Stand Down, Armsman
Folks were used to funerals in Vorkosigan Surleau. It was the natural course of things. Be born (although that was something not quite natural, for the Vor and the wealthy, these days) stand in the groat circle, have children, watch them grow, watch the grandchildren grow, if you were lucky, then die, knowing there were some after you to burn the offering. If you could do all that in peace, so much the better.
Some funerals were different, and this one was very different. When an armsman died there was always someone from the family there, if they were on world and available. Some, a very few, were buried in the family graveyard alongside the family. Bothari was the only one in living memory, these days, and there had been something funny about that one. Died off world, he had, and no daughter there, only the little lord and his mother. No armsmen, no fuss.
But today, the fuss had started early. Armsmen aplenty, and not just the Count's score. The armsmen lining the route from the village to the house alternated brown and silver with black and silver, each standing at grim attention, each falling in behind as the cortege passed. The Emperor himself was here, with his Empress, Count Vorkosigan, his Countess and even Countess Cordelia. No one had ever seen the like.
After they laid him in the ground and before they burned the offering, the Emperor said a very few words.
"Armsman Esterhazy. You held me in your arms when I was five years old. The Imperium thanks you for your loyal service. We thank you and Our children thank you. Stand down, armsman. Your duty is done."