And Elena, silent and withdrawn, the wind whipping her long blond hair around her shoulders. She was staring at nothing, her face swollen and tear-streaked.
Even like this, ravaged with grief, she was still beautiful, Damon thought. His gut tightened. How many times had he thought If only Stefan were out of the way? And now Stefan was gone and it was wrong, all wrong.
They'd wrapped Stefan's body in white silk and laid him carefully in the grave, his weapons around him. It was a beautiful spot they'd chosen, the river flowing past with a continual soothing sound of rushing water, moss-covered tree trunks rising up around them. A breeze fluttered the corner of the silk, its motion a parody of life, and Damon gritted his teeth. Everyone was waiting for someone else to begin Stefan's last rites.
Picking up a handful of dirt from the pile by the grave, he walked to the edge and let it trickle slowly from his fingers over Stefan's body, dark earth sullying the clean white cloth. "It's a waste," he said, his voice hard and vicious to his own ears. "Stefan tried so hard; he worked and worked to not be a vampire, to fight who he had become. And he died still hating what he was." Damon opened his hand, letting the rest of the dirt spill into the grave.
They were looking at him with pity in their eyes, all of them, and Damon was suddenly furious. He didn't need their pity; he could destroy them with a touch, pull down this little town around them. He could fly away, leave them behind, and never look back.
But he could feel Elena's dull grief through the bond between them, and so he put out a hand to touch her arm, and stayed.
Bonnie stepped forward next. "Stefan was so brave," she said. "Even when Elena d-died"-she threw a look of panic at the others-"even when things were so bad for him, he came when I called him for help. He was a really good friend. He loved Elena and he tried to protect all of us. He saved us all, more than once." Her lip was wobbling dangerously, and Zander stepped up next to her, touching her arm in reassurance. "I don't want him to be alone," she went on, her voice thin and high. Taking a small white silk bag from her pocket, she held it over the grave. "This is filled with rosemary and sweet peas, for friendship, and remembrance. I won't forget Stefan." Bonnie let the silk bag fall into the grave, then took a handful of dirt and dropped it in.
"Werewolves and vampires are enemies," Zander said, staring down at Stefan's body, "but Stefan taught me that it's not so simple. He was a friend to the Pack." He dropped a handful of dirt into the grave, too, and he and Bonnie stepped back together, Bonnie leaning on him for support.
Meredith let her handful of dirt fall into the grave and gazed down at Stefan's body. "Stefan was good and strong, and he'd just defeated the last of the vampires he'd hunted for years," she said. "He was happy. When I fight now, when I'm hunting the monsters that Stefan and I hunted together, I'll be fighting for him, too." She took a stake from her belt. "Stefan carved this," she said. "He hunted with it. He should have it." She dropped the stake in, and they all heard the soft thump as it hit the bottom of the grave.
As she turned away, Alaric stepped forward and looked to Damon. "I know they would have said a mass for the dead in Latin, when you and Stefan were young," he said hesitantly. "Even though he didn't go to church anymore, I thought maybe Stefan would have liked ..." He gestured shyly at the piece of paper clutched in one hand.
Damon shrugged. Maybe Stefan would have liked it; he didn't know. He was sure, though, that his brother would have listened politely to whatever Alaric planned to read.
Alaric unfolded the paper and began, "Inclina, Domine, aurem tuam ad preces nostras quibus misericordiam tuam supplices deprecamur; ut animam famuli tui ..." Incline thy ear, O Lord, to the prayers with which we entreat Thy mercy, and in a place of peace and rest, establish the soul of Thy servant ...
Damon felt his lips twist in a bitter smile at the familiar words. Alaric's accent was terrible. Even in the universities they didn't teach proper Latin anymore. And Damon was fairly certain that the fierce God he and Stefan had worshipped in their childhood would have no place of peace and rest for vampires. The Guardians had said, he remembered, that when a vampire died, he simply ceased to exist. Still, if the prayer comforted these children, let them have it.
Alaric finished reading the prayer, then carefully trickled a handful of dirt into Stefan's grave.
They were all looking at Elena now, but she just stood there, her lips pressed firmly together, and didn't step forward. She was angry, Damon sensed, her rage flowing through the bond that connected them.
Finally she raised her head and stared back at her friends. "No," she said sharply. "No, I won't say good-bye. I do not accept this." She was breathing hard, and Damon felt something flutter wildly through their bond. Elena was grieving and angry and in pain, but most of all, she was terrified, frightened of losing Stefan forever. Instinctively Damon stepped forward to wrap his arms around her, cradling her safely against his chest. Her heart was beating as fast as a bird's.
"You don't have to say good-bye, princess," he said. "Not if you don't want to. But you should tell him you love him."
Elena nodded. "Of course I do," she said dully. "He knows that." She pulled away from Damon, turning her back on the open grave, and walked down toward the river.
Damon looked to Alaric, Zander, and Matt. "Finish it," he said. "She's done." Obediently, they picked up their shovels and began to fill in the grave. The first shovelful of earth hit the cloth around Stefan's body with a dry, slithering sound that made Damon wince.