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- 53
((OOC: Haring 20, 9:34 - City of Amaranthine))
The death of a spouse was not something new to Constance. Two husbands, she'd had. Two husbands, she lost. One she missed more than she had thought possible. The other she missed less not at all. She understood something of grief and the guilt of having none.
When a spy she kept at the Warden compound in Denerim frantic to find her arrived at her home with the news of Fiona's death, she knew just what type of spouse Nathaniel had lost. He was a private man, one that kept his emotions very much in check when others were around. All Howes had such talents. One thing he could never disguise, at least from those that knew him best, was that he truly did love his wife.
Nathaniel had married for love, not convenience or ambition. There were times Constance had wondered what it was like to have such a marriage, to be so devoted to another person without the pretense of games or the shackles of noble obligations. Those moments were short-lived, though, and Constance was a woman that did not like to focus upon regrets or what-ifs. She was content in her life and the choices she had made.
What business she had left in Denerim was cut short due to the news. Nathaniel would not ask, but that did not stop Constance from offering and insisting upon accompanying him and Fiona's body back to Amaranthine. Vultures would descend upon the freshly dead corpse of Fiona, eager to set their claws upon Nathaniel. Newly single and having proven a willingness to wed, other nobles might see him as a prize (even if a somewhat damaged one due to his familial history) to snag.
Constance would not have that. Amaranthine was far too important and some day, she hoped it to fall to Peter. And, of course, Nathaniel was family.
She saw to all the details of the funeral, a small ceremony with only immediate family present. A simple girl would have wanted a simple service.
No tears were shed by Nathaniel as he watched his wife burn, nor did Constance expect him to cry. He simply stared and watched as the flames consumed what had been his Fiona. No such pyre burned for Roderick, his body lost at sea. And Thomas? His funeral had been equally as small, but Constance did not watch him burn. She saw to the flames ignited and then took her leave. In those fires, she was reborn. In those fires, she found a new purpose and made a promise to herself she had yet to break.
The death of a spouse was not something new to Constance. Two husbands, she'd had. Two husbands, she lost. One she missed more than she had thought possible. The other she missed less not at all. She understood something of grief and the guilt of having none.
When a spy she kept at the Warden compound in Denerim frantic to find her arrived at her home with the news of Fiona's death, she knew just what type of spouse Nathaniel had lost. He was a private man, one that kept his emotions very much in check when others were around. All Howes had such talents. One thing he could never disguise, at least from those that knew him best, was that he truly did love his wife.
Nathaniel had married for love, not convenience or ambition. There were times Constance had wondered what it was like to have such a marriage, to be so devoted to another person without the pretense of games or the shackles of noble obligations. Those moments were short-lived, though, and Constance was a woman that did not like to focus upon regrets or what-ifs. She was content in her life and the choices she had made.
What business she had left in Denerim was cut short due to the news. Nathaniel would not ask, but that did not stop Constance from offering and insisting upon accompanying him and Fiona's body back to Amaranthine. Vultures would descend upon the freshly dead corpse of Fiona, eager to set their claws upon Nathaniel. Newly single and having proven a willingness to wed, other nobles might see him as a prize (even if a somewhat damaged one due to his familial history) to snag.
Constance would not have that. Amaranthine was far too important and some day, she hoped it to fall to Peter. And, of course, Nathaniel was family.
She saw to all the details of the funeral, a small ceremony with only immediate family present. A simple girl would have wanted a simple service.
No tears were shed by Nathaniel as he watched his wife burn, nor did Constance expect him to cry. He simply stared and watched as the flames consumed what had been his Fiona. No such pyre burned for Roderick, his body lost at sea. And Thomas? His funeral had been equally as small, but Constance did not watch him burn. She saw to the flames ignited and then took her leave. In those fires, she was reborn. In those fires, she found a new purpose and made a promise to herself she had yet to break.