Camp of the True Queen of Glacia, Central Glacia, Sunday Evening (Fandom Time)

[glacial_witch]

Karla looked at the heaps of the dead surrounding her camp and blinked back tears. The only "upside" to this--and yes, Karla was thinking of that in quotations--was that most of the dead were not her own

Comments

[not_a_parakeet]

There was blood on his hands. On his arms. Splattered across his chest. Staining the otherwise shock-white feathers of his wings. Some of it was his blood.

Most of it wasn't.

There was no falling to his knees to cry for Warren, today. There was no stealing away to throw up in the snow where nobody could see. He didn't have that luxury, not anymore. He just stood quietly, overlooking the carnage.

War was war, indeed.

[glacial_warlord]

Karla had turned and gone into the Healer's pavilion, which meant that Warren was the highest-ranking person still on the battlefield. Okay, technically, Morton could claim the same distinction, being Karla's First Escort as well, but it was handy to have someone else around to make the big decisions with.

"So, we have logistics to think of," he said, coming to stand by a blood-spattered Warren. "What are we going to do with the dead?"

[not_a_parakeet]

"They..." Warren didn't take his eyes away from the battlefield. Didn't dare. He was going to remember this, so help him. "They all deserve a proper burial, but we don't have that luxury," he murmured. "Time. We don't have the time to dig and mark graves for all of these people, even if we do have the resources."

He pulled in a deep breath. Closed his eyes. These were not the decisions he'd grown up thinking he'd ever have to make.

"We... do have the resources to gather the dead into one place, though," he murmured. "Smoke and ash aren't the best option, but it's better than leaving them to rot. Can we realistically build a funeral pyre large enough?"

In an ideal world, they would have tried to get their families here to at least identify their loved ones. But with children and pregnant women in the swarm as well, he was pretty sure there weren't any.

[glacial_warlord]

"We can if we use witchfire," Morton said, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. "We might want to do it after the bulk of the army has left. I don't know if adding the smell of...you know, that...to everything else our people have been through tonight will be a good thing."

[not_a_parakeet]

"They're already going to have nightmares about this for the rest of their lives," Warren agreed with a small nod. He certainly knew that he was going to. "We do whatever we can to preserve morale."

He took a deep breath.

"I'll stay behind to do whatever I can to help, but I'll need someone to start the fire."

[glacial_warlord]

"More than one," Morton said, looking at the field of bodies. "This will probably be easier if we make several piles rather than one big one."

Like his cousin's, Morton's voice kept cracking and breaking. "It will be longer but more certain to get everyone equally."

[not_a_parakeet]

Warren's voice had gone too low, too soft to break. If there was ever a moment where he was thankful that getting emotional was something his father had spent years trying to train out of him, now was probably it.

"How many do you suppose we'll need? People to move the bodies, and people to burn them..." He glanced over his shoulder at those who were recovering from the attack. "Maybe a better question would be how many are still in any shape to help?"

[glacial_warlord]

"Dunno," Morton said, shaking his head. He called in a rag and tossed it Warren's way, to help him start getting some of the blood off of him. "The Healers should be able to fix everyone up, but..."

That was only the physical. And the Black Widows were going to have their hands full trying to unravel the how's of this current attack to take care of all but the most traumatized and grief-struck.

"We also need to figure out where to move to," Morton added. "I think, after this, our people need a chance to relax. Somewhere that isn't a military camp."

[not_a_parakeet]

Warren grabbed the rag out of the air almost on reflex, and idly started using it to wipe his hands clean. He'd have to actually bathe to get the worst of the bloodstains from his wings. They would be tinted red, though, until those feathers were molted and gone.

"I don't suppose there's a village around here that focuses on entertaining tourists to support its economy?" He was half-joking, but there was a hint of curiosity in his voice. "After something like this, the last thing Hobart would expect us to do is to just... take a break, I'm sure."

[glacial_warlord]

"There's actually a good-sized town about a day's travel away," Morton said. "Yllestad. Almost big enough to be considered a city, at least around here. It's where most of the shepherds bring their wool after shearing season. It's home to a few thousand people, if I remember correctly."

It probably wouldn't be big enough to house them all, but they could set up camp nearby and it would likely be close enough. They'd still have access to the town's amenities.

And Karla and her First Circle probably wouldn't get burned out of their hotel, which would be a nice touch.

[not_a_parakeet]

If Warren never saw another fire again after tonight, it would be too soon. He held the rag away from his hands for a moment, staring quietly at it. Full of blood, but his arms were still streaked with it. He'd barely gotten his hands clean, and the winter chill against the blood had him struggling not to give in to the urge to shiver.

"That's where we'll head, then. We'll set up camp outside," because great minds apparently did think alike, "and I'll see to it that each person traveling with us is given some extra spending money to see them through... say, a weekend."

A weekend on the town, courtesy of Warren.

[glacial_warlord]

"It's off-season, so there won't be anywhere near as much to do as in shearing season, but it'll beat an army camp," Morton agreed. "And having the Queen right there will probably keep everyone quiet, on the off-chance they're not so fond of the landen contingents."

He heaved a sigh and added, "Speaking of, we may have a bit of an...issue on our hands, with the way we're planning on taking care of the bodies."

[not_a_parakeet]

"An issue?" Warren raised an eyebrow at that, forcing his gaze away from the blood and bodies and toward Morton, really looking at him for the first time since they started talking. "We can't exactly leave them here to rot. It'll be a breeding ground for pestilence and plague. And burying them isn't an option, either. We don't have the time to linger around here digging."

[glacial_warlord]

"I know, I know," Morton said, holding up his hands. "I'm just telling you so you'll be prepared. But, traditionally, landens are buried. It's, umm, another way for them to give back to the land."

You know, as they rotted there.

He coughed, uncomfortably. "The Blood are cremated and buried. Aristos have their ashes stored in familial mausoleums. Only Queens are burned and their ashes scattered. It's more...dignified."

[not_a_parakeet]

The corner of Warren's eye actually twitched a little by the end of that. His feathers bristled, and he could feel fresh, cool air freezing the blood on any feathers that hadn't already frozen together.

"These people, landen or no, were tortured and violated by the Blood, and slaughtered by the hundreds in our war. If anyone deserves a little fucking dignity right now, it's them."

He wasn't quite capable of keeping the growl out of his voice. He tried. Oh, god, did he try. But he'd had it with the Blood and landen divide, and now was not the time. He pointed at the slaughter. That his finger happened to be aimed directly at the body of a battered little boy no older than five was unsurprising. There had been no shortage of children in the massacre, after all.

"If anybody has a problem with this, you can send them to me. We don't have the time and the means to build these people the monument they deserve, but we're sure as Hell going to honor them."

[glacial_warlord]

"Hey, hey, now," Morton said, giving Warren a warning look--and unconsciously baring his throat a little in a gesture of appeasement. "Did I say that I agreed? Not at all. I'm just warning you, okay? Thought you might want all the information beforehand."