The funeral wasn't long, all things considered. The autumn breeze was chilly, and they all wanted to be inside as soon as possible.
After the minster said his piece, Qrow stepped forward to speak a few words. He tried to start a few times, mouth opening and closing like he was drowning, trying desperately to find one last pocket of air to cling to. Eventually he just hung his head, shoulders shaking lightly. Goodwitch came up and gently lead him back into the crowd. Nobody blamed him, after all many of them knew what it felt like to lose a partner, a friend, a brother. Blake's gaze slid careful over towards Ruby, her eyes a blank sea-grey instead of their typical silver, and Weiss with her mouth drawn in a straight grim line, hand protectively holding her partner's shoulders. She tightened her grip on Yang's hand and mouthed the words to a poem she forgot she remembered.
Peter Port (she'd long ago stopped thinking of him as 'professor') stood up to take his place. The two had been friends for decades and his eulogy was quiet and short, so unlike his usually bombastic monologues. It was unnerving in a way Blake hadn't expected.
When they wrapped up, the minister dutifully reminded those gathered around the quiet hole at the edge of the cliff that refreshments would be offered back at the house and all were welcome to join. As the crowd slowly made their way back through the glen, Blake and her former team were the last ones left staring at the new slab of granite, smooth and gleaming in the late morning sun which read:
TAIYANG XIAO LONG, HUNTSMAN, HUSBAND, FATHER.
Many of their friends stayed for the cookies and punch Weiss had made back in Tai's old cabin, but nobody stayed very long. Port, Oobleck and Goodwitch had to get back to Beacon. There was still a school to run after all, everyone's lives didn't stop just because one man passed away.
Qrow stood awkwardly in the corner for a few minutes, hands shoved deep in his pockets before eventually shuffling up to Yang and mumbling "She asked me to… I thought maybe you should do it." and handed her a pristine black feather, the size of his forearm. Blake choked back a gasp when Yang plucked it from his fingers and threw it in the trash bin. Qrow merely nodded and walked out the door without saying another word, hands in his pockets and his usual slumped gait looking a little lower than usual.
Nora, Jaune, and Ren stayed longer, helping the girls tidy up as best they could. They quickly took there leave when everything was set in order. They couldn't bear to be there for too long. The heavy black clothes and the palpable sense of loss which filled the house reminded them too much of another funeral twelve years ago when they put the invincible girl in the ground.
Yang had been cheery all morning, smiling at the guests and laughing at old stories of her father. She seemed almost normal, to everyone but the watchful eyes of two huntresses, each trying desperately to find ways to be there for their partners. "Yes, she's mourning" they'd say "but she's handling it well. She knew this was coming, she had time to prepare. She's always been a fighter, she'll get through this." But to Blake she seemed like river ice, with the roiling water beneath threatening to break at any time.
After the last guest had gone, Yang let out a deep sigh before turning her attention towards her baby sister. Ruby had been sitting in the same chair all day, hands folded in her lap, seeing nothing, tensed as if ready to jump into a fight at any moment… or to run away. Gods knew Blake could sympathize with that feeling. When someone came up to her to offer her condolences she'd barely looked up at them and hadn't muttered a word. More than once Blake had caught Yang sneaking glances at her baby sister, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.
"Hey Rubes, how about we go out into the woods and see if we can't find and ursa or two to take down, get rid of some stress? Whadaya say?" When Ruby gave no discernable answer, not even a flick of the head, Yang swiveled her attention to the white haired girl who'd been like Ruby's shadow all day, attention always half on the younger girl, never out of arms reach.
Weiss gave a slight shake of her head, with the ghost of smile mouthed "No thanks." before turning back to Ruby. Yang visibly deflated at her response. Having done all she could, the blonde turned on her heel and marched quietly into her bedroom, head hung low. Blake watched her go, torn. Ruby had been near catatonic all day, which was more than unusual for the perky redhead, it was downright disturbing. But on the other hand, Yang…
Cobalt eye flicked upwards to meet amber, and Weiss quietly whispered "I've got her, go" before leaning in to murmur a few private words in her partner's ear. Whatever she said must have helped, as the tension in Ruby's shoulders visibly dropped and she leaned in to Weiss.
Comforted knowing that the young huntress wouldn't be alone, she quietly traced her partner's steps deeper into the cottage, out of the warmth of the well-lit kitchen and into the gloom of Yang's bedroom.
As she made to walk towards the bed, she stopped abruptly in her tracks. Oh Yang…
Her partner had shed her heavy black jacket and was laying curled up on the side of the bed, staring at the wall. Seeing the proud huntress lying limply in her childhood bedroom, looking so small was the worst thing she could imagine, made all the more terrible by the knowledge that she'd left the girl like this before, after she lost her arm. I wasn't there, I could have helped and I ran, I ran…
She quickly cut off this train of thought, knowing where it leads and refusing to get lost in the labyrinth now. Yang needed her, and this time she would be here.
"Yang I… let's get you out of those shoes." She bent down gently and began to slip off the delicate black pumps she'd chosen for the funeral. While they were 'proper' funeral attire, Blake knew that Yang preferred the freedom that sneakers or boots would afford her, and after hours of breezing around mingling with guests her feet must be killing her.
After she was done, Blake trailed her eyes slowly up the bed, only to meet a metallic hand reaching out to her. "Sit with me for a minute?" The question was barely whispered, but she heard it and slowly moved to lay behind the blonde, wrapping her arms gently around her partner's torso. They sat like that in silence for a while, just listening to each other's breathing, Blake's nose buried in Yang's hair, smelling her strawberry shampoo.
After several minutes, Blake had thought Yang fell asleep until she spoke up and said "You know, when I was 7, my dad taught me how to ride a bike." Unsure of exactly what to say, Blake blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.
"You got pretty good at it." Stupid, stupid, stupid and insensitive.
But instead of a rebuke – or even worse, cold silence – she was met with a quiet and dry laugh, like the noise sand makes falling through your fingers.
"Yeah I wasn't very good at it, but on my seventh birthday, dad came home with a big yellow bike with a purple bow on top. I was so excited I couldn't even talk. He just laughed and brought me outside, put me on it in the driveway, and pushed me forward. I fell flat on my face." Blake chuckled a little, she could only imagine the temper-tantrum that a teeny-tiny Xaio-Long could fly into after an accident like that.
"Don't laugh" Yang chuckled, elbowing her playfully. "Like I said I wasn't very good. But we stayed out there all day. Riding, falling, getting up, and starting over. I didn't want to quit until I got it. And he stayed out there with me. Never getting annoyed, never getting upset, just picking me up, dusting me off, and setting me back on that stupid yellow bike. It was almost dark by the time I got it. I was so happy I was hooting and hollering just riding in endless circles in the dark driveway. And he was just as excited, he made my mom and Ruby come out to watch."
She was quiet for another minute, and Blake thought the story might be over. Then Yang flipped over to meet her gaze. "He taught me everything, how to read, how to cook, how to fight. But I never saw him as proud of me as when I learned to ride that stupid bike on my own." Her voice hitching towards the end, she looked away, and Blake felt hands tighten against her shirt.
"I miss him a lot."
"I know."
Yang buried her face into Blake's chest and with one heaving sob, the dam broke.
"He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong."
Wystan Hughs Auden, "Funeral Blues"