|Summary:||Amelia Millen meets her end upon the end of a noose in the Town Square of Terrick's Roost.|
|Related Logs:||Someone else can fill this in?|
|Is it square? It's certainly in town. A gibbet has been set up from which to swing the condemned.|
|09 September, 288|
Terrick's Roost doesn't have a reputation as a particularly lawless or bloodthirsty place. Yet for the turnout of peasantry at the scheduled time and place that a murderess is announced to hang, one might be forgiven a moment of surprise. A scaffold has been erected to support the solid arm of the gibbet, with the sturdy noose hanging empty from it's finger. Dozens and dozens of smallfolk mill about within eyeshot of the thing under the supervision of a half dozen retainers, present to keep the peace. From the west, the long awaited wagon is drawn into town. The sherrif of the Roost can be spied beside the driver, as can a pair of guards moving along ahorse, as the sun is setting at their backs.
Jarod is one of the guards ahorse, and he guides his sturdy brown courser through the street at a grim pace that matches the slower wagon. "Keep back now," he calls to the crowd of peasantry as they near the scaffold properly. The assemblage is eyed, both with a mixture of wariness and as if he's trying to pick out some faces in the thick of it.
Stragen is one of those retainers here to keep the peace, but his position is by the Terrick family and their retinue. His sword is sheathed and his arms crossed, regarding the crowd with a scrutinizing scowl, searching for threats. His back is to the execution platform, not showing any interest in the proceedings, but just to protect the family he's paid to protect.
Jaremy is standing, dressed in fine clothing for the grim occasion, along the row that Amelia is going to be led down. As expected, his mood is rather shadowed and unpleasant, having been quiet for most of the ride down to the Town Square. Wearing his sword at his hip, he turns to watch the wagon approach with a blanket of silence all around his features.
Josse stands among the crowd of commoners, a small circle of space left clear around him that's free of flying elbows and spit drops. He looks no different from usual, in his dull gray robes and wearing the seven-pointed star from his belt, his hood pulled up onto the top of his head. Hands tucked into his large sleeves, his head turns and eyes follow the moving procession as it comes down from Four Eagles.
Squire Rowan pushes his way through the crowd. The earliest arrivals might have been present to see the slender young man on the scaffold, standing where the condemned will stand, above the trap door that will trigger the sudden drop. He's measured the distance and knows within a foot either way where Amelia Millen's eyes will fall. He has to shove his way bodily though the throng at times, but doesn't stop shy of the mark. If the woman who will die here today looks out one last time, there will be a pair of eyes for her to meet. Eyes that wish her nothing but peace and an end to her suffering in this world.
Master Howard's family are here, allowed the courtesy of observing justice done. Whilst they've provided their own guard, another Terrick retainer hovers closeby on account of the Lady Lucienne, who is standing with Rachael, Jens' daughter. They're conversing quietly.
Anais has managed to find herself a place at Jaremy's side, though she's flanked by a pair of Banefort guards as well, keeping an eye out for anything untoward. Her features are quiet and still as ice as she watches the scaffold and the wagon that bears Amelia into the center of town.
Another pair of eyes can be spied on the platform now, yet not much can be seen of them. There has not been an execution in the Roost for several years, and Jerold Terrick does not keep an executioner among his retainers. Thus, the identity of the man whose eyes are concealed by a black hood is well and truly unknown as the executioner tests his own weight on the rope with a tight grip, nodding once as the noose doesnt even creak.
It's Master Howard's children that Jarod looks to first, expression more sad all around than anything else. He then looks to the Terricks in the crowd, trying to catch the eye of Jaremy and Lucienne briefly. Though his gaze passes soon after to Rowan. And then, back to the scaffold. He returns the nod of the hooded man testing the ropes.
It's hard to tell, right off of the bat, whether Cayt is attending by way of being a moral and familial support for Annie or by dint of his position as the Lord Ser Jaremy's squire. In either case, his usual commoner's clothing has been laid aside, and the lad is wearing his Lord Ser's colors in livery fine enough for him to stand well with his nobly born sister and her Lord Husband-To-Be. His brows are flat and severe even as his freshly washed and dried hair wisps golden and curly, and his gaze is pensive bordering on surly while he watches the wagon on its approach.
Raffton rides beside the wagon as well, on the opposite side from Jarod. He glances around at the crowed, but where his captain looks sad, the blond guard looks only dutiful. He looks up to the gallows, watching the executioner prepare.
Jaremy watches the approaching wagon until it causes the hairs at the back of his neck to stand up. Frowning, he looks to the ground and bares his teeth to the dirt for the slightest of moments. He mustn't appear against his father's decision, and for that his frown disappears into a neutral, dispassionate stare at the first plank of the platform before him. Taking in a cleansing breath, he releases it and looks to Anais and Caytiv at his side, watching them as the agonizing seconds count down until his alleged friend is to be hung.
Visibly sick at heart, the youngest of the Nayland brood casts his gaze on the wagon and those flanking it. He happens to meet Jarod's eyes at that moment, and nods slightly — as though reassuring his former mentor that he's fine, and expressing sympathy for the knight's grim duty, as well. He looks over the crowd a moment, not quite tall enough to have a commanding view, and then back to the tumbrel itself. Its long occupant, bound and silent. And there his gaze remains.
Anais manages the faintest smile for Caytiv, grateful for his presence, before she reaches to take Jaremy's arm, stepping in closer. She doesn't look happy about the prospect of the hanging, but neither does she look as though she's likely to interfere.
Josse remains alone in the crowd, just watching. The hood partly shields his eyes, though they're visible to people really looking. His expression isn't one easily read.
Lucienne misses Jarod's look, engaged as she is with Rachael Howard. She gestures to a spot a little closer, and after a nod is received from Master Howard's wife as well, the little party of women, children and their guards step toward Jaremy et al. The view is better there. She clears her throat, but the soft sound is likely unheard over the quiet rumble of feet scuffling and smallfolk mumbling.
Taking in another deep breath as he feels the reassurance of Anais' hands slipping around his arm, Jaremy leans slightly in towards her, finding comfort in her presence. Squeezing her arm softly, he looks to Jarod, face remaining expressionless as he settles into a long, quiet stare towards him. Like a funeral, no one smiles or says hello, and after the moment of connection he turns to watch Lucienne and Master Howard's remaining brood step closer. His arm tenses slightly against Anais' at the sight of them.
As the wagon with its passenger in pale grey approaches the gibbet, several among the crowd break the prevailing silence. Some cheer, more shout and thus lose the clarity of their thoughts in the hubbub of their fellows. Either the scarcity of executions or the dramatic nature of the accused crime, emotions run high in the Roost.
Moving demurely beside Lucienne, the Howard girl looks visibly overwhelmed with the crowd and the gravity of the day, but where others see the approaching wagon and either cheer, jeer, or remain philosohpically silent, the young girl lowers her eyes to conceal a most unladylike scowl. A murmered apology and thanks are given to Lucienne, as they move closer, but the girl's eyes remain largely lowered.
Caytiv doesn't know precisely who these people are with Lucienne, but he's not going to break into the atmosphere of the moment asking after introductions, only looking over the scowling lass long enough to figure she's got some stake in this business, then giving his sister a short upward tip of his chin by way of an assurance that he's here if she needs him.
Stragen steps to, careful to protect the Terrick family from any of the passions from the crowd. His hand moves to rest on his sword hilt, but given explicit instructions not to draw unless the order is given or if steel is brought to bear, it brings him reassurance. "Ay, you, back up, before I push you back," he declares towards an unruly bunch.
Anais steps a little closer to Jaremy, keeping her voice low as she murmurs something to him. Her eyes remain on the wagon that carries Amelia, her features composed as she tries to remain apart from what is happening.
Jarod seems satisfied enough with the work the executioner's done on the ropes, and so he waits for this grim duty to get on. His own gaze is not expressionless at all as it meets Jaremy's. The knight seems incapable of concealing his feelings on any occasion. Though at present he just looks very sad, and very somber. A brief look to the Howard children again, then out to the larger crowd. Stragen's work at keeping them back seems to meet with his approval.
As the incoming cart rattles on, the passengers are silent. Two guards are with her, eyes on the woman. There just isn't much to say. The confessed murderer in the back looks on as the crowd builds in the wake of the moving cart. But seeing Jaremy, her eyes lock on him. She calls out, "Out the southern window, under the largest rock!" Amelia swallows afterwards, quickly averting her eyes back down.
Lucienne looks, for a moment, a little torn as to whether her place is to comfort her brother or to comfort Jens' family. She darts a look between the two parties, and judging neither to be in dire need of her, hangs in the middle, near Cayt. Her hands lace together at her front, and she draws a deep breath in, expelling it slowly and somberly to match her expression. The condemned's cryptic instruction prompts a frown, and rather quickly, Luci begins to search for whomever might be seen to respond.
Amongst the common folk gathered to watch, Thea sticks near some of the other maids that she knows but as the cart draws into view, she moves to get a better view. Stormy eyes lift towards the woman who calls out for a moment before her attentions drift over then to the rest of the crowd. Searching perhaps. But at first she doesn't see anything to her interest, instead returning her gaze towards the wagon. She draws on a wayward spray of blonde hair to wind it about her finger absently so.
Raffton looks sharply down at the prisoner as she calls out, and then looks over to Jarod before turning to glance about the crowd again, his attention more focused and searching this time.
Josse's hood casts a shadow over part of his eyes, keeping him from having to squint in the daylight. His shoulders rise and then slowly fall as he lets out a long breath through his nose, silently. Blue eyes flicker up to Jarod, then briefly Jaremy, and then Rowan's profile before watching the wagon again.
Leaning his head in, Jaremy whispers something quietly to Anais. The private conversation, however, is interrupted by the sudden words cast over the crowd towards him by Amelia. His head tilts upright, turning to lock eyes on the wagon, searching for signs of Amelia. His deadened eyes turn sharp, understanding something about what Amelia has yelled.
Jarod tenses as Amelia shouts at Jaremy. A look is directed from his brother to the woman about to be hung. A deep frown settling on his face. Not that he says anything.
While some among the crowd are calling out insults to the condemned, most fall into two categories: the holy and the profane. One witty peasant mixes the two, calling exactly what the Stranger can do with the murderous whore when he comes for her. The barb draws a few chuckles.
The wagon rolls to a stop at the edge of the platform, as the Roost sherrif climbs down to usher the prisoner from wagon to noose.
Anais closes her eyes tightly when Amelia calls out to Jaremy, though Jaremy is likely the only one who can tell just how much her grip tightens on his arm. He'll probably be able to tell for a few days, really.
Caytiv's lips twist to one side, one eye squinting further shut than the other as the woman in the wagon yells to his Lord Ser. He doesn't know her, of course, other than as a woman about to be hanged, and for a moment he eyes the crowd just past the cart, as if wondering whether any of them will go in search of the indicated spot. But he keeps his stalwart attention, otherwise, and only turns his eyes toward Luci when she comes to stand nearby, brows shrugging upward. No idea.
If looks could kill, the peasant who just mixed the Stranger and those harsh words just got one from Josse. One brow arches as he looks back at the wagon, resettling his hands in his sleeves with thinned lips.
Amelia rises when the wagon comes to a stop and the Sheriff gestures her up. She steps off in her plain dress and hops to the stone, swaying a few times. Bound hands prevent steady balance. She only looks up high enough to catch the chests of those around her, letting the guards guide her up. That face remains more or less hidden behind the dark hair that has tumbled around her cheeks. Those close enough will be able to see her squint against the natural light and the slack look to her expression.
Some of the more creative and profane cat calls draw Rowan's attention, his fine dark brows drawing down, lips thinning with displeasure. He draws a deep breath through his nose, squaring his shoulders and focusing on Amelia. He lifts his chin, feet planted, hands folded, posture imperial and perfect. The discipline of his training to knighthood is visible in every line of his body — it keeps him upright, facing forward, and standing tall despite the suffocating weight of foreboding and grief.
Stragen has disconnected.
Lucienne's still frowning, only made deeper as she catches eyes with Caytiv and his brows' expression. She jerks her head, in some small measure back toward the tower; perhaps an order, should he take them from his Lord Ser's sister? Or perhaps it's she who intends to go scurrying to lift the largest rock by the southernmost window? She shifts a quick glance to Rachael.
As the wagon reaches the platform, Raffton dismounts as well, bringing up the rear as Jarod leads the prisoner up to the platform. He continues to look solemn, though one of the more creative hecklers draws a brief twitch of a smile from the guard.
Jaremy's eyes widen and his jaw settles faintly at the grip to his arm. Teeth clenched beneath his closed lips, his eyes slowly close into a blink at the cat-calls from the crowd. Once his eyes have opened, he casts a glance back towards the crowd until his attention settles fully onto the now visible form of Amelia. His frown cannot be hidden, nor can his lowered eyebrows at the sight of her this day. His fist clenches at his side that meets Anais, doing his best to not show the widow Howard his displeasure.
The sheriff's firm hand guides Amelia in her pale grey shift up the crude wooden steps, and into the care of the executioner who plainly and professionally places the woman at the center of the platform, and instructs her, "Raise your chin," to accomodate the fitting of the noose around her neck. As this goes on, the sheriff raises his hands for silence from the crowd, raising his voice a moment later. "Crimes against the public good are crimes against the whole of the domain, from the smallest through the greatest. -Quiet!" he barks, interrupting the litany to still some of the catcalls and whistkles directed to the condemned. "This woman's crimes are against all of you, and so His Lordship has commanded that this woman, Amelia Millen, be hanged from the neck until dead, and commends her soul to the care of the Seven, may they hjudge her justly."
Lead on he does. Jarod dismounts smoothly, reaching out to take Amelia's arm and lead her - firmly, but with no more force than is necessary - up to the noose. His eyes are not without sympathy, though he doesn't hesitate in his duty. He's silent.
As Amelia is led to the gallows, Anais carefully loosens her grip on Jaremy's arm. She even smoothes a hand over his sleeve afterwards, almost absent-mindedly. Wouldn't want that to wrinkle over the bruises.
Rowan closes his eyes a moment as Jarod brings Amelia front and center. He breathes in again, and out, and once more steadies his gaze. His lips move faintly in something that might be a prayer.
Caytiv is probably not best left in charge of looking after Rachael while Luci goes rock-hunting. And while Cayt is no stranger to hangings, he -is- a stranger to seeing a woman hanged, and it seems he now may stay so a while longer, for at Luci's tacit pointing he gives a nod to show the dawn of understanding, then takes a short half step, then a fuller step backward, unobtrusively extracting himself from his sister's side.
She doesn't shuffle. She doesn't even cry. Amelia puts on foot in front of the other and does as she had been bid — to go quietly and with honor. Mostly. The former whore lifts her chin so that the noose can be brought around, eyes closing until it has. Once done and the rope secured, her eyes open, hair being blown off her face in the breeze. She seeks out the eyes of Anais first, then Jaremy's. There's no words. Everything has been said that needed to be said. Her sad, lonely eyes only hold a small measure of hope as she looks up to the rope's attachment and she gives a little smile. Those who have spoken to her may understand the gesture. But when they fall, Rowan's placement was almost perfect. She settles her eyes on him and mouthes something but there is only silence to be had. The woman appears ready to accept the fate she has been delivered.
The catcalls and the press of the crowd make Thea try to lift on her toes to see. But it is when Amelia is moved that she catches a glimpse and the chambermaid begins to skirt the edges. She bites at her bottom lip. Her head tilts and she tries to peer about them but is not tall enough and so she starts to edge the crowd, trying to find holes until she hears the proclamation. She hesitates, stilling to listen.
"For the crime of murder, His Lordship Jerold Terrick has sentenced you to death," the sherrif informs Amelia, loudly, before nodding once to the hooded man standing behind Amelia. The rope around her neck is snug and coarse, but not strangling. Her hair has been drawn out so that the rope contacts skin all around her neck. The sheriff exhales once and commands, "Hangman. Do your duty." The noise of the crowd has risen, following a few cheers after the pronouncement of death, making it difficuklt for those further away to hear that last from the sheriff.
As Anais releases her vice-like grip on his arm, Jaremy glances to her for a mere second. Unable to decide whether or not looking away or actually watching is worse, Jaremy's eyes tilt back towards Amelia. Eye contact is established and a barely noticeable nod is offered towards her. He's not happy, but he is acknowledging her. He blinks slowly again, the visible muscles at the edge of his jaw tightening.
Josse glances to the side as Thea's head moves in his peripheral vision. He pushes his hood back a little on his head, look up at the sky for a long few moments before his attention returns to the uncommon spectacle. His shoulders begin to tense as the hangman speaks but he stays very still. His left hand curls around the seven-pointed star dangling from his belt.
The prisoner delivered to the executioner, Raffton stands by. His posture is ready, poised to react to any attempt at flight or any effort at interference, and he is watchful of the crowd as well as Amelia.
Anais meets Amelia's gaze when she looks to her, the slightest dip of her chin acknowledging the woman. Her decision is clear: she lifts her chin enough to keep her eyes steady on Amelia. She will watch.
Rowan's lips curve upwards at Amelia's silent message — a tight, stricken smile. His expression is a rictus, a death mask, the smile very nearly a terrible thing set against the naked pain in his eyes. But he nods. Just once and very slightly. Whatever she's said, he agrees. Or reciprocates. And he keeps his eyes forward, should she need them, never faltering in the last and only duty he can render her.
Lucienne looks back as Caytiv's movement catches her attention, and she nods to the Westerman squire, just once. Her frown is less severe for the gesture, even tugging close to a tiny grateful smile, her eyes wide and their stare purposeful. She looks on after him for a good moment, but as the cheering and jeering crescendoes, she turns her head to watch the condemned woman; this is one hanging she does not want to miss.
The gaze of another falling on her catches her eyes and Thea looks to Josse. She blinks a few times and then watches as the talisman is grasped in his hands. She pushes her way over towards him, like a little snake. She moves to stands near him as she can and her voice lifts only so much as to be heard by the Septon. "The Seven will watch over her as they will…her guilt is not your own.." She offers a nod of her head and she smiles for Josse as she watches the noose a moment and shivers, perhaps giving being here a second thought. A hand lifts to rub at her own neck.
Jarod steps back, remaining with Raffton by the platform. Eyes fixed on Amelia Millen, expression still somber. Watching seems to be a grim duty, so far as he's concerned.
Amelia holds the gaze from Rowan, her own smile looking distant and dazed as her eyes finally seem to adjust to the sunlight. They lift from her half-sister and move over the faces in the crowd. Her head turns up towards the tower, Four Eagles filling her vision as she lifts her chin with a long exhale and growing smile. She closes her eyes at the sight, choosing to fall through the door with that being the last thing she ever see's. The screams and jeers drowned out by her own thoughts.. she lets out the breath and takes one last one, pulling her feet together and making herself as ready as she might for what comes next.
Caytiv gives Annie's arm a tender squeeze before she's out of reach, just so he doesn't disappear on her without any manner of warning, at such a time as this. But then he gets into the crowd and lets the natural motion of the people pressing forward for a look disgorge him from the middle of it a few steps at a time, 'til he's in the clear to head back to the tower without trodding over half a dozen folk in the doing.
Josse turns his eyes briefly from the hanging, back to Thea. A dark brow raises curiously, then he looks back over the heads of the crowd in front of them. "I assure you good Miss, I am not worried about either of those. But thank you for your kindness." That last is tacked on as sort of an afterthought. "It's unusual in a crowd such as this."
Rowan doesn't look away and doesn't close his eyes again. He barely even blinks. Only the slow paling of his knuckles to chalky, bloodless white indicates the slow, horrible build inside him until the trap door drops.
The quiet words exchanged among the crowd grow more strained as the noise rises sharply into loud cheers as the hangman makes the sharp, swift motion that drops the wooden floor from beneath Amelia's feet, and for a moment her hair floats up around her as the woman falls. There is no audible snap above the noise of humanity, just the sharp motion of a fall, and after that, the mute swaying, and twitching of one foot.
Tilting her head to drag her gaze away, Thea can still feel the phantom rope about her own neck. Josse is a welcome engagement. "I saw you hold your talisman.." She motions to the symbol. "Many a people do that when they are worried or anxious.." She blinks though, casting a quick look over towards the whore and her awaiting sentence. She frowns some and it is in a blur of her falling, and then the swaying that she tenses. She watches, and despite the dislike of the scene, she stares, unable to look away.
Only so long as to see that sickening drop does Lucienne tarry, before excusing herself with a gentle hand to Rachael's shoulder and some quietly murmured words. With a well-hidden feeling of satisfaction, she begins to press through the crowd after Caytiv.
Jaremy's eyes narrow at the sight of Amelia dying before him. His fingers stretch out and ball into a fist, accompanied by the sound of his knuckles crunching against each other as the fingers are brought in. His lip twitches in a sneer, forcing himself to watch. His lips part, soundlessly wording something that appears like a curse. He continues to watch beside Anais until the Stranger takes Amelia for good.
The sound Rowan makes — a choked cry of anguish, all in his throat, tamped back but his bloodless lips — is also lost in the din. His eyes widen for an instant; his nostrils flare. He goes incredibly pale. Discipline and breathing. And breathing. And more breathing. He counts the horrible moments from breath to breath, and by the twitches of Amelia's now-lifeless body. His dark eyes track the body as it sways, like a bird watching a serpent, horrified and mesmerized.
Josse doesn't twitch when the trapdoor falls, his blue eyes sharpening as they narrow. Either the septon's no stranger to death or he's a fantastic actor. He inhales a slow breath and lets it out, clearing his throat. "Many people talk for the same reason," he points out to the young woman, low but not unkindly. "Are you alright?"
Anais keeps a hand on Jaremy's arm, and though she tries to watch, she can't help but flinch as Amelia falls, turning her face to Jaremy's shoulder. When she turns back to the gallows, it is already too late. The deed is done.
"Cut her down," Jarod says to Raffton and the other men on the platform. He'll assist with that task himself. "See that her body is given to the sept, and the care of the Silent Sisters. Stranger's mercy upon her."
Raffton watches steadily as the execution is carried out. When Jarod gives the order to cut the body down, he nods, pulling out a belt knife and turning with the others to begin doing so, not seeming at all squeamish about the task.
Swallowing, Thea remembers to breathe. She starts to feel sick and places a hand to her stomach. "I…yes. I am well..thank you." Though she winces finally as they move to cut her down, body once alive now lifeless. "Excuse me.." She says and dips back into the crowd, or tries to as she coughs and feels the buzz in her ear sharpen.
At Jarod's order to bring down the body, Rowan moves. He pushes the rest of the way forward, shouldering through the tight-pressed wall of gawkers, and situates himself beneath the platform, where there will be hands and arms needed to ease the body to the ground. It seems he intends to be part of the detail, and — absent anyone's objections — that's precisely what he'll do.
Focusing on the sight of Amelia's deadened eyes and the undeniable truth that she is finally gone, Jaremy finally looks to the dirt at his feet. Swallowing, he gazes sidelong to Anais through the haze of his long, brown hair that frames his face. He unclenches his fist, tracing a fingertip over the back of her hand until he slips his fingers between hers. A simmered, highly controlled rage, he keeps his outward appearance somber as he leans in to murmur something to her.
The hooded executioner cocks his head as Raffton goes to work. "So soon?" Below, the crowd is already starting to disperse, some adjourn for drinks, others head home, but up above, Raffton finds himself being addressed by a hooded man in black. "It's something of a tradition to let the body hang for an hour, or so. Let the people see she's dead."
Raffton pauses at the executioner's words, knife lifted to the rope, but barely a strand yet sliced out of the thick coil. He lowers the knife at the words, and shrugs, "If it's tradition, better stick to it." He puts the knife away and steps back, glancing to Jarod for confirmation.
"She'll not get any deader in another hour," Jarod says, rather roughly, to the executioner. "But fine. We'll stay to make sure the body isn't mussed with." He catches sight of Rowan, nodding a little to himself. Whenever Amelia's cut down, he seems to think it proper enough that the squire is part of the detail hauling her body away. A glance at Jaremy in the crowd. It's oddly expectant. Though what he's expecting is unclear.
Josse exhales quietly as Thea heads off. He rubs his fingertips over his forehead, pushing his hood down to his shoulders, and starts forward through the crowd closer to the well-dressed Terricks and the body. Not to interrupt the nobles, but to murmur a few words to the Silent Sister waiting to take the body. Once it's swung for a while, or whatever the executioner wants.
Rowan looks up through the trapdoor, swallowing what is very likely an objection. He turns his gaze quickly down and away from the decision makers above, only reaching out a hand to still the body's swinging, so the eerie creak of her swinging is silenced.
The executioner isn't crass enough to laugh at Jarod's retort, although his voice does reflect a bit of humor. "True enough, Ser. True enough. But there are stories. Men hung poorly, and cut down too soon, so they walked away from their own hanging. Now I'm a professional, mind you, Ser. Take pride in my work, I do. But wouldn't want rumors to get about, aye?"
Anais nods quietly to Jaremy's whispered words, though she seems likely to keep her brow pressed to his shoulder for a moment, looking pale. She looks up long enough to see Amelia still hanging there before closing her eyes once more, words murmured from the safety of that space.
Turning into Anais, Jaremy allows her a bit more of his shoulder to comfort her. His lips move, whispered words directed to her as he casts his gaze towards Amelia's body once more. The sight of it hypnotizes him, only turning his gaze away from the dead body as his brother enters his peripheral vision. Jaremy lifts his chin to his brother, issuing a short-lived frown. "Are you ready?" He asks to the woman on his arm, looking for a place to escape to.
Once the decision's made, Rowan simply accepts it. He doesn't look up at the group on the platform again, but steps front and center, between those on the ground and the dangling corpse. He stands straight and tall, resting his hand — albeit casually — on the hilt of his blade. Looky loos can look if they like, but anyone thinking they're going to get a lock of hair, a scrap of her dress, or any such other ghoulish souvenir will need to go through the squire first.
Jarod does not seem to want to look at the body anymore, but he nods grimly to the executioner. "Wouldn't want rumors…" he says, muttered under his breath and more at the ground than as any sort of reply. He only looks up to briefly catch Jaremy's chin-lift and frown. He frowns some himself but just nods, staying with the body, which he'll see cut down and taken to the sept when the hour's drawn out.
Instructions or whatever it is given to the Silent Sisters, Josse casts one more lingering look around — not so much at the body than at the familiar faces who attended — and then turns to head to the sept. Many preparations to be done before the body comes to its temporary rest and dressings.
Anais nods to Jaremy, drawing a deep breath before she straightens somewhat to stand properly next to him once more. Her features are still composed, but there's something almost brittle about it now, and she is definitely ready to get away from the execution site. "Yes," she murmurs, pressing her lips together for a moment. "Yes, I'm ready."
Hesitant, Jaremy looks to Anais to receive her nod. One more long, pained stare is cast towards Amelia. Murmuring a prayer to the Seven to take her, he closes his eyes and turns on his heel. Leading Anais towards their waiting horses in the distance, he flees the scene of the death, unable to take it any further.