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Here comes the 29th chapter of the story!
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The next day was completely dedicated to the sacrifices of those who had lost their lives against the army of the dead, fighting for the freedom of Westeros. A great number of small pyres had been erected where the battle had been not two days ago. It was only at this point that he understood the true scale of the battle. Many had been lost. And it was without counting those killed at the battle of the Wall, the wildlings caught North of the Wall or even Rhaegal. No one would truly be able to know the true scale of the losses.
Once again, it was Jon who spoke to the people who gathered to pay their respect to the fallen. He acted as the bridge between all these different cultures and people and was respected by many.
With a frown, Eragon suddenly became aware he couldn't remember a similar event taking place in Alagaësia. The war had always prevailed and after Urû'baen, the Vardens and the dwarfs had been caught in the euphoria of the battle. The dead had been buried and honoured but victory had been celebrated with many banquets. Only the elves had done something for their losses but Eragon hadn't been able to attend.
Caught on in his thoughts, he barely caught the end of Jon's short speech
"The gratitude of every home in the North, in Westeros and Essos, goes to these soldiers, farmers, smiths, or cooks who, undaunted by the odds, unwearied in the mortal danger, turned the tide of this war by their prowess and by their devotion. Never in the history of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few. "
Eragon found it fitting, knowing how true Jon's words were. Westeros had a debt to the North that could never be repaid.
A long silence answered Jon's speech, no one daring to break it. Finally, the Northman took a few steps forward with a torch. A beacon of light after the dark days they had gone through.
It sprung the bystanders into action. All of those who had been given a torch before also started going forward in the direction of the pyres. Eragon and Daenerys were among them and went to lit up the wood structure. Saphira couldn't stop herself from making a small comment
"You're the only here one who has a dragon and a sword whose true name is fire, and yet, you are putting a wood structure on fire with another small wooden stick. Humans truly make no sense" she grumbled
Eragon smirked but couldn't really refute her since she was true - "As always" came her inevitable reply-.
Nevertheless, he followed the lead and ignited one of the pyres. He didn't want to think about the corpses being ignited, their losses felt as he joined back the crowd, small than it had been days ago. Everyone watched as the flames consumed the bodies of those fallen against the frozen enemy which had now disappeared. There wasn't a sound to be heard except for the soft crackling of the wood.
But he realized the people didn't want to spend more time than necessary outside. It was cold and it probably felt wrong watching people who had shared a mug of ale or exchanged a good word only a few days ago burn to ashes. In a way, they would pay their respect by living.
And so pretty quickly, the majority left the outskirts of Winterfell to reach the Great Hall where a banquet would be served. The prospect of a few mugs of ale and a warm room was more than enough to drive away most.
But Eragon and the elves still had a task waiting for them. When they had heard the details entailed by this small ceremony, the elves had decided they wouldn't let their friends go that way. This simply wasn't their way. The bodies of the five elves had been healed by magic. They looked peaceful in death, but painfully white, having sacrificed their lives to protect the dragons.
They were further North, in one of the forests bordering the castle. Everything had been prepared in the early hours of the day. The bodies had been brought from where they had been kept since the end of the battle. Blödhgarm had also found five Weirwood leaves. He delicately placed them on the chest while the others silently observed. Their skin was white like the snow.
Drogon, Viserion, Saphira, and Daenerys were there too. The young woman seemed lost, not completely understanding the events taking place but painfully aware that Rhaegal's burial would come immediately after.
The silence of the forest was broken by the songs of the elves, crying about the loss of their friends. Nature had fallen silent. They could feel the change from the previous burial, and so was the power of the Ancient Language. They sang about their prowess, stories of life, songs about ice and fire.
Nature was silent, weeping about the losses of life along with the dozen elves present here. The birds had fallen silent and the branches of the surrounding trees appeared to be bowing. But nature was life, a process that would always prevail and the small leaves started to twitch as the songs from the elves kept going. Eragon wasn't sure, but he swore some of the trees around them were also sharing some form of energy. Daenerys eyes widened as he witnessed the event taking place in front of her, the last tribute offered to the departed elves.
And just like with Wyrden, trees started to grow, tall and imposing, for life didn't stop, especially now that the Night King had fallen.
They kept singing, never faltering, witnessing the power of their words, their tribute slowly taking shape.
Now, five Weirwoods stood where the bodies of the elves had been laid moments ago. The bark was strong and thick, and the leaves were of a deep rich red colour. Eragon could see many of his friends with a few tears in their eyes. His eyes weren't dry either. He hadn't known them for long, but he was proud to call them friends and saddened by their loss.
Viserion carefully went forward, taking one step at a time in the direction of the trees and extra precautions to not scratch them. Seeing him moving freely like this only served to highlight the changes operated in the past few weeks. With a pang, Eragon noticed that some of the elves who had taken care of the dragon and healed him were among the losses. Viserion was paying his last tribute to them.
But his surprise didn't stop, as the leaves of the trees started to shimmer under Viserion's magic. It was uncontrolled, powerful, not directed. This was simply a dragon offering his last goodbyes to those who had offered their time and energy to make him free again. For a dragon bound to the ground was a dragon deprived of his freedom and of his identity.
While Viserion was carefully stepping back, Daenerys gasped, her eyes wide and fixed on the leaves of the new trees.
The dragon's magic has gently touched the Weirwoods and the freshly blossomed red leaves now bore iridescent silver lines. Daenerys's eyes were wide open and the elves had a look of respect in their eyes. Their friends wouldn't be forgotten.
They remained silent for a few moments, no one daring to take the lead knowing where it would lead. They remained still, watching the breeze caress the trees, lost in their own thoughts. Even the Eldunaris were silent.
Eragon knew he wasn't done with burials today. Rhaegal's body had been moved from the castle to a small clearing, close to where the five elven trees stood, silent witnesses to this last farewell. The request had surprised Eragon but he had complied nevertheless. Moving the body of the dragon had been a taxing effort but one he hadn't even thought to avoid.
Daenerys had given her approval quickly enough, having probably felt something from Drogon and Rhaegal to comfort her in this choice. She had seemed lost, mindlessly carrying her tasks assisted by Tyrion whenever he could. The Lannister had also taken the loss hard, having spent his whole life worshipping dragons before finally meeting four of them.
After a few minutes of silence, Eragon took a few steps back, getting back under Saphira's right wing. Almost automatically, Daenerys followed suit under Viserion's. The dragons took it as a confirmation to move forward and they slowly turned to walk to the small clearing where they knew Rhaegal had been brought. He heard the elves following, a few steps behind them.
Strangely, Eragon was curious about the course of the ceremony. This wasn't something he had learnt with Glaedr and Oromis; he had unfortunately been unable to attend Glaedr's.
"There wasn't any dragon left to bury properly" was the bitter answer from Glaedr's Eldunari.
Rhaegal's body laid like Eragon had left him the night before. Snow had fallen, which had the benefit to hid the wounds sustained in the battle. Daenerys hands gripped forcefully Eragon's arm. He could feel her distress and pain at the sight of one of her dragons laying there, unmoving. The whole situation felt surreal. Dragons were symbols of life and what they were witnessing felt out of place. There was nothing they could do anymore but pay their last respects.
This time, the dragons would lead the ceremony. He knew Saphira had discussed it with Daenerys's dragons but as always when it came to dragons' matter, Eragon had understood very little of it.
Everyone was now around Rhaegal, with the dragons being the closest.
Eragon and Daenerys didn't know how or when it would start. He guessed the whole affair would be quite different from humans, elves or even dwarves' burials. He couldn't be truer.
In synchrony, the three dragons started to spew fire on the green dragon. It was an unbelievable sight, something Eragon had never thought possible. Red, blue and white flames crashed on Rhaegal's emerald scales, embracing them and covering his whole body in a fire blanket. The flames mixed, danced and sang, creating a unique swirl of lights and sounds, never getting close to the trees which loomed over them.
Eragon was mesmerised by what he saw and heard. He had never witnessed anything remotely close to this. The vision in front of him felt surreal, hypnotic intertwined with a deep sense of sadness and respect. Nevertheless, the heat was getting unbearable and he found himself using a spell to remain cool, like most of the elves around him.
But surprisingly, Daenerys didn't seem bothered. Her eyes were firmly locked on the fire. This was when Eragon noticed the magic being fuelled into the fire. Rhaegal's flesh wasn't burning. Something he hadn't accounted for was happening, and Daenerys was involved in this.
The flames were growing and he could feel sweat trickling down his face and his neck. But Daenerys was still looking at the flames, her eyes mirroring this dangerous and yet enthralling pyrotechnic choreograph. The loss had been replaced in her eyes by something deeper.
The flames were moving, shapes that could be glimpsed but never named, colours that had never been seen and would never be seen again. They were dancing on Rhaegal's scales, making him seemingly alive for his last flight.
The flames were still morphing and Daenerys was still looking straight ahead, not bothered the slightest by the heat. Eragon felt the grip of her hand around his arm loosening. She was taking a few steps in the direction of the fire.
"Don't!" said Glaedr before he could even try to stop her.
The elder knew something he didn't, but the sight of Daenerys walking confidently in the direction of this bonfire was pushing his instincts to act.
The flames were reacting to her presence somehow. They grew in height, intensity and in colours, dancing around her small silhouette. But she kept walking, unfazed by the blazing hell surrounding her. The three dragons never faltered in their process, which somehow only made it more breath-taking. It was a vision of the sublime that was unfolding in front of him.
Daenerys was now close, the flames almost covering her and Rhaegal. But nothing in her behaviour could betray the situation she was in. He couldn't spot any hesitation in her steps nor any screams of pain. His own mind couldn't process it. He had seen her holding Brisingr barehand before but that was an entirely another level of danger. And yet, she kept walking, becoming part of the process initiated by the three dragons,
He felt it before he saw it. A flicker of energy unlike any other Eragon had felt, but also so familiar to what Viserion had done not an hour ago. From the little he could see, Daenerys, in a motherly gesture, had touched Rhaegal's scales one last time.
The flames roared and the shapes turned, swirled and for a split second, Eragon swore he glimpsed Rhaegal in those flames. But he blinked and the shape was gone, replaced by other shapes, colours still swirling, dancing and singing, expressing an unspeakable loss. The columns rose before finally diving into Daenerys' right hand. And Daenerys was engulfed in a stream of fire.
This is the end of the chapter! I hope you've enjoyed it! Please, don't hesitate to comment, review, fav, this gives me a lot of motivation to keep this story and update quickly !
