faderift | And as we wind on down the road

And as we wind on down the road

WHO: Open to all
WHAT: The Herald of Andraste is laid to rest, and the remains of the Inquisition try to put on a good face for their visitors. Some of them try, anyway.
WHEN: Harvestmere 26
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: n/a

The day after the mysterious strangers from the rift arrive, the Herald's body is delivered back to Skyhold. At first, there is doubt-- the timing is convenient, finally found the very day the funeral is to take place, and many still cling to hope that the Herald has somehow survived. Most, but not all, are appeased by news that the Inquisition's chief advisers have all confirmed the identity of the deceased. Preparations are accelerated: what was once to be a symbolic memorial now requires actual rites, and while some prepare the body others break down whatever can be spared for the pyre, constructed in the center of the main courtyard by another crew.

The funeral itself is a somber affair, as funerals generally are. The Great Hall has been cleared and swept but little else-- all attendees stand, and they are lucky it is a clear day, since the late afternoon sun streams in through the gaping holes in the roof. The service proceeds along strictly traditional Andrastian lines, stately and stiff. Mother Giselle provides the service and the sermon, focusing on duty, sacrifice, and the Maker's plan and concluded with a recitation of Transfigurations 10:1 by the whole assemblage. It is all very predictable, but sincerely delivered. Cassandra and Cullen lead the honor guard. It is a mismatched collection of visiting dignitaries, suspicious observers, pilgrims, colleagues, and companions that slowly process up to pay their silent respects as Evelyn Trevelyan lies in state. Some may notice that the body has been carefully arranged to disguise the fact that her left hand is gone. As night falls they light candles and then the pyre, and as the flames catch and lick up toward the star-washed sky, Mother Giselle sings a haunting version of the Chantry hymn The Dawn Will Come.

The wake that follows is less staid. It seems as if every table and chair in the castle has been dragged into The Herald's Rest and the courtyards and every hidden store of fine wine and food has been dug out from Josephine's secret stores to impress the more exalted visitors. This isn't just a funeral, after all, but a political occasion, an opportunity to demonstrate that the Inquisition lives on beyond the loss of its first symbolic leader, and that it can still be a force for peace and unity.

That impression is dented as the night wears on, and opinions and stories get shared more and more loudly. Someone hops up on a table to give their own little eulogy and others follow suit. Of course eventually it turns sour-- a templar gets up and starts blaming the mages for killing the Herald just like they killed the Divine, and mages at the next table shout back. He's hauled down before things can escalate, but grumbling and dirty looks are unlikely to be the last of it.

The event carries on into the wee hours, and noise echoes around the stone walls loudly enough to make it difficult for any to sleep early. One team of Inquisition scouts and soldiers comes out of the barn to complain more than once, and eventually move their bedrolls down into a basement hall, growling about how they have to be up at the crack of dawn to head out on a mission to scout some Maker-forsaken bog of all the places. (Mire, one of them corrects.)

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The Herald's death is no minor event, not in the least.

Now donning a more somber expression than usual, Alayre seems almost lifeless and frigid as he stands amongst the mourners with an impassive gaze. He's honestly deaf to all the grumblings and mumblings as Evelyn Trevelyan is laid to rest. While this is merely a prelude for the chaos to come, Alayre doesn't allow the pettiness of his fellow Templar to spoil the mood further.

"Such a woeful state of affairs." Alayre mumbles with a deep sigh as he adjusts the collar of his black tunic.

"It's worse enough that the Inquisition has lost the Herald, it need not become a spectacle as well." He whispers out of bitterness once the blame of the Evelyn's demise is shifted towards the mages. A look of discomfort passes through his stoic expression briefly until someone grabs that fool agitator and carts him off. The fragile balance here at Skyhold has shifted for the worse now that the Herald is gone. He could literally feel the hate and loathing amongst both mage and Templar both.

It's woefully stifling and honestly sickening.

Despite obviously not up for the social aspect of this trying occasion, Alayre is garbed in an elegant suit of grey armor with blue cloth adorning it. It's not his standard suit of armor but a much more elaborate version of it that he coordinates with a black tunic underneath and black leather gloves adjourned with protective steel that laces around the knuckles. The boots he wears are of a similar fashion with a steel toe and heel. While he's certainly dressed for a proverbial war despite his elegance, Alayre is without his swords.

"May the Maker preserve us..." The Knight-Commander says after someone offers him a glass of wine. He takes a small sip and just sighs. It's Fereldan wine. His mood is shot to hell and beyond.

Edited 2015-10-27 04:21 (UTC)

"We should behead that Templar."

It is one of the first thing that he has trusted himself to say all night.

He held his tongue at the comment of the Maker, at the song. Nothing filled his soul with a bright light or let him feel like any divine presence was watching over them. Stannis calmed himself by breathing slow -- rather than sighing at every possible place that he could. He dressed respectfully for the evening in simple armor. Even left his blade in his room as he felt it would leave the wrong impression.

"Don't fall into the same trap as my brother." To become a drunkard in order to deal with any and all pain, he scowls at Alayre as he looks toward where the Templar has disappeared to. "It is everyone's fault for what has happened. No single group is responsible and they should all feel the shame of it weigh down to fix what is broken rather than squabble who is right on the body of their symbol."

A beat. "Why could we not be more as the Qunari, as the Avaar?"

"Trust me, Stannis, I couldn't become a drunkard even if I tried."

Alayre places that offending glass of wine upon some nearby table and gives up on drinking for now. If he must endure this spectacle of nonsense, let him do so with a clear head. The Orlesian shan't allow himself to become half as craven or half as ridiculous as these brazen fools. He has his honor still as a Templar to consider here.

"We should behead him." Alayre comments after after a few seconds of silence. "We've annexed ourselves to the Inquisition, did we not? The Chantry holds no sway here. In truth, we really should behead him." A brief pause.

"It's not as if he's using that head." Is that just a mild dose of sarcasm on his part or is he serious? The world may never know.

"The longer this nonsense plays out, the worse everything shall become."

"I trust you well enough."

He takes his seat next to Alayre. His hand goes to rest where the hilt of his own sword would be, but it grasps at air instead. It is odd to be without the blade that much is certain, but he owed the woman enough to be without. A gesture that few but his companion may understand. His gaze grows distant as he thinks that Selyse would have caused a scene at the funeral, and perhaps, it is best that she has passed before seeing what remained of the Herald.

"We have. I see that we should be in control of what happens to those who forget their place." A beat. "But a mutual Qunari acquaintance stated that may not be the wisest of decisions for us. People already think of us as nothing more than clubs. We can only do so much now to show them and with men like that," Stannis gives a nod toward where the Templar stood, "we shall never be able to clear the name of the Order."

A beat. "Bloodshed will come and we should decide who should be beneath the blade. Perhaps, we should ask to have the Templar sent out to kill a few bears. Maybe after a few get mauled, they'd remember themselves."

A faint chuckle escapes Alayre when his companion speaks of Taashath. The qunari managed to achieve the impossible and befriend two Knight-Commanders. Such a thing must be unheard of in Qun society but it honestly makes sense from his point of view.

"He's absolutely right." Alayre replies after much thought. "We cannot club these buffoons publically but we certainly can do so behind closed doors. I doubt anyone will truly notice a man like that fool missing." Which is rather true since no one wants an agitator like that hanging about. The situation by itself is tense enough without someone like that raising hell.

"Rutherford has given us his full consent to take command over the Templar." Granted that they still answer to Rutherford regardless but these two men are the leaders of the Order within the Inqusition. "This means we can set up the necessary rules and boundaries to ensure that the Order remains as such."

Edited 2015-10-28 00:33 (UTC)

"They're making a mockery of the life that the Herald lived by not taking after her example. If they cannot see that at this point, after so long of being in Skyhold and continue to need their hand held..." Stannis's words became more and more articulated to show just how enraged that he actually is by the display of the men about him. Those that carted him off should be rewarded with some mission or some other task to show that they have worth. "Fear should get them to listen. They've been given enough mercy and patience to drown in."

That is how he usually thinks. Too much kindness gets a person the bunch that they have now, but he'll be certain that Cullen is aware of it. His chin lifts as he scans the tavern and wonders if the commander is present at all to see this mess. He looks toward the mages that are starting to antagonize the fools. "This is what I mean that it is all our faults that woman died. She was sacrificing herself for the realm and these people cannot find it in themselves to forget their insignificant prejudices."

He leans back in his chair. "What good is all this show? I ask you to stay my hand, Alayre, for while I have no drink in me... I feel drunk on the nonsense that continues to come out of everyone's mouth."

Edited 2015-10-28 00:58 (UTC)

"Making? I fear they've already made a mockery of the Herald's short lived life." While the anger in his tone doesn't exactly match the ferociousness of Stannis's temper, Alayre is notably peeved. His gaze has yet to stray from the cluster of fools before them and shan't stray anytime soon.

"I do not approve of using 'Fear' and 'Intimidation' to capture the ears of our audience but I have nothing to give in terms of mercy." The Orlesian replies before reaching for another glass. It's water this time.

"Fret not. I shan't allow for you to join this farce, Baratheon, at least not here in such a public setting." It's already been mutually agreed that Stannis shall act the sword and he the scabbard. If Stannis sees it fit to punish these idiots, then so be it. Alayre won't stop him unless Cullen himself demands it.

"Such a shameless display must be punished. I truly have no mercy to offer them."

"In trying times, I have seen what happens when men and women such as these are given pardon." His past will not allow him to forget and grant mercy when it is not due. It seems like the two of them have decided on their roles, but had they not when Cullen first gave them their task? "We have never been heroes, Alayre." Even in the fighting outside of Denerium, even what happened in their own towers; they were not heroes or men that bards would sing songs for to remember their good deeds.

"I spoke earlier with you on not living to the end. I think this rage will see me through." Yes, he allowed his somber mood at not finding his daughter cloud his senses. Now he feels like his eyes are opened with enough fire to see him to the end of this conflict. Perhaps, he may become nothing but a hollow creature by the end. It will not matter so long as the realm is safe and their name is restored. "They've been gifted enough. Let them see what those under our own command have."

A slight smirk settles upon Alayre's face once the other speaks of overcoming this war. He needed to hear that. It would be a crying shame if Stannis was to die long before this war ends. The two made an oath to restore Order and Alayre has every intent of keeping to it. Neither of them can afford to die until the they see this war through.

This is how it should be.

"You have my consent to punish those who do not wear our title well." The Orlesian states after a moment of thoughtful silence. "We shan't quarter those who hold such ill-thoughts and we shan't compromise our ethics to appease them either. From here on out, the Order is ours to command and command we shall. All those who cannot abide will be stripped of sword and shield." A bold proclamation but can they actually do this?

"Do we have an accord? We are not barbarians but we must purge our ranks of miscreants."

"You may come to regret the decision to allow me to punish those before us." He closes his eyes. The seething hatred that he feels for the politics, for the ghastly nature of everything this funeral represents, it burns. But he feels himself finding a calm in that fire. "It may not be tonight that such a hammer comes down. I worry that if you allow it, I may decorate the courtyard with the heads of those who continue to annoy me."

His eyes open to turn a cold gaze upon those in the tavern with them. It may not be a joke, but he would have to leave to retrieve his blade. That may be the only thing to stop him as he worries what would be missed if he did leave to acquire a proper weapon. "They'll find themselves remembering themselves sooner rather than later, that much we can agree upon, Alayre."

"Then go forth and decorate. The fortress is still within ruins, is it not? The entails may attract pests but it will instill these buffoons with fear." A little bit of dark humor from Sauveterre. Harmless dark humor at that. There's no way that Alayre would allow Stannis to do such a thing here. The same would go for Rutherford along with countless members of the Inquisition.

"In all due seriousness, let us hope that none of them win our ire in such manners. I grow weary just thinking about all the chaos brewing." He replies with a slight frown upon his face. Alayre is not one for conflict but he won't flee from them either.

"Let us see if the Inquisition holds fast to its morals by the time sunrise comes."

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And as we wind on down the road

{ the wake }

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