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After the previous night's attempted suicide, Gilbert hadn't wanted to let her out of his sight. He made sure she went back to bed, with no detours, and then stood -or rather sat- guard over her, watching her sleep. When she was asleep, she looked so peaceful.
He sighed and looked away. To her, I am only a concerned friend.
When morning came, he reluctantly traded her off to the servants come to lace her up into the dress for Roderich's funeral, and went back to his quarters to shower and change into his own black outfit.
The cold water invigorated his skin, and feeling freshly awake, he sighed, rubbed his face, and stepped into the typical somber clothing required for all funerals. After a while of sitting in his room and attempting to compose a eulogy for Roderich in case he was asked, he was ushered out into the hall, words coming together and floating apart in his head. He joined Elizaveta, who looked teary but composed. An impressive effort.
They shared a silent look before they joined the procession. Outside, it was cloudy and threatening rain, which fit the mood. But the albino couldn't help but heel exultant that his enemy was finally going to be dead and buried, no matter the consequences or what Elizaveta would think of him after. It was a deed worth doing, and he did it.
Of course, he wasn't going to express his real thoughts in the eulogy. He'd be exiled for sure, and -worse- be reviled by the love of his life. No, he'd concocted a mashup of memories and short, humorous anecdotes, concluding with the pure, utter truth. Disguised, of course, but still the truth.
They sat on the array of chairs that servants had brought out, and a man with hair almost as white as his and dark indigo eyes began speaking over the grave, blessing it or something. Gilbert didn't really care, but he put on his facade of sorrow so Elizaveta wouldn't move her hand from his arm.
Presently, he noticed a funny little curl on the side of the preacher's head, and watched it bounce up and down while the man talked. It reminded him of his brother's friend, who also had a curl like that. Maybe it was a trend. It brought humor to this event, which was really, unawesomely boring.
After a while, Elizaveta stood up to give her eulogy. It was profound, and sad, and by the end it had moved many of them to tears. Even the albino felt a lump in his throat when she finished. It was that good. When she resumed her seat, he squeezed her hand comfortingly.
After a few other people had spoken -including, surprisingly enough, Lord Vash, who Gilbert thought detested Roderich more than anyone else but him- Gilbert knew it was time to speak.
"So," he began, slightly awkwardly, "Most of you know that Roderich and I don't-didn't have a good relationship. That much is a given. But I'm not the type to come up here and bad-mouth him, ya know?"
A few scattered chuckles. Elizaveta stared at him as if she were trying to read his mind.
"So I'll keep it pretty brief." He took a breath and continued. "Roderich and I, we were always fighting, whether it be from something as trivial as me telling him to stop playing so loudly to him lecturing me after some friends and I...covered his room in a variety of...strange plants."
A green-eyed brunette smiled from the crowd, and Gilbert acknowledged him with a nod of his head. From next to him, a certain blond with long locks looked rather ill. Inwardly, the albino smiled, feeling no traces of regret for poisoning him. He insults Elizaveta, he deserved it.
"We didn't always see eye-to-eye. But he was a good person, and I respect that." He took another breath. "Even if he betrayed the one woman who loved him most-" -there wasn't a soul in the palace that didn't know of the Austrian's 'suicide' - "I will remember him for the ridiculously patronizing, annoying, and brilliantly talented man he used to be."
Hesitant applause greeted that last sentence, but Gilbert felt light inside, having delivered his hidden message to the coffin being lowered into the earth.
So you see, Roderich, she does believe you never loved her. You idiotic moron, you.
As the ceremony ended, a butterfly flitted gently down the sky to land on the fresh grave. It was a violet with a blackish sheen, the color of Roderich's eyes, and the kind of thing that sent shivers down his spine. This is not a good omen. Nobody else seemed to notice it.
Even after his faithful bird dove from the sky and scared it off, he still saw the butterfly wherever he went. In the drapes. In his room. In Elizaveta's eyes when she turned to kiss him lightly on the cheek for keeping her company for the funeral.
Normally that last kind of thing would've sent his heart racing, a flush crawling up his cheek, and that inchoate yearning would uncurl.
This time, it didn't.