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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He's holding the cookie out, debating on retracting the gift (unthinkable) and letting her see his battle wounds (terrifying) but ultimately decided that at least if she decided to punch someone about it, it wouldn't be him, and that was good, but still:

"You promise you're not going to go punch someone if I do?" he asked, stepping over and then just sitting on the table right in front of her, like a good first grader might. "I'm fine. I've had worse."

That question has Korrin rolling her eyes. "No. If someone's asking for it, then that's on them, not me. Though I can give them a running start." That's about as generous as she cares to be to anyone who would dare to harm anyone she likes.

She straightens up to have a better look at him, frowning sharply as she notes the bruising. "What the hell happened, Gavin? Aside from people blaming each other, I get that. But if people are being disrespectful asses, I'm not just going to let it continue."

"Not sure a running start would help them much," Gavin said, offering her a lopsided smile.

"Ah - well. They're upset, Korrin, that's all it is, and they're punching down, like they usually do when they're upset. I can't really blame them."

The racism was so inherent in his life that he really couldn't bring himself to blame individuals for it. Thousands of years of history had gone into each hissed 'knife ear'. People hissing it at him didn't bother him nearly as much as people hissing it at his loved ones did. So, the logical thing? Hog all the vitriol to himself.

That made sense, right?

"Honestly, Korrin, I'll be fine. Promise. No crusades necessary."

Korrin scowls, not at him but at that acceptance of something that should never be accepted. He deserves better, as does every other elf she's met. It makes her want to punch something, though it's possible to persuade her to choose something inanimate instead.

"You can't blame them? I can. It doesn't matter if they're upset, that's no excuse for punching down. This isn't the Chantry or those chevaliers or whatever. We're supposed to be better than that, restoring order for everyone, not just a select few. I won't coddle their bigotry, now or ever."

He didn't reply right away, just watching her, but after a minute the wide eyes crinkled at the edges and a fond smile spread across his lips. He laughed, and propped himself up to reach across the table and ruffle her - well - pat her head, between the horns. (If they were both standing, it would have been impossible, so he would take what he could get.)

"You're a good person, Korrin," he decided. "You - and people like you - that's why I'm here, and why I think it might even work." He settled back down before she could swipe at him, and picked up his mug, smiling at her over it.

...okay, Korrin isn't expecting that response. Possibly no one ever has just gone and patted her head, and not just because they couldn't reach it. The surprise snaps her out of her anger, and she shakes her head at him in fond incredulity.

"You're really strange, you know that? I don't know how you manage it, not having a temper about all that shit. It gets to me just thinking about it. I hope you're right, though. If there's ever a time when things could change, it's now."

Gavin shrugged, still smiling. "Maybe I'm secretly angry all the time," He whispered conspiratorially. "Because that's it, isn't it? With things the way they are... Either I'd be angry all the time, or I try to understand. You can understand, and still want to change things. That's why we're here, isn't it?"

Chuckling, Korrin nods. "Fair enough. Being angry all the time is too exhausting, anyway, but...well, it flares up. That reminds me, I ran into one of your people here earlier, someone who'd definitely fit that 'angry all the time' description. Had a tattoo over his eye? I didn't catch a name, though."

"Oh - Merrick." Gavin looks a bit sheepish, but he's smiling. "Don't take it personally. It's not - well, yes, he gets angry easily, but it's not his fault, exactly. Once people get to know him, it'll be alright. But I can definitely see how a night like tonight would rile him up."

Gavin frowned a bit. "Is he alright? Did something happen?"

Immediately, Korrin shakes her head. "No, not really. Well--he became irritable about not getting a refill fast enough and stabbed the bar, but that was about it. Then we ragged on humans and Chantry folk for a while, which was fun. Nothing like some non-human bonding over alcohol, you know?"

Gavin relaxes at that. "Good," he says with a small laugh, "That just sounds like him being himself. I was worried he'd gotten into a fight, or worse. It sounds like the two of you actually got along, which is better than I expected."

She flashes a grin, pleased at that. "I'd like to think I can get along with most people on some level. Unless they're Templars or snooty nobles or the more hidebound Chantry folk. He can be as grumpy as he wants, I don't care. It's not like there isn't plenty of reason for it, after all."

"There's certainly plenty of reason," Gavin agrees, something of a small sadness in his smile before he shakes it away. "But I - I'm glad. He needs more people in his corner. People are too quick to judge, most of the time. They don't understand right away so they give up trying."

"Well, I certainly would never know what it's like to be judged before even being spoken to...." Her voice heavy with sarcasm, Korrin gestures to her horns. How many times has she been labeled a 'scary qunari'? She's lost count.

That earned her a bit of a blush, and a sheepish laugh. "Ah- yes. Of course. Sorry," He said, rubbing his head. "I ah - I guess we missed that part, with the whole, you keeping me from dying horribly thing."

"You make it sound far more epic and heroic than it really was, you know. But if that entertains you, I won't tell you to stop." But she has to admit, it was an interesting -if painful- way to break the ice.

"I could add a giant or a dragon or two," He said, teasing slightly as the blush faded into a sincere smile. "Or I could say that you caught me by summoning a fierce whirlwind, and catching me in its mighty funnel--"

That gets her to burst out laughing, unable to help herself. Gavin, you nut. "Or both, then spirit you away on my dragon steed. Maybe that would make the Templars think twice about messing with me, hm?"

Her laugh makes him grin widely. Mission accomplished. "See? There you go. Perfect, fool proof plan. Dragon steed - I like that. It would have to have matching horns...."

Korrin raises her drink to that almost immediately. "But of course! You know, I've heard some of my kin who think that we have some kind of connection to dragons. It's most likely rubbish, but for the sake of entertainment, who cares? Throw it all in."

"Even better! The dragon steed is your Great Aunt. Great Aunt Matilda, destroyer of worlds."

He paused then, thoughtfully.

"Though I'm not sure how intimidating it really is, to say 'Mess with me and I'll send my Great Aunt after you'..."

Oh, Maker. She'd have to write back to Shokrakar about this one, he's too entertaining not to put in a letter. She's grateful to have almost been sipping when he said that, instead of choking on her drink.

"Oh, but that's the best part. They'll be confused and dismissive...only to wet themselves when she gets closer and annihilates them. You have to savor that dawning look of comprehension when it happens."

Gavin snorted as he sipped his ale, which only meant that some of it came out of his nose, and then he spent the next two minutes both coughing, and laughing, in nearly equal measure.

"Sorry--" He apologized breathlessly as he tried to mop it up with the end of his sleeve. "I just... That is the most perfect, terrifying image. We need to find you a pet dragon."

That response is met with an unapologetic grin on Korrin's part as she gently slaps him on the back to prevent him choking. She shakes her head in amusement, still chuckling at the thought.

"Finding yet another way to risk your life again, Gavin? I thought you didn't need me for that. Even a dragonling isn't going to submit, you know."

"Well, maybe we'll just have to make it chase after you into battle, then," he wheezed, wiping the moisture from his eyes. That's what he got for nearly choking. At least now he knows a 'gentle slap' from a Vashoth isn't going to leave bruises.

"You can pretend it's your pet as you run screaming into battle with fire on your heels."

And as we wind on down the road

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