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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In the face of the insulting judgments of the other attendants, Krem's silent focus on the pyre as it's lit is all the more proper, and as the oil-soaked wood goes up and throws black smoke into the air, Krem raises his candle, then blows it out, leaning against Korrin's side.

"Pointless," he hisses, his eyes finally falling to the stone underfoot. "'s like they've never attended a funeral before..."

Korrin huffs in agreement, throwing an arm around his shoulders companionably. She's not shy about such displays of affection, especially not when people she cares about seem to need them. The funeral is over, so the peanut gallery can go hang for all she cares. If any pass by on the way out, she doesn't dignify them with a glance.

"Assholes, all of them. Want to go hit something and vent before the wake?"

"I think I'll skip the wake," he mutters, bringing a hand up and scrubbing irritably at one of his eyes. "Going to the dummies for a while sounds good though. Better to beat the stuffing out of them than out of the dignitaries."

With Korrin's support it's easier to pick himself up and head away from the crowd though, and before long he's retrieved his maul, hefting it over his shoulders and marching toward the training ring. His free hand is yanking on the clasps holding his uniform coat closed, letting it fall open over the fine silk shirt beneath. The button highest up at his throat is likewise opened, giving him more freedom of motion.

Upon reaching the training ring, she crosses her arms and stands back enough to give him plenty of freedom to swing that maul around as much as he pleases. "If you change your mind, I'm buying. Might as well help people get as drunk as I feel like becoming." Which, between her foul mood, is probably not destined to end well.

Her eyes linger on that uniform, since she's never seen Krem in anything other than his usual armor. "That's not a bad look for you, by the way. Were you really a part of the army?"

"For a few years before meeting Bull," Krem replies with a grunt as he swings his maul off his shoulder and starts to swing it in slow warmups. "Joined up at sixteen, stayed until I was twenty-two or thereabouts. Long enough to attend functions requiring formals, not long enough to be promoted more than once."

The uniform is more figure-hugging than his armor, definitely not made for anything but looking nice when arranged among other soldiers, reflecting Tevinter style in its graceful asymmetry. It wasn't as flamboyant or pointy as what Tevinter battlemages wore, but still clearly Tevinter. It was a handsome uniform, all in all, and Krem wore it well, even when he was decidedly disheveled.

When the end of the maul came down into the dirt, spraying gravel up toward the fencing, Krem let go of it and turned back to Korrin, teeth bared.

"What fucking right do they have, to come to a ceremony dedicated to a good woman and dishonor her name by insulting and discrediting the people that she brought together?" he demanded, the color riding high in his cheeks and up over his ears. "They should be ashamed, every fucking one of them!"

Krem's anger is reflected in Korrin's hard gaze as she nods firmly to that, thinking she might need to tear a part a dummy later on. For now, though, she'd let Krem vent for as long as he needed. He had every right, as far as she is concerned, and she'd fight anyone who said otherwise.

"Damn right they should be, the fucking bastards. Someone should just go feed them to a rift instead of leaving them to infect this place. I wanted so badly to drag them by their collars and toss them out, but that would have be disrespectful to her. And yet they can't afford her the same courtesy. It's interesting that an 'ox' and a 'vint' can have more restraint, don't you think?"

"The people they all hate most, all upholding what they claim to stand for, while they make jackasses of themselves and stain the entire proceedings, and then they have the audacity to claim they're right when anyone retaliates. If we lose the respect of nations, it won't be because of anything that we did."

Krem turns and kicks at one of the slats of the ring's fence, snapping it clean in half. He crouches down with the heels of his hands jammed into his eyes, fingers curled into his hair. It was an injustice on himself personally, and on Evelyn's memory, and it would only get worse, he was certain, before the night was over, now that the Chantry sisters had scattered to their regular duties.

Korrin doesn't react to Krem taking his temper out on that slat other than to spare it the briefest of glances. It can be replaced, no big deal. She's more concerned about the person before her.

"No, it won't. We won't allow them that satisfaction. They don't fucking deserve it, or anything other than to see us succeed where they fail and have that rubbed in their faces forever afterward."

Petty, sure, but Korrin's beyond caring. Just because she has enough restraint not to start a brawl -sometimes- that doesn't mean she won't do what she can to give them a metaphorical middle finger.

"It's hard to just walk away from," he sighs, dragging a hand through the long portion of his hair, scratching at the back of his head as it fell over his brow. "Can't exactly smack everyone in the mouth that needs it though."

"Don't I wish." Korrin heaves a sigh at that, wishing she could without incurring repercussions. But that's a fantasy, even here. "They can't stop me from glaring, though. If I hear any of that garbage where I'm in a position to react, I'll make good on that promise to provide you with some free entertainment."

Krem couldn't help cracking a smile at that, and he looks up at Korrin, his hands falling into his lap. "Sounds like a party," he chuckles weakly, before heaving himself back up out of the dirt. He dusts off the seat of his breeches, then wiggles his maul out of the dirt and kicks some of it back into the hole left behind.

"Thank you," he sighs, stepping up before Korrin and looking up at her, that deep exhaustion still clinging to him. He reaches out and lays a hand on her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze then falling away. "Means a lot, knowing you'd do that for me. Same goes for you though, I ever hear someone talking down to you, they'll be picking their teeth off the floor."

Korrin's temper eases enough for her to manage a genuine smile for Krem, nodding as she slips an arm around his shoulders and gives a side-hug in turn. "I'm sure they would, and it'd be a thing of beauty. I won't make you deal with that tonight, though." Even though she's almost certain something's guaranteed to happen, given the local mood. "Focus on something else, like...well, like your nug project. We're going to need a morale-booster sooner than later, I bet."

"We'll give it a grace period. I still need to finish the last...fifty or so, I believe. Maybe more, now that we've got so many new people." He didn't intend to do much else with his night, avoiding the tavern and its grossly tense population. It would be a good way to clear his head.

Now he's making a plan for the one he'd give to Korrin personally. It'll take a little longer than the rest of them, but he has no doubt she would be amused by it.

She shakes her head, both incredulous and admiring. If it were her, the project would have died long ago. Too little patience. "Fifty...you're dedicated, I'll give you that. How'd you get so good at that, anyway? I can't imagine that's something you were taught in the army."

"Father taught me when I was little. I wanted to know how he made the ones that he gave to me." He isn't as good at it as his father was, but he is still proud of it nonetheless.

"Really? Okay, that's adorable. And I can see why you'd want to keep that up, especially now." A skill that's practical and also easily adapted to making cute things, what's not to like? "My folks mostly just passed on how to survive as a mercenary. I think most of my playthings were toy weapons, but sometimes they'd carve little nugs or dragons for me. I don't have that kind of skill, myself."

"I can carve, but not very well. I once attempted to make a halla for Dalish, but its horns came out funny. She still thought it was precious, but those twisty horns are hard." Maybe he could get one of the others that was better at it to help him figure that out some day. Maybe Grim. Grim was good with his hands.

One of Krem's arms wraps around Korrin's waist as hers had come around his shoulders, and he returns the hug. "Y'know, I think we're going to be ok here."

Aw, Krem. Perhaps Korrin shouldn't be surprised by that gesture, but she is nonetheless. Most don't think her quite that approachable, whether due to size or unintentional intimidation on her part. Having someone work around that is a welcome change, even as she can't bring herself to say it. "I think so, too. We're too resilient to let all this get to us. But you know if you need to rant again, I'll be ready to listen. Maybe next time with a pint or something we can go destroy together."

"Let's just save a cask for us," he suggests. "Anyone else comes near it, we can set them on fire."

Not really, but it would just be their booze, to be shared between the two of them.

Hey, it's still a nice mental image and makes Korrin laugh. She nods firmly, enjoying this idea already. The cask, not the flaming death.

"I'll do that, and I think I know just where to hide it so that no one else comes looking, either. Good view, too."

"Excellent, I'll let you know as soon as I've secured the booze."

Definitely feeling better now, Krem draws back finally and lays a hand on Korrin's arm, then shivers a little in the cold. He should go and find a cloak...

"Hey, I'll uh...I'll see you in the morning, alright? I need some quiet."

Korrin nods, understanding. She notes that shiver, but doesn't mention it. Krem doesn't need a babysitter, after all.

"A good idea, that. Go take the evening to yourself, I'll try and prevent people from being complete idiots. Wish me luck."

She smiles, then turns and heads for the tavern. It's going to be a long night, and the best way to cope with it is getting in an order before the rush.

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And as we wind on down the road

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