Barely able to breath, my sweaty hands wipe against the skirt of my black dress, shaking. My breath hisses in and out of my teeth, steaming in the cold air. It's all I can do to control my grief.
Next to me, Onmund tentatively wraps an arm around my shoulders, which are curled in, trying to make myself as tiny and unimportant as possible. The gentle pressure should have kept me steady. But instead it only made me feel like I was falling apart faster, and Onmund's petty attempts to keep me together were failing.
"S-Savos Ar-Aren…" I manage to choke out through my tears, "was a g-great man… and Arch-Mage… and like a f… like a fath… er..." My gaze swivels to Onmund. With a voice barely a whisper, I say, "I can't do this."
Here I am, future Arch-Mage, trying to speak at Savos Aren's funeral, falling apart when they are expecting me to be strong. Here I am, at my weakest while they watch with sad, judging stares. They whisper amongst themselves, disappointed my inability to have courage when I need it most. They must think I'm weak; the one called Dragonborn, sobbing her eyes out and losing herself in the snow.
Onmund is unable to smile down at me, so instead he shakes his head.
Was this really happening? This day, the day that I had never even stopped to consider; the day that I find my self barely able to stand, breaking down completely. The day I find myself being pelted with snow, but I'm so cold on the inside that I can't feel it. I can't feel anything.
"Come on Relle," Onmund tugs at my shoulders but I fall to my knees, the snow now halfway up my thighs. My dress is soaked, my whole body is numb, the love of my life is sobbing beside me, and the only father figure I have ever known is dead. Onmund falls with me, and he seems to lose himself too; as if he doesn't care about the others watching, he wraps his arm around me and buries his face into my neck, wetting my hair with his tears. His strong arms clutch me close to him but all I do is stare ahead at the freshly engraved stone tablet in front of me; it's so cold that my tears are literally freezing on my face.
The funeral takes eternity; it is all a blur. Soon my face is covered in frozen tears that resemble diamonds, and Onmund mumbles that he can barely see. We both collapse onto my bed at the college when it's over; I don't think I will ever feel that the Arch-Mage's quarters are truly mine. Perhaps one day, but that day will not be soon.
Onmund flips over onto his stomach and reaches out, pushing snow-coated hair out of my face. "It's over," he whispers, "It's done."
All my strength it put into wriggling closer to him and pushing my face up to his. I feel like I am about to pass out. My tears have run out and I can't cry anymore, but I still have the partially frozen drops on my face. Onmund presses his lips to each one, so when he leans back, I can see little beads of water on his lips.
I must look as bad as I feel, because Onmund is watching me carefully. He reaches out and puts one hand on my face and the other on my hip; his touch is warm and comforting, but I feel too hollow to react. He presses his lips to my forehead, and we lay like that until we both fall asleep. I fall asleep first, the feel of his hands on my hip and face making me feel warm and needed; it pulls me into the clutches of sleep.