faderift | 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.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

(Not) the Funeral

He skips the funeral. The Inquisition do a lot of good, but their flaunting of Lady Trevelyan as the Herald of Andraste leaves him severely uncomfortable. He doesn't believe that's what she was for a moment, though he has no desire to disrespect her at her own funeral. He stays clear, keeping to the healing tents. At least around the severely injured he's less likely to draw attention to himself by those wondering why he isn't there with everyone else. If there's even anyone around to take note of him.

The Wake

He intends to avoid the wake too, but the atmosphere is charged and he spies more than one person who's been on the losing end of a fight. As the evening draws on he finds himself giving up on any plans he might have had of reading quietly in the library and gathering together some basic healing supplies. With his mabari in tow he finds a relatively quiet place on the steps to sit, hound stretching out on the wider step behind him.

By keeping to the edge he can keep more or less out of the way, and the height gives him a good view of the festivities. He watches them closely, hoping to defuse any disagreements before they come to blows. Not that it always works, or that he even sees everything that happens. His healing magic is being made good use of this evening.

He's starting to think maybe he should move his services to inside the tavern given the number of causalities coming out of it, but the templars who bitterly decline his services and injured fellow mages keep him based outside. Even so, he's fairly certain the only reason he hasn't received a punch himself is because of the growls of the mabari who moves in front of him any time someone seems to be intimidating him.

Wildcard

The library pre-wake? Somewhere post-wake? Any other ideas? That's fine too.

Edited 2015-10-27 15:52 (UTC)

He could be helping with moving chairs and tables for the Wake, but for once Sam doesn't have the need to help. Honestly, Sam feels that it is probably shitty of him to help, but he just cannot muster the same energy to do so, not after the funeral. He needs a bit of quiet before he tries to face people again.

That's how he finds himself at the library. The scent of parchment and leather weren't necessarily good memories, but they were familiar. He's not that interested in reading, but regardless he picks out a book, one he knows that has a lot of illustrations.

Once he's taken the book it's at that point he realizes he isn't alone. "Sorry, I didn't realize anyone else was here."

It had been empty when he arrived, and he'd been expecting it to stay that way. He freezes when he hears the feet of someone on the chairs, not quite sure how someone would react to someone sitting reading so soon after the funeral of their so called herald.

It's a relief when the man grabs a book himself. That he isn't likely about to start voicing any displeasure at his absence from the day's events. At least not for the moment. Not even when he finally does notice him.

"That's fine," he assures him, motioning for him to seat himself. "I wasn't expecting anyone else either."

"Came here to get away from it for a while, too, huh?" He nods his head at the invitation, pulling out a chair for himself a few seats down.

He's listening intently to the other man, mage judging by the robes, but his eyes linger on his book as he flips it open. The library is oddly quiet without there being a bunch of people around.

In truth he's been away from it all day. He could evade the question, but it feels a little to much like lying to let the implication he's only getting away from it now stand.

"Not quite. I didn't see any of Lady Trevelyan's funeral," he admits. "I was at the healing tents most of the day."

Which was necessary if not the only reason he didn't attend, but there's no need to hurt feelings by sharing his own today. On any other day he'd be glad to, but now is not the time if he can hep it.

That answer makes Sam pause and look up from his book. His eyes are narrowed curiously, but they aren't judging. Yet.

"You were tending to the sick and injured while the rest of us were at the funeral?"

Ah. Maybe he is going to cause upset if he's keeps asking questions. He shifts uncomfortably, trying not to look defensive.

"Not everyone was in good enough health to attend."

That was true. There were many who were still unable to move due to injuries or sickness. Someone had to keep an eye on them.

"That's true. Someone has to stay vigilant even in such cases. Hopefully some of the Sisters will go and those who couldn't."

He leans back in his chair then, his features softening, more at ease with the answer.

That seems to satisfy him, which is a relief. He settles back in his seat, more relaxed now.

"I would think they will," he says quietly. "A good number of them regretted they couldn't."

"Wasn't their fault they couldn't go. It's good you were able to watch them, I'm sure having someone there made them feel better to a point. No one likes feeling they were forgotten."

Sam sighs, picking idly at his book.

And as we wind on down the road

Daylen Mathan | OTA

Library Pre-Wake

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