The Funeral of Alan Katlewande

Wind blew.

It was a different sort of wind. Soft, almost frail wind. It felt fake, in a sense. As if it didn't actually mean to blow, as if it was confused about its place in all of this. And yet, it was there, a silent reminder that there is in fact air in this big empty world.

Or at least, so it felt in the military graveyard of Mitras, that cold and somber morning. This was where soldiers were buried, lest they requested otherwise. As it turned out, the majority of soldiers were buried here, because very few of them expected to die.
Sadly, due to the rapid rate of deaths in the Survey Corps, the graveyard was filled to the brim and services couldn't be funded by the Military for each and every deceased soldier. Most of the poor fellows were just buried with whatever body parts they could find for the closed casket, and the dead were sealed away, deep beneath the ground, gone but not forgotten.
However, our story does not deal with that cramped, hero-filled graveyard. Not with all of it, anyway. One section of the graveyard, secluded by tall and thick brick walls, was dedicated to those fallen from the Military Police. In direct contrast to the rest of the graveyard, this section was barren, filled with more trees and bushes than actual gravestones. There were only about 17 in total, because the already minute amount of Military Police soldiers rarely died during their service, and even fewer did so without a relative funding a funeral elsewhere, somewhere more 'noble'.

And yet, a large, rectangular hole was added to the relatively empty field. Beside it lay another rectangular box, made of dark wood. The box carried no label, nor was the hole marked, but those gathered there today knew what the hole was for, and who was inside the wooden container.
It was the funeral of Alan Katlewande, captain of the 9th Special Squadron Of His Majesty The King's Military Police. Some knew him simply by Alan, and his parents called him by his middle name Jeremy, but most people simply didn't know what to call him. To some, he was a vigil protector. To some, he was a friend, but to most, he was simply another kid donning the same illustrious unicorn on his jacket. Ironic that the only symbol he was recognized for by most people was also the symbol he hated the most. Those who knew him well remembered that he always wanted to be a scout.
The policeman who wanted to be a scout. Life has weird ways.

The funeral was about to start, and Military Police Commander Nile Dok was going to begin the ceremony in a few minutes. Such was one of the few privilidges of being a captain in the military - the organization will carry out your service. As befitting Alan's rank, dozens of Military Policemen attended the event (as it was compulsory). They were standing in mostly neat rows far back, before every group of soldiers a captain stood. Because the event had yet to begin, most of them still felt comfortable chatting amongst themselves, passing a few sly jokes and talking about far more interesting things. It was fairly obvious that in a few weeks, most of them would forget that the Captain Katlewande ever existed.
The same could not be said for the rest of the people attending the ceremony.

A most bizarre collection of people stood before the sealed coffin. The one thing they all had in common was that, in some way, Alan mattered to them. Some were friends, both from his hometown of Krolva and the Military alike. Some were civilians and royals that Alan had helped and protected throughout the years. Some were stone-faced, solemn people, members of the Hydrargyrum. Rich and poor, mighty and weak, protectors and protected. They knew Alan, at least in some way, and chose to be here on this day. Their number was no more than 30.

However, one person stood out, seemingly out-of-place. A tall, thin woman, clad in a dark coat and a ragged black scarf around her neck and mouth. Under the coat she wore a simple, patched black dress. Despite her shaggy-looking appearance, she had a respectful, powerful feel to her, as if getting too close might freeze you solid. Her dark-blue eyes were filled with pain, but it was tired pain. Old pain. Helga stared sullenly at the grass at her feet, her flowing dark hair swaying slightly because of the annoying breeze that was blowing.
She had only seen her younger brother twice since he joined the Military, both those times only fairly recently. She wasn't a part of his daily life, but she still cared for him very much. She had plenty of time to come to grips with the realization of his passing on the way to Mitras from Krolva, but it still tasted bitter and confusing, to be standing here, among so many people she did not know, only to see a wooden box that had inside the body that was once her brother's. She was too afraid to think of how unjust it was for Alan to die in the Military Police. The only reason their mother forced him into joining the Unicorns was to keep him safe. He wasn't supposed to die. Not like this. Not like this.

Beyond the idle chatter of the rows of MPs, the air was silent.
Well, as silent as it could be, with that wind, that just kept on blowing.

Being a part of the military meant that death was an ever present event. Even though René had experienced the death of his friends countless times in the field, it felt different this time. Only about a week ago he’d tried to write to his newest friend Alan to tell him about the plans that Shimura Works had given him. The response that came was so unexpected that René hadn’t even slept in the last day. Alan had died. And René was invited to his funeral. The simple fact of someone dying was a shock for the poor scout that the funeral almost seemed like a relief. There weren’t any chairs at the funeral, so René contented himself with squatting down like a child, the grass of the graveyard gently swaying in the breeze. His arms were crossed over his knees, and he buried his nose deep within the comfort of his black coat.

Along with the few squads of garrulous Military Policeman squads, there were Alan’s personal friends. René wasn’t concerned with them. Deep within his coat pocket, he had drawn a portrait of Alan, exactly how René had remembered him. It was a feverish drawing, the lines scattering over the page. A far cry from the usual neat linework he liked. The drawing was sporadic and it was drawn in the moment. As soon as he had heard the news, it was what he thought to do first. Not cry, though René thought that the floodgates would open any minute. Crying was for everyone, but it seemed like it was only accepted in dire situations. He felt his eyes shut tightly, warding off the impending tears. Though René hadn’t known Alan for very long, the MP captain was an inspiration for the older scout. To have such drive in a difficult job was admirable. Losing someone, no matter how close they are will always hurt. He wondered why funerals were always so somber, was it because of the physical buriment of a loved one forever, or was it the brutal fact that they would not come back.

The laughs of the Military Police behind him jolted him back to reality, and that’s when he noticed a women standing by a tree in mourning black whose eyes seemed to pierce the atmosphere of the funeral. Her black hair almost reminded René of someone. Alan’s family…

Honestly it was quite stupid of René to assume that everybody else was an orphan like him. Some people had blood relatives that actually cared. Or seemed to care. Originally, René had intended to give Nile Dok the drawing of Alan so that he could frame it and put it somewhere to commemorate the captain, but frankly he didn’t trust Dok. If he could give the drawing to Alan’s relaties René had a feeling they’d appreciate it much more.

René was grateful that he didn’t witness Alan die. It was much harder when you saw the light fade from somebody’s eyes than when you just saw the slab of wood they were laid to rest in. René’s hands clenched around the loose ends of his coat, the fabric scrunched in response, almost seeming to tighten like René’s heart was. He felt as thought he precious organ was being wrung out like a towel.


Trying not to cry was far harder than killing Titans.

Death had never been an odd thing until now. It was always there, around him, very close to him when he was William, a bit further off when he was Marian. It was as natural a concept to him as the flight of birds. And yet, this one death pulled at his heart and made his stomach feel funny.

He learnt of the incident as Marian, the conversation brought it up briefly at an after-party of one of his concerts. 'Poor thing,' they said, 'He was a good man, a good captain'. Will pretended to be socked, sorry even. Pretended? He wasn't sure if it was pretense at the time. He'd excused himself later, walked into his private rooms and stool motionless.

His heart hurt. It hurt a lot, and he couldn't tell why. More than that, he just couldn't accept it. Alan wasn't dead. He couldn't have been. William had been laughing at his face just a few weeks ago. No one died in the inner district. Especially not a captain of the Military Police. This wasn't possible.

He continued denying it, up until he saw the casket. It hit him then, as he watched through the trees, the crowd gathering in the graveyard, an ugly black mass. He couldn't talk with Alan anymore. He couldn't poke at him, he couldn't make him uncomfortable, he couldn't make him laugh again. He suffocated at the thought, and his eye started burning. His rugged scarf wasn't enough to block out the cold. That's what he told himself as he shivered.

"So much for being a hero," his voice almost cracked, despite it barely even being a whisper. There was so much he hadn't told him yet. But now he couldn't tell him at all. It took a lot of effort to keep his cool and not storm into the open field. And so he gave up, for there was nothing else to do. Absolutely nothing. He let his face fall, and with it his tears, and when his heart allowed him to, he turned around. A song played in his head, and he let it out as he walked away.

Auth sat there in silence.

There were quite a few people he knew here, both in the front ranks and in the ones the MPs behind. However, Auth was not here to talk with anyone. This day, his job was inconsequential. This day, Alan was being buried.

Of course, after his years with the Scouts, Auth was used to seeing comrades buried. It has happened many times before, including even his own father. That being said, none of them died quite like this, and that made it so much more different. This joke of a death, this insult to all that Alan represented.

He had heard the full story from his contacts in the MP. Killed by his own comrade, by a person he trusted. Auth couldn't care less for the reasons that were at work there. Such a shameless act of murder was unforgivable. He girt his teeth and stiffened his fists. This wasn't how Alan expected to die. Nor how he wanted to.

Alan wouldn't have minded dying at the hands of a titan, that he knew. The Grayblade, the persona of the Survey Corp that Alan always wished to be, would have been prepared for that. Alan wouldn't have minded dying at the hands of criminals as he protected the world either, his own sense of justice mattered too much. Martyrdom would have been a fitting, albeit painful, end.

But this? Killed by those he trusts?!

There was no honour, no glory, and no need for Alan to have died this way.

Ottomer, huh?

"Scenario: Ottomer hanging dead in the central plaza of Mitras" Auth thought to himself. "Timeframe: one year. Limitations: None." He would see this through. His own father's death was different. His father had known this was coming to him eventually, and his father was at fault for it in full. It had been more a case of retribution than blind murder. And even then, death at the hands of the Red Titan was something one could almost be proud of. Unlike death at the hands of this coward Ottomer, that kills his friends and flees.

Auth looked at the grave, and at what he understood was Alan's leftover family. They looked the same to his eyes. More angry at the way rather than sad at the fact. After all, when Alan joined the MP was a law-abiding, justice-beliving person, everyone knew he would meet a premature end sometime. Just, he deserved better than this. Much, much better than this. He deserved the death of a hero, not the one of some MP written off of history. He wouldn't be remembered by the world. He should have. He should have, in his death, been so much more.

But Ottomer stole that from him. Not just his life, but his death.

And for that, he would pay.
Oh, how dearly would he pay.

The sun peeked its head shyly through the clouds, briefly allowing for distinct shadows to fall behind the standing masses before quietly returning to its cloudy cradle. The weather was seemingly oblivious to what was happening under it at this very moment. It might've bothered some, but such a thing never bothered Alan when he was still around. He was always glad when nature did its own thing, because it was a comforting reminder that the world will keep on turning.

Nile watched nervously at the gathered people. It was time, and it seemed that nobody else was planning to come. He glared at the masses of uncivilized Policemen, his subordinates, his workforce. He recalled how Alan always wanted to rid the Military Police of all the corrupt and unjust. Such a move was impossible, however, because then there won't be anyone left in the Military Police. The organization was slow and inefficient, but it did its job. Taxes were collected, law was enforced.
That was Alan's biggest fault. He couldn't compromise. He could bide his time, sure, but he was not one to take something sitting down. Nothing but perfection for Alan Katlewande. Nile even suspected Alan wanted the Military Police rid of him.

Dok saw how impatient the Policemen were. It was time to begin, free them of standing here in the cold.
The Military Police commander walked towards the grave. The captains shushed their soliders, and soon silence fell across the graveyard. Real silence, for once.
Nile watched the people before, stoic eyes revealing not what he thought of them nor what he was feeling. His speech was going to be cold, detached, but truthful.

"We are gathered here today to say goodbye to our staunch protector, dear friend and family member, Captain Alan Katlewande. This man died as he lived, honorably and bravely serving his king and country. He was everything a good soldier is and more - a helping hand, a composed leader, a sharp mind. His determination for his work was second to none. Many of you know, but Alan had been an unprecedentedly excellent soldier, becoming the youngest soldier ever to don the mantle of Captain at only 18 years of age. Unfortunately, he now also claims the title of youngest Military Policeman to die on his line of duty."
Nile Dok scanned the faces before him, eyes flaring. His eyes stopped on Helga's face, which seemed a little cross. He hoped he hadn't gone too far.

"He was taken from us far too soon, not even twenty years old on his final day. It is because of events like this that we must question the nature of life, the indifference of the world to justice.
But know that Alan was well aware of his duty, and the risks that followed suit. Where others would look the other way, Alan persisted and sas justice to the end. It was Alan's ideology that the world doesn't have a nature, but that you can shape its nature through your actions and words. Reality is molded by the people living by it. That was his reason to so persistently pursue what he considered good, why he devoted himself to his job as a Policeman. As he saw it, by doing so, he was turning the world into a better, more just world."
Nile Dok paused, letting his words sink in.

"And he has. The world is a better, safer, more just world than it was before Alan stepped in to do his part. Some of us owe the devoted, kind and brave man that he was our lives, but we all owe him our upmost respect and gratitude."
Nile Dok turned to the coffin and saluted it. The rows of Military Policeman followed suit.
"Captain Alan Katlewande. Your shift is finally over. You are honorably discharged of your duty." he echoed the famous words he seldom had to speak "You now return to the Earth, the Earth that one day will belong to us all entirely, Hero Of Humanity. Rest in peace."
Seven captains stepped forth from the lines of Military Policemen. Slowly, six of them  grabbed the coffin and lowered it to the hole in the earth. The last one began playing a slow, somber tune on his violin.

Nile Doc returned to face the crowd, face still a solemn mask. "Those of you who wish to say your final goodbyes may approach and lay the dirt. Dismissed."
Not a second later, and the chatter resumed. Most MPs up and left almost instantly, a swarm of unicorns headed out the courtyard to return to their lives. To them, Alan was just another official who died. Another name on the list.
Not many stayed behind, but some had. The commander, for one, stayed his ground, overlooking the gravestone before the hole. It was a simple one, a slab of grey stone. On it, few words were etched.

-ALAN J. KATLEWANDE-
-KILLED IN ACTION, EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD-
-VERY LOVED AND DEARLY MISSED-

This was the only part of the whole ceremony not funded by the Military. It was donated by Mitsuo Shimura, the famous mechanic prodigy. Dok wondered how much of that was courtesy and how much of that was honor. He didn't know the Shimura boy well enough to know the answer.
Meanwhile, the lady clad in black stood her ground, watching the scene before her, not daring to approach the grave, nor the man beside it. She appreciated his words, but they didn't make a damn difference. Not to her, at least.
Helga licked her lips, and hugged herself closer.

René saw the figure of the MP captain Nile Dok take his place near the front. He cleared his throat. René listened closely to his words, wondering how he would address Alan Katlewande. A captain, and even though it had been short, a friend. The commander began his speech. Explaining why they were all there. Everybody who was present knew the reason. There was no need to clarify, but hearing Alan’s name was comforting. His memory was still on the minds of those who had been around him. Some of the words that the commander said seemed quite forced though.... Like they had been said at funerals in the past.

The thing that really scared René was that Alan was only 18. He had though him to be at least 20, maybe a tad younger. 18 seemed too young but too old to be fitting anywhere between adult and child. René’s lip quivered when Dok said “Unfortunately, he now also claims the title of youngest Military Policeman to die on his line of duty.” Unfortunate, an accident. That’s what people would say since Alan was deemed too young. Sure he was young, and sure his death was unfortunate, but sometimes the way things were worded only brought about more grief. A constant reminder for the circumstances present to those who knew him.

“It is because of events like this that we must question the nature of life, the indifference of the world to justice.” Nile Dok’s words gravitated around the cemetery. The commander continued, “But know that Alan was well aware of his duty, and the risks that followed suit. Where others would look the other way, Alan persisted and saw justice to the end. It was Alan's ideology that the world doesn't have a nature, but that you can shape its nature through your actions and words. Reality is molded by the people living by it. That was his reason to so persistently pursue what he considered good, why he devoted himself to his job as a Policeman. As he saw it, by doing so, he was turning the world into a better, a more just world."

The words the commander were so eloquent… most of what he was saying was true, but René couldn’t shake the feeling that Nile Dok didn’t give a damn about Alan. It was hard hearing all about Alan, to be fair, René didn’t really even know him. He’d been presumptuous when introducing himself and only came to him asking for favors.

He regretted how he had talked to Alan. Begging for help. Begging for a line. Struggling for a reason. A purpose.


"And he has. The world is a better, safer, more just world than it was before Alan stepped in to do his part. Some of us owe the devoted, kind and brave man that he was our lives, but we all owe him our utmost respect and gratitude."

The sudden, instantly recognizable sound of hands hitting chests in an organized movement threw René for a loop. On instinct he stood quickly, and copied the Military Police and Dok. "Captain Alan Katlewande. Your shift is finally over. You are honorably discharged of your duty. You now return to the Earth, the Earth that one day will belong to us all entirely, Hero Of Humanity. Rest in peace." The MP captains, faces like chiseled stone stepped forwards, hoisting the coffin and lowering it into the bowels of the darkest ground. Dirt. It sickened René to think that a human tradition was to bury great mean among such a meaningless thing. A somber tune, danced out by the spider strings of the mournful violin held between the lithe fingers of an MP, began to play. To resonate. Once the tune seemed like it was about to snap just like the heartstrings of the crowd, Nile Dok turned to them, face sterner than the brick foundations of the city houses. "Those of you who wish to say your final goodbyes may approach and lay the dirt. Dismissed."

René wasn’t surprised when the MPs, Alan’s own comrades, left hurriedly. And yet it still was a shock to the scout. He was surprised that Nile Dok remained where he was, the most graceful unicorn fo them all, looking at a peculiar stone, which appeared to have something written on the face. René squinted before putting his reading glasses onto his face and reading the bold epitaph that stood before him.



-ALAN J. KATLEWANDE-
-KILLED IN ACTION, EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD-
-VERY LOVED AND DEARLY MISSED-

He lowered his glasses, an uncomfortable smile forming between his ears. He wondered who had gotten Alan the headstone, none of the other graves around Alan’s new resting place were marked, much less in stone. His memory would carry on for a while. The duty of the living after a friend or relative was tiring. They had the job of carrying on and spreading the deceased's memories, ideals, their identity onto others. In that moment, it seemed like time stood still. Nobody moved towards the grave. There was always a time for firsts. Might as well add this to the list. At first, René kept himself composed, walking slowly, standard for somebody who was just going up to a coffin. This isn’t just any coffin. It’s my friends. It’s his. René only made it halfway to the slab of wood that cradled a legend before he broke out into a run. He paused briefly before Nile Dok to thank him sincerely for the funeral. He almost thought the commander looked surprised for a moment. But that he could acknowledge as a figment of his imagination.

He dug out the drawing from his pocket, and looked fondly into its lines, the brief moments that were bonded between the two felt like they were forged years deep. Years strong. The fact that the MPs weren’t burying Alan was bad, yet good. Those who cared about Alan would have the honor of being able to help lay their friend to rest. Those who would protect his name. Those who only saw a dead man would live with the years of shame to haunt them. He knelt, gazing on the lacquered cover of of wood that shielded a captain from the cold. “I wish I could have gotten to know you better. I’m so sorry for all the trouble I caused you. You were a great friend.” The words were only a whisper, only to be kept between him and Alan. They were for nobody else. He cupped his hands, scooping a generous amount of dirt between them. “Return from where you came from. I’d be honored to have you supporting me from ground up.” The rainfall of dirt made much more of an impact that René realised. In one way other than killing, René had helped humanity, He stood, not bothering to brush the first from his palms. He wanted it there to be a reminder. He cleared his throat. “If there’s any family of Alan Katlewande here… I’d just like to offer my condolences. Everyone that’s still here feels your pain and is ready to support you if you need it. And i want to offer them this... “ He held up the drawing of Alan.

Hearts seemed to heave through the deep, dark, vast, universe together. Aching through time and space as one sorrowful entity, mourning the loss of someone important.

It was rather cold today. Maybe even more so given where she was and why. Graveyards. Death. Something Cora was all too familiar with. Technically she had never really went to a graveyard to mourn anyone. She had not mourned any of her family members on one, neither any of her lost friends. Graveyards were something where only those were buried who had someone to bury them. Cora would have wanted to bury her mother, her father, her grandmother and perhaps her siblings. But she could not. She also would have liked to bury her friends. She could not either. And by now she was way too used to mourn her loved ones without having any symbol or place she could go to.

Cora was standing in the far back behind the military policemen who were...everything but civilized. If she would be their superiour they would only behave like this once. Once. No more. She got herself angry at them on purpose to not think about the reason why she was here, but it only worked for a short time.
She eventually had to think about Alan.

Cora's coat moved in the wind and Mortimer, who was sitting in between her legs got startled by the leather touching him. She pulled the leash a bit, getting him closer to her. Cora started petting his head and thought about the whole situation.
She did not know too many details, her own sources did not reach this far up in the military. She knew a few things, she knew it was related to the last mission she had with Alan and she knew it was one of his close friends or subordinates. But more she did not know. Neither the name, nor the face, nor the current place where he was residing.

Cora went back in her memories to the last time she had met him. It was not a very good meeting...but she did not feel remorse. In her mind it had ended well. In Nec's or Vex's mind it might be different but she thought she had handled the situation well, it had ended...similar to how she had wanted it to end. The only thing Cora regretted was not being there when he died. She could have saved him, could she not? She could have!
She subconciously gripped the leash harder and harder, digging in her own hand with her fingernails.
Cora had promised herself to not lose anyone anymore. She had promised to herself to be with them, to protect them. To not let that happen again. She had been so sure about that never happening to her again, yet. Here she was. In a goddamn graveyard, standing in the back of a funeral. The coffin being occupied by his cold and lifeless body. By Alan's body. Alan. Alan had been one of the first people in the military to find out about her other personalities. And he had accepted her for it. She started feeling a bit bad about the way she had treated him in the last meeting, he after all...accepted her...other sides. But not her past, her actions. Cora shook her head to rid herself from those thoughts.

Cora watched the military policemen leave. Mortimer growled at most of them.
She could finally see the people standing around the coffin, those...that actually cared about him. Those that Alan himself would consider his friends, if he was still alive that is.
She could tell Auth apart from the others, same with Rene, the one redhead she went with on a mission. The rest was hard to tell, or had not turned towards her yet so she could tell apart who they were.
Cora took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a second. She hated herself for losing Alan. She absolutly hated herself for losing him. How could she? How could she dare to...it was no use. Nec tried convincing her that she could not have stopped it because she would have never been there when it happened. Deep down she knew it was true...but she did not want to believe it.
It was better to give herself the fault for not being there to save him than...to give herself the fault for counting him as a friend in the first place.
But she knew how it would end up. She knew she would stop regretting her inability to save him and start regretting the fact that she got to know him in the first place.
Cora had stepped over one of her rules, one of her important rules. Don't. Get. Close. She had let him to close to her. She allowed him to like her. She had allowed him to consider her a friend. She had done that. And that was why he died.

Cora should have known better. Every single person she had gotten close to had died within a short time. Every single one of them. Her family, her friends. All of them. They had all died because they got too close to her. And now...because she had allowed Alan to do that he had died as well. It was her fault. If she would not have been it would not have happened. She did not have herself under control.
Cora got thrown back into reality, her bubble of safety within the pack and her friends had been popped by Alan's death. She had allowed herself to not watch out.

Alan's death in the end...it was her fault. Her own fault. And she would not let that happen to any of her other friends.

Cora did not make any attempt to move closer towards the coffin. Because around the coffin...were the people she cared about. And she had to stop getting close to them. They just died if she did. And she would learn from one mistake, she would learn from it. She would not get close to them. Cora would stay away as far as she could and only interact with them if she absolutly had to.

Nile Dok stood beside the gravestone, as still as the stone itself. Although his face was locked in a stoic, serious expression, his mind was all over the place. Fortunately for him, he had seldom had to bury and mourn his friends and comrades. It had occured to the commander more than once that one day he may have to bury Erwin Smith in much the same way.
That was the problem with hero types. They always mistook their foolishness and mistakes for righteousness and redemption. They would tangle closer and closer to death, completely blind of their loomimg demise, and their part in its coming.
And yet, didn't Nile also agreed with Alan? Wasn't Alan one of his most dedicated soldiers, his most trusted captains?
These were the doubts that were plaguing Dok. To confess Alan's righteousness would be to admit his own wrongdoing, and to deny it would be to shame a fallen friend. The commander didn't want to dwell on this dilemma, but his mind kept racing back to it, unable to escape the void.

Helga was already in the void. She has been there for most of her life. Some called it depression, but the word had lost all meaning to Helga. It was just a word, ten letters, three syllables. What good could that do to describle emptiness, a complete deprevation of all emotions both bad and good, a state of constant dissatisfaction that cannot be escaped, the feeling that nothing mattered and that anything that did was impossibly out of reach?
Depression. Alan's death wounded Helga, it choked her up and made her sick, corrupted her mind and darkened her day. As terrible as it was, it simply felt like a drop of ink falling into a black lake that was her misery. As terrible as it was, she was far too caught up in her own troubles, her own miserable life. Helga knew Alan tended to feel the same. She recalled how he acted when he heard about their mother's death.
Mother was dead. Alan was dead. Father was sick in his deathbed and Henry was forever lost to the mercenaries. Family never mattered a whole lot to Helga, but it still hurt to know just how alone she was. To be painfully reminded that when she dies, there won't be anyone to mourn her, maybe even no one to bury her. With nothing to leave behind, her focus was on the present, her time alive, and unfortunately that was an ultimately dark and depressing life.

But of all these sleepers, these few agonized, weary souls, one was awake. The scout ran across the field, heading to the grave. He stopped briskly by Nile Dok before continuing to the hole in the Earth.
This drew Helga's attention, even for a fleeting moment. A man? His red hair tossed in the wind. Perhaps a friend of Alan's? Surely, for he stayed behind.
The boy muttered a few words, then helped some dirt back into the hole. How kind of him, thought Helga bitterly, though her curiosity was still peaked.
He turned and and looked around, then spoke.
“If there’s any family of Alan Katlewande here… I’d just like to offer my condolences. Everyone that’s still here feels your pain and is ready to support you if you need it. And I want to offer them this... “
The man reaches into the pocket of his dark jacket and pulled out a piece of paper.

Helga stood there for a moment, thinking. Should she approach? Should she reveal her identity to all these people? What would they think, admirers of this great Captain Katlewande, her little Al, about his drunken whore if an older sister?
Whatever thoughts she might've had, her legs gave way. Thoughtlessly, she slowly made her way to the young man.
Without saying a word, she took the drawing that was handed to her. It depicted a young captain, hair dark and eyes thoughtful. You could feel the calm behind the figure... And the power. It was Alan Watlewande, but not how Helga remembered him. To her, he was still the smiling little boy that would help around the house and suffer their mother's beatings.
Helga shook her head. She will not think of mother. Not on this day. She did not deserve it.
After a few more seconds of admiring the sketch, Helga's stormy eyes rose to meet Rene's.
"This is very nice. Looks just like him." she finally said, a polite, sad smile forming on her lips "Thank you for this, and for your condolences."
In truth, Helga didn't give a rat's ass about any of the things the man said. His actions concerned him far more. From his running, to the drawing, Alan must've left quite an impression on him. Poor fellow.
Helga's slim hand rose up to pull her scarf further away from her face.
"I take it you knew my brother." she said, her smile fading away.

Dok's eyes stared nervously at the back of Helga's head. So she was Alan's family. He should probably make his way out before she challenges him with questions he really shouldn't answer. That would be best for both of them, truly.

A woman approached René. She had dark hair and bolder dark blue eyes that pierced the atmosphere of the funeral. She looked hesitant to be there and René was unsure of exactly why she was there. But one thing was sure. She had known Alan in one way or another.

She took the drawing and gazed across its lines silently René wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. Finally, she lifted her head and her eyes met his. They were raging like oceans, though René hadn’t seen one at all. “This is very nice. Looks just like him.” She smiled sadly before thanking him for his condolences. He was relieved that he’d been able to commemorate Alan appropriately.

“I take it you knew my brother.” Her hand had pulled the black scarf away from her face, showing that she was no longer smiling. Nile Dok watched from a distance. “I was fortunate to have met him. He offered a lot for me. He was probably the best Military Policeman I knew… one of the few who cared for humanity. He wanted to further it, not put it back.” He paused. He could see the woman pondering about what he said. “I should probably introduce myself. I’m René Alfons. With the Survey Corps. I’m pretty surprised that Alan had siblings, he never really mentioned his family.” He was trying his hardest to not tip this woman over the edge. He could understand the fragileness of losing someone. He’d experienced it before, and it put him tilting into despair. He thought the world was against him. In times of trouble it was so easy to misunderstand and misinterpret.

He wasn’t sure what he could do to help this woman. But Alan had been unhesitant in helping him with his ambitious plans so he wasn’t afraid to take time off to help this woman who at last spoke her name. The regular courtesies of “Nice to meet you!” crossed paths but nobody was brave enough to mention the weather or the events currently happening. It was all just too.. Heartbreaking. It ached and quivered like a wet kitten mewling in the streets.

Sometimes the pain of having to endure something, especially without someone, could be indescribable. And if you did try to explain, it seemed you lost the balance you’d regained and flailed for safety, going blindly in the dark looking for support. Anyone, anything. It was hard to get over things, but it was only natural. And it was perfectly fine to struggle, as long as you were willing to accept help out of that struggle.

Nobody deserves to suffer long, much less alone.