Slide
By icecreamlova
Niko's Funeral III
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Briar stumbled down the stairs to find Tris already seated at the breakfast table, curls unbraided and unable to repress a yawn. As distracted as she was, Tris still noticed before he took a seat beside her; perhaps a night's sleep had sharpened her senses. Daja, whose hearing was just as good, had not noticed him until he stood by her side, the night before, right after the funeral.
But seven hours separated that moment, and this, and morning sun peeked into the small room.
"Morning."
"Good morning." Tris nodded to the teapot squatting in front of her, in a clear invitation.
Briar poured himself a cup, sipped, and savored the burst of lemon on his tongue. He considered asking her about the funeral, considered expressing his concern about her first day in a world where Niko had been put to rest - grief that pressed down his chest; her expression, steady and almost completely without pain, convinced him not to. Instead, over the rim of his cup, he said, "You look like you slept well last night."
She turned red - because Tris didn't blush. Tris turned into one of Rosethorn's perfect tomatoes.
"And," he added, leaning beside her, "I think you dropped one of your laces coming out of Sandry's room."
Tris seemed, for a moment, speechless. Then she shot back, indignant, "I can't count how many times I had tea in the morning with one of your girls."
Briar was shaking his head. "I'm not saying anything... insulting," he told her. "Someone"-Daja, he thought, and remembered the sensation of her lips on his-"once told me that rites are as much for us as for the dead. We don't forget, but we oughta keep living, and after the rites, we can. We gotta."
"You almost sound wise," Tris murmured, "except I know you're quoting Daja." As she said this, Daja and Sandry entered the kitchen, and faint, hesitant smiles were exchanged across the breakfast table.
They, too, sat down, and though grief pressed at four pairs of shoulders, they were living.
- : -
Well?