Chapter 12 : The Funeral (end)

I was waist-deep in the water, the cold of the Red Fork biting into my skin, though it was nothing compared to the stench that assaulted me despite the cloth covering my nose and mouth. Rot. My grandfather, or what was left of him, had been dead for nearly twenty days, and the decomposing body before me was a mockery of the man I once knew. Bloated, discolored, grotesque. Skin stretched tight in some places, sagging in others. He looked more like a nightmare than a corpse. But that's how it is. Death is ugly. And if someone had to take care of arranging his funeral boat, I would rather it be me than my father or Hoster, they might not have been as bothered by the smell, but they have no sense of aesthetics, only practicality. As for the servants behind me standing on the dock, although they were further away from the body, they seemed even more bothered by the smell than me. It was already hard enough for them to fetch me the things I needed for the boat in those conditions, so if I had left it all to them, I could see them botching the entire thing.

The incessant gagging noises from the servants made it impossible for me to hear my own thoughts. I turned around and pointed to a spot just behind the steps of the dock leading to the river, "Set down what I asked for here, and be on your way." I ordered. Without waiting for a response, I turned away, confident they wouldn't dare question my authority.

"My lord, we cannot in good conscience leave you to handle this task alone. We should not even let you stand in this cold water, you will fall ill." One young servant protested, my supposedly unquestionable authority, it seemed, wasn't as firm as I thought. Her voice was timid, but there was a hint of defiance in it, as if she believed she could change my mind.

Right on cue, the Queen of Thorns made her entrance, a handkerchief pressed to her nose, "How bold of you to speak like that, considering how utterly useless you are right now. Do what he asked and leave. You are more of a hindrance than anything else." She said with a dry, cutting edge. Her words made the maids recoiled in fear, however, they were hesitating to comply, glancing at me for final approval.

I gave a slight nod, which they took as permission to proceed. At the spot I had indicated earlier, they carefully placed the remaining items for the boat ; A banner of our House, a sword, a shield, and a roughly carved trout I had made for the occasion. They then departed swiftly, making a conscious effort not to appear as though they were fleeing.

I climbed the steps to retrieve the banner and carved trout, my soaked breeches clinging uncomfortably. Yeah, I was definitely going to catch a cold from this. In hindsight, handling all of this on my own wasn't my smartest decision, especially with how dangerous a simple fever can be in a world this medically backward. Maybe I should have asked some of the guards to come and help me.

Olenna caught sight of the trout and commented, "Your grandfather would have appreciated your handiwork." Correctly assuming I had carved it myself.

I straightened up, curiosity crossing my face, "Did you know him?" I asked, pausing my task.

"Know him? That's a bit much. I met him a few times. A jovial man, not lacking in wits, I preferred his presence to many others." She answered, but there was something off about the way she said it, as if the words didn't quite match her thoughts.

"I'm not foolish. Knowing his reputation, I highly doubt 'jovial' is the first word that comes to mind when you think of him." I remarked with disdain, expecting a more straightforward approach from her.

She didn't flinch, "I wouldn't waste my breath lying to a boy under seven. That's exactly what I thought of him as a man. Now, what I thought of him as a Lord, well, that's likely closer to what you already suspect."

I gently placed the trout carving in my grandfather's withered hands and draped our House's banner over his entire body, weighing it down with stones to keep it from blowing away. Then I turned to Olenna again, "And what exactly did you think of him as a Lord?" I asked, already bracing myself for an answer that was likely to anger me.

Olenna adjusted her handkerchief, her piercing eyes fixed on me, "As a Lord, he lacked the firmness required to keep his bannermen in line. They took liberties they wouldn't have dared with a stronger hand. Under him, your House stagnated, never growing, never advancing. But it wasn't entirely his doing. His infirmity made him look feeble, whether he wanted to or not. Power is as much about perception as it is about strength, and in everyone's eyes, he had neither. That's the reality of it."

I expected something harsher, "The Queen of Thorns isn't as prickly as I imagined." I joked, moving to pick up the sword and shield.

"I have held back out of respect for the dead, and it wouldn't do to use harsh words with a boy as young as you. But if you would like, I can be more explicit." She retorted, a smirk evident behind her handkerchief.

'And now, the final touch.' I thought as I laid the sword across grandfather's chest and placed the shield over his groin. I figured if there was any part of him he would want protected, it would be that one.

"No, it will suffice." I told her as I climbed out of the water, searching for the large rag I had set aside on the dock to dry off.

Out of nowhere, the rag I was searching smacked me in the face, "I wasn't aware you had such a playful streak, Lady Tyrell." I chuckled, drying myself over my soaked breeches.

"I'm a woman of many surprises, William. I thought you had figured that out by now." She said, gesturing for me to move away from the stench with her.

Once I reached her, she asked, "Why are you the one tending to your grandfather's body? Aren't you too young to be so close to death, let alone handling it?" Her question came with an undercurrent of concern.

"My father went to war when he was barely fifteen name days. This is nothing compared to that, and I wanted to do it anyway. My grandfather would have been pleased if I was the one to handle it." I said, pressing the cloth on my nose against it as I felt a sneeze coming on.

ACHOO!

I blew my nose into the rag before pulling it off, "The ceremony should start in two hours. I have just enough time for a hot bath, thankfully." I said, trying to lighten the mood.

Apparently, I failed, "You are growing up far too quickly, William. You should not be having such thoughts yet, you know that, right?" She said with such empathy, it nearly softened my guard.

"You are not the first to tell me that, but you are one of the few who sees it as a problem." I said, slightly uncomfortable with her demeanor.

Olenna's sharp gaze softened slightly as she studied me, "You remind me so little of your mother." She said, her tone cutting yet touched with an unusual hint of fondness, "She was a foolish girl, too kind for her own good." She paused, as if she was going over old memories, "But I did appreciate her company once, when I was ill. She sat with me, spoke to me, not out of obligation, but from some misguided sense of compassion. I could never quite understand her."

I paused, surprised by this revelation. My mother was rarely spoken of, and hearing Olenna, of all people, share a story about her caught me off guard, "So you liked her?" I asked, unable to mask the curiosity in my voice.

"Liked? No. I could never like someone that naive, but there's value in that kind of purity. It's rare, especially in our world." Olenna's tone was almost nostalgic, though she quickly snapped back to her usual sharpness, "But you, William… you are nothing like her. Not a speck."

I gave her a small, sarcastic smile, "I will take that as a compliment."

"As you should." She smirked, though her eyes flickered with something unspoken.

(2 hours later)

It was time. Everything was ready, and everyone was in their place. Lord Mallister, Piper, Whent, the two Vances, Blackwood, and Bracken, the bannermen we held in the highest regard, were positioned to guide my grandfather's boat into the current. My uncle, Minisa, my father, and I stood on the dock, while the other lords and their families remained at a distance, spared from the unpleasant odor of my grandfather's rotting body.

All that remained was for Hoster to give his speech before taking the bow from my hands and lighting the boat ablaze.

He finally moved forward, clearing his throat before starting the traditional words, "As the river flows, so does life and death." He recited, his voice devoid of emotion, "Today, we return William Tully to its embrace, trusting that the waters will guide him as they have guided our ancestors into the next world."

It was all a formality, really. No one truly believed in the old rites anymore, least of all my uncle. But tradition is tradition, and it wouldn't do to break with it now. I watched as the others bowed their heads in silence, some definitely pretending to find solace in words that had long since lost their meaning.

The seven lords took my uncle's extended silence as the signal to push my grandfather's boat into the current. Hoster turned to me then, and I knew the moment we had all been waiting for, the lighting of the boat, had finally come.

I recalled that it had taken my uncle two tries to ignite the boat in the original story, so I couldn't help but wonder how many attempts he would need this time. The slight tremor in his hand suggested more than two.

Hoster reached me, and I offered him the bow. He took hold of it, but paused when he realized I wasn't letting go. He raised an eyebrow, and I leaned in, flashing him my most devilish grin, "If you are not up to it, uncle, I can handle it." I whispered. 

"You little shit." He muttered back, ruffling my hair, earning him a murderous glare from Minisa, my designated hairdresser.

I let go of the bow, noticing with satisfaction that the tremor in Hoster's hand had subsided.

He stepped forward, positioning himself for the shot as the boat drifted about 100 feet from the shore.

One glance at my father's approving nod, and I knew I was losing my bet.

Hoster loosed the arrow, watching as it arched through the air and hit the boat. Without a word, he walked back to me, handed over the bow, and gave me a small nod, a silent thanks for the nudge I gave him.

The flames caught quickly, a testament to my careful preparation with the oil. For a moment, I stood transfixed by the elegance of the fire, its reflection dancing on the water. But soon, the full weight of the ceremony, of what it meant, brought me to tears. My father, noticing without needing to look, pulled me close, resting my head gently against him, offering comfort in the silence.