The following day, Vell resolved to request a moment to speak at the High Queen's funeral.
West of the guest lodgings, the stewards had established a receiving station beneath silver banners that fluttered in the wind. A long line had already formed.
Delegates and dignitaries stood in line with patience. No one pushed, and no one muttered complaints, but the air was charged with unsaid things.
Each person held tightly to the words, the tribute they hoped and wished to deliver.
Some held scrolls, hands trembling faintly. Others stood empty-handed, their speeches unwritten, held only in memory and the moment.
Sonder glanced at them, then turned to Vell. "Have you written down what you want to say?"
"I don't think I need to," he replied. "I've a good memory. And what I have to say is short."
"And what do you want to say, mage?" asked a voice behind them, joining the already long queue. He was a very tall, very slender figure. He was humanoid but distinctly inhuman.
Vell studied him for a moment. "Nothing clever," he said. "Just a few words from the heart."
"That's rarer than poetry at things like this," the man replied.
His speech was strange, halting as if searching for the words, then suddenly finishing his sentences with fluidity.
"Which is why I'll keep it brief," Vell said, offering a respectful nod.
Sonder turned to him. "Are you here to speak as well?"
"I am," he said. "I never met the Queen, and my people haven't spoken with the united elves in a long time. Still, we want to give our thanks and support in troubled times and to acknowledge that we still count them as allies. Nothing more."
The line inched forward. Ahead of them, a representative stepped up to the steward's desk, murmured a few words, and handed over a scroll tied with waxen thread.
Then, after a while, it was Vell's turn.
The steward looked up. "Greetings. Are you here for a request to speak at the High Queen's funeral?"
"I am," said Vell. "My name is Vellichor. No title."
The steward jotted his name down. "Have you prepared your remarks?"
"No. I'll speak from memory. No notes, no scrolls."
The steward gave a small nod, unsurprised. "Ordinarily, we'd need to evaluate your credentials or the contents of your speech. But as you're known to the court and the nobles, you're granted permission. You'll speak on the second evening of the funeral procession, just after twilight. Please arrive ten minutes beforehand."
Vell nodded and stepped aside.
"That went more smoothly than I expected," he said to Sonder.
"Were you expecting trouble?" she asked.
"I was expecting to wait longer."