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

It's not another drink that Kitty brings over. There's no need for more drink, really - the Commander is being amply supplied with plenty of drink, and all the barmaids are making sure that his cup doesn't go empty. Not that he seems to be taking advantage of that generosity - as far as Kitty can tell, he's staying far soberer than most of the people celebrating here.

No. Instead, what she brings to him is a pressed biscuit. It's broad, big enough for the stallion of House Trevelyan to be depicted on the top of the biscuit in crushed rosemary - the herb of remembrance. It was an intricate process for the tavern's cook, stencilling out the house's heraldry, gathering enough rosemary to depict the creature, and so there aren't many of these. But the cook made sure that Cullen would get one.

"Here." Kitty offers it to him with both hands. "To remember her."

He's definitely had fewer drinks than most - and while he would love to drown himself into more mugs than he could count, he knows he needs to set an example to the others in the Tavern. He looks up when Kitty approaches, quite sure she was going to offer condolences like the rest had. The Herald had done her job, saving the rest of the Inquisition, letting it live on without her.

He was surprised, however, at the gift. He takes it from her, quiet as he looks it over. "Thank you," he says finally. "It's quite thoughtful."

"Oh, thank the cook," she responds, giving him a small smile. Her expression is quite gentle, but her eyes are sharp, searching his face for the sorrow and weariness she knows must be there. Poor man. "It was her idea, and her handiwork. But I'll pass along the appreciation."

She pauses a moment. Then, a little cautiously, she says, "Out there, it's incredibly dangerous, you know. Especially for someone like me, who can't really fight or defend herself. The Inquisition being here, and being willing to take in people like me and all the others like me - it's saving our lives. So the fact that all of you have continued on is helping every one of us."

And as we wind on down the road

t-t-tavern

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