Ser Maserr.
That name was the only thing that echoed in our minds as his brothers, whose faces filled with overflowing regret, carried his own casket along the muddy path that led to the field of grass near the pile of corpses that burned as the trail of smoke rose. Ser Magrae did not wear his golden mask today, and Ser Madester was emotionless.
The entirety of the artillery division during the Siege of Ale Hall was present, looking on as their bannerman was to be buried. Each man bore the guilt the others did, even more so did Ser Mareste, who was the first of them all to tear up.
Two rows of armored men held their swords into the air on both sides of the path as the casket moved along, with the blades coming down as the small parade of me, my father, Ravenman Ryene, and the casket itself, passed.
A pile of wood had already been prepared, and the small earth platform had been erected for those who wished to say some words.
It was sunset, and the sun's orange light had pierced through the trees, and unto the grass and the pile of wood where the casket was then laid. Soon enough, the first man to say his words of gratitude towards the dead came forward: Ser Magrae.
He stood tall on the small platform of earth he had. It was the first time in a long while I saw him without his golden mask, now exposing his scarred face, his missing eye, his morphed face, his damaged, once hidden side.
Finally, he opened his mouth to speak.
"I don't need to tell any of you who we talk about today," he began. "I don't need to introduce you to the person we grieve for, as I believe all of you know. He was a great man and will always be one. He led you all through the bloodshed and fought with you. Now he rests, peacefully looking down on us all.
Massy was never the kind to scold, and neither was he the man who was quick to anger. He was wise and patient, strong yet gentle, mighty and just. I know deep in my heart that he was a good brother, and he was the best brother anyone could ever have.
They called him 'The Abberan Owl' and praised him for his strategic wisdom, but I always praised him for being with me and making me joyful when I am in sorrow.
I still remember the days, Massy--" he said, looking on at his brother's casket "--the days where we would duel at tourneys, those times we cried and laughed over the smallest things... I just can't seem to live that way without you by my side, and I never shall, for when you died, a part of me came with you.
Now I shall live, not as an honorable soldier, but as a man nothing but a shell of his old self as he struggles to move on from tragedy. May you look down on us with pride, Massy. May you... may you... Massy..." the words clumped in his throat as he struggled to keep himself together.
Suddenly, the knight had collapsed, kneeling to his brother's casket that raised above him on the piles of wood. The man bent his back and bowed deeply, resting on his elbows as his right fist hammered the ground to not mud, but pulp.
The schrieks of the knight echoed across the empty fields as the sun began to set. He had no tears. He had no strength, but one thing he had was the burden of death and fate. He did not care about anything now, it was only him and Ser Maserr. Nobody else was in his world.
It would come to the point that his brothers would have to go and help him up, pulling him away from the casket as he kicked, scrambled, and at one point, even tried to lunge at the base of the pile, attempting to climb it to reach his brother's corpse.
The next man to go speak was Ser Mareste, who walked up on the mound, trembling, tears gone and replaced by the silence that he had brought with him. The once proud and talkative knight had turned to nothing but an empty expression. Perhaps, nothing left at all.
He did not face the crowd of soldiers, and neither did he face me nor my father who sat on a wooden throne. No. He looked at where his mind rested, or rather who.
There he stood, looking on upon his brother's casket as he whispered a silent prayer, his hands curled into fists as his emotions slowly began to show.
At first, it seemed he was ecstatic, almost smiling as if finding joy in being with his brother, even though he was already dead. A small grin turned into a wide smile as he laughed, tears exiting his eyes as we looked at him in shock.
The man abruptly fell on the casket, embracing his brother's tomb, still laughing, cackling, sulking, all at the same time.
"Brother!" he called out. "Brother!" he echoed once more. "Where did you go brother? Why did you leave us here?" he asked the casket. "Why did it have to be you!?" he ranted loudly. "Why has the Winged God cursed me again!? Shall I live my life as my brothers perish one after another!? Starting with you!?"
His brothers no longer stayed quiet.
Ser Magrae and Ser Madester had begun to make their way to him, to stop him from destroying the wooden foundation altogether as he let out all his rage.
Ser Magrae grabbed his left arm while Ser Madester the other. As the man struggled, he yelled loudly at the top of his lungs, "Do be patient, brother! I'm going home!"
He revealed the blade as he escaped Ser Madester's grip, taking the dagger and almost piercing his own heart before Ser Magrae had halted him. "Two brothers dead isn't any better, idiot!" he scolded, taking the dagger and discarding it away as they led him to the side.
Even though my father had the burden to speak, the useless man had been too caught up in his own world, still admiring the crown that had begun to rust ever so slightly.
As for the old scholar, he was just as silent as everyone was.
Ser Madester's speech was short, brief, and concise, just the usual speech any man would give to his brother's funeral.
It was during the first glimpses of the stars that Ravenman Ryene had approached the pile of wood, holding a torch on his right hand. After whispering a short message for the dead's right of passage to paradise, the torch was thrown into the wood.
The flame flew up, engulfing the casket like crooked fingers holding a ball. The white and grey smoke rose up, briefly catching the first few rays of light of the moon.
Contributing the the already melancholic atmosphere, the men had gone into prayer, chanting hymns and farewells to the dead. By the time the fire began to die down, everybody had left... all but one.
Standing in front of the burning pile was Ser Mareste, whose silhouette casted a long shadow as the flames burned his brother's corpse.
"Maserr was attached to him," a voice remarked.
Ser Magrae stood tall tonight, his mask finally worn as he maintained a calmer demeanor. "He was his brother," I noted.
"And the only one to ever love him like one," said he, looking back to his brother, who still stood even as the pile turned to ash, and ashes to dust.
"Didn't you?"
"Never as a true brother," he answered, his tone filled with regret. "I've always lived that way... until now. He's just as broken as I was."
"You seemed more like it." The soldier stopped to glance. "You knelt at the end of that speech, almost diving on the pile of firewood. If it weren't for the others pulling you away, I was sure you would've stole the coffin altogether."
Ser Magrae showed no emotion and continued to stride. "I never understood why he did it," he confessed, raising his palm and admiring it. "The fact that he would give his life for Mareste is something I might never understand."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Would you think an wise man would ought to sacrifice himself for a person would indulges in whores?"
"You indulge in whores," I reminded him.
"But I'm not as foolish, am I?" The man stopped in his tracks altogether. "How do you think I got my face mutilated? How do you think my face became as it is? Where do you think I got this scar?"
The absence of noise had caught up to us all too fast.
My mind raced to the memories at the war council, then at the aftermath of the siege. His secret, remember he had a secret. I couldn't remember much of what he said, only what he couldn't. This is the secret he's been hiding for so long. I never understood the urgency to keep it away... the secret.
"No," I finally answered.
The knight took off his golden mask and threw it aside, his finger now pointing at his face. "Have I ever told you the story of House Verrys?"
The name forced my mind to recall everything. Then, it finally clicked.
"You tried." He really did.
After a quick breath, he finally spoke up. "What happened to Massy now could've happened to me all those years before," he explained. "Mareste was given charge of the army for the first time. While that might seem dumb, he wasn't as foolish back then-" the knight turned and continued to walk as I trailed behind "-He gave me the command over the first infantry division of the army. He would go on to order me to enter the tower of the enemy keep with him where the rebel leaders were kept. Then..."
He hesitated for a moment, slowly contemplating whether he could truly reveal what he had hidden for so long from others. "They warned him... Everybody warned him it would be a mistake to do that... He didn't listen..."
"To enter the tower?"
"Our scouts conflicted reports," said he. "His eyes told us they stayed at the tower while ours told us they had left on a ship. Nobody knew what to believe and we argued along the way." He stopped walking altogether, his head tilted and turned to the rising moon, blue and full, accompanying the presence of the twinkling stars on the purple sky.
"Why did you do it then?" I asked. "Why did you go?"
His head turned back to the ground as I paced to his side, the moon illuminating my back. "I went because I trusted him." His stern face had softened. "I followed him because I loved him and I would've done everything for him. I was faithful to him because he was my brother... but I soon realized he was just another man who fled when it was convenient for him."
"What happened when you entered?"
The silence was short, but the weight it carried was large. "All that we saw was one man holding what I could only see was a torch," he recalled, turning his body back to the moonlight. "Beside him were barrels leaking of oil. It was only too late when I realized what was happening... I looked upon my feet and there I saw the wooden stairs were covered in the same oil. When he ignited it... I was too late to run."
"The oil caught on fire." It was obvious, but my mouth blurted it out anyway.
The knight nodded. "Exactly," he answered. "The fire burned the wooden stairs along with the wooden roof. It came crumbling down, just as the wooden foundations of the stone tower did... I was crushed in rubble and half my face and most of my body was burned and wounded. In the distance I saw my brother and I reached out my hand... only he ran away from me, as if I was any danger." His voice had began to shake, and tears emerged from his eyes as he recalled the painful memory.
"It was then that two people had perished: My brother and myself, for I no longer saw him as one, and my old self died along with the flesh and skin that burned away."