was stacked, and the silky fabric rippled in the breeze, Marcus wrapped under it, the girth of his armor evident, helm resting beside shrouded spurred boots. She felt it in her stomach first, that rolling empty pit the widens at each step. Slowly with single breaths she approached the hill of steal and shields. Furs spilled over the edges, notes of passing and blessings twined in parchment littered the base like butter flies sitting on flowers.

Dei’dra touched the wood beside his head, her throat pinched, drawing her fingers along her throat, she pulled the single blue stone on it’s worn leather throng and laid it across his veiled armored shoulder.

“He always did love you best.” It was a voice once fruitfully ripe with song, but clearly marked with wear and abuse. Dei`dra slowly turned, folding her hands she bowed deeply before her once Dux.  Formality aside she extended her hands kneeling beside the worn firey haird woman souched in the finest of chairs.

In a disdainful gesture, she with drew her slender hands from Dei`dra’s clasp. Forced from her refuge Aurora stood, weekly,her knees sore. “But what does it matter, it all ends the same.” Her usually wide eyes remained narrow slits, scanning the quiet horizon.

“You are drunk, Roar.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Clearly…you have…” Dei`dra took two long strides to the cliff’s edge grasping her ‘sister’ in arm’s wrist as she teetered near it’s tempting drop. Aurora jerked her head back, a goblet clasped in the other. Deidre felt a ripple, a tremble, a rumble move in the energy around them. Drawing her head back, she watched Aurora’s teal eyes stare at, or through her, waiting, listening to something. She shook her head, leaning on the pyre, goblet still in hand, she rested an arm over one of his boots.

“He took the spear,…right through the heart. Clean move, the bastard… because I called to him, he turned taking his eyes off that bastard; because of my plea. “ She stood, her teal eyes cool and distant, the drink in her step seemed gone. “A hundred of those bastards charged the walls and on market day.The city had just opened, the gates wide for our commerce, it’s the life blood of these people. ” She waved an empty hand back at the camp, leaning the other on the ash wood. ” They moved like skulking thieves, they brandished themselves patrons and marketers. Reeking havoc once with in. My Uther first alerted the house to the mayhem. He struck the bells, but suffered a concussion for it.” Her eyes turned to the drawn tent flap.

She could see the outline of her quiet son’s boots. Bjorn’s back remained to the privy counsel with in. ” She slipped to her knees, dragging Dei’dra into a heap with her. She maintained her whit and balance as her gut wrenched. Aurora’s head hung heavily the wine a weight a burden familiar to both. Her hands where slippery under her fingers, she sat up turning her hands over , her palms where pressed, red seeping fresh blood, her nails so pressed into the tender flesh. Broke under her pressure.

Dei’dra lifted her to her feet, none had been attending to her, but who would have known what to expect. But she listened and obeyed Dei’dra, following her, she sat back in the leather carved chair. Aurora slouched in it like some rowdy toddler, her cheeks where ruddy, her brilliant eyes red and swollen from the tears, wine and staring. She was a mess fit for cleaning, but who would command her to go against her will.

“You’ll have to bathe, no question, by Seth’s cock you’re a horrid mess. Bloody mess.” Dei’dra looked about the pyre tent. It was prepared for a burial by flame, not a camp. “Bjorn?” She called out, her clip accent catching the rolling R’s. His face appeared from behind a flap, a Hauntsmahn at his side, hand on his scythe like blade.

“Doma?”

“Help me move your mother to her tent.”

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