And as we wind on down the road

[faderifting]

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.)

Comments

The Wake

[equanimiti]

An amused rumble of a chuckle escapes Alayre once he heard the request. That was probably the most humorous thing he's heard all evening since the funeral began. He's still quite disappointed in the nature of the situation but he copes with disappointment well. You could say he's had ample practice since youth.

"As long as you promise me a mug of good mead, I'll honour your request." The Knight-Commander replies with a faint smirk. Still dressed in his ceremonial armor, Alayre must look somewhat out of place here within this tavern. Most of his legion thought it best to take their leave for now. The growing tensions between Mage and Templar has left them, and himself, feeling a tad jaded.

"Do you have any particular preference in terms of song? I'm certain that bard knows enough epic odes to serenade the malice away."

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin's gaze lingers on the ceremonial armor, surprised and a little confused as a Templar is actually speaking to her. The Vashoth has kept her distance from them whenever feasible, not actively hostile but not especially trusting either. Because she's a mage, as her endless rounds of energizing Skyhold debris have no doubt revealed. As for now, she's a ball of grief and annoyance, and not burdened by sobriety. It's not a winning combination, but nor is she looking to start any brawls with those who can remain civil.

Propping her feet up on an unoccupied chair, she gestures to the nearby bartender, fortunately within earshot. "And get me another one, while you're at it." Mental note, give the bartender a hefty tip for putting up with tonight's bullshit. "I don't care what it is, as long as it's not depressing. We have enough of that going around."

[equanimiti]

There it is again. That look of muted disgust and hesitation.

It would seem that every mage west of Pharos mistrusts everything about the Order as if never scorned by anyone other than a Templar. A dry laugh wanted to escape but Alayre sees no humor in the arduous plight he faces. Every single mage he has crossed have all been so quick to judge him without listening to a single word he says. It's a form of discrimination that an "apostate" would feel rather than Templar.

Does bloody everyone see him as just mere criminal? Is there no good to be had from the Order? No sense of duty nor honour? What ever happened to the dear Knight-Commander Greagoir formerly of Kinloch Hold? He was a fair man, stern but fair. He never outwardly antagonized the mages and even stayed his hand when abominations crawled out from the Fade thanks to a few fool mages. News that conflict reached far west in just mere days when Alayre was still captain. Alas, it would seem that every single Templar minus Ser Cullen and Ser Alister are worthy of scorn and not else.

This truly baffles him.

The Orlesian can't seem to catch a grasp on it. Maybe the Order is truly lost.

"Then a piece featuring adventure, gold, and a likable young hero?" Alayre manages to find his voice again after dealing with such troublesome thoughts. He briefly takes his leave of the bar and speaks with the bard. After a small exchange and some gold, the talented bard starts playing a soothing tune upon lute. A triumphant smirk settles upon his face as he nods in approval of this song. It's then that he returned to the bar once more.

"Let us hope this soothes the tension on both sides." The mages haven't been 'innocent' throughout all this either.

[gatheringstorm]

If Korrin cared any less about the plight of the Templar Order, she would...wait, no, that's not possible. The Vashoth may not have been part of a Circle at any point in her life, but she's not blind to their abuses or convinced that they wouldn't like to put her in one, if they could. And any restriction on her freedom when she's prove herself a capable mage is utterly repulsive to her. The only thing the Templar Order has going for it is that at least they're not the Qun. But not chaining a mage down, removing their tongue and sewing their lips shut is not a high standard to live by.

She won't get into this, though, not now. That bad mood is roiling around in her like a storm cloud, but she has enough restraint not to unleash it at anyone who doesn't actively provoke it. And he did just do her a favor with that distraction, which actually isn't unappreciated. Glancing to the bard, Korrin settles back and listens for a moment before accepting her drink, as the bartender also slides one over to the Templar.

"For that, we might need another round of Mother Giselle's singing. I'd lose a bet if she ever came to the tavern, though."

[equanimiti]

Yet if scores of abominations were to pour out from the Fade all thanks to one of these 'freedom' loving mages, then what? Everyone would expect the Templars to come to their defense. Laughable. The whole entire situation is one sick and nauseating joke that Alayre is more than aware of. This is why he holds his tongue as he watches the conflict brew. As it is, the Inquisition is divided. It's weak and pathetically plagued with scorn.

"I much rather not have a Chantry priest walk into this divine mess." Alayre replies as he picks up his tankard. After a modest sip, he continues. "Magic itself is not evil, as she would say but pride is. Such a statement would undoubtedly make tempers flair." He grumbles as he eyes some of the Templars roaming about here.

"Since Meredith, extremists plague our ranks bolstering cruelty over compassion. It's tiring and wrong."

[gatheringstorm]

And yet, Korrin has unleashed no abominations, nor is she someone seeking to be saved by Templars, whatever the situation. The only thing she seems to be is an exhausted, increasingly intoxicated, grumpy but not actively hostile mage in armor of her own, cleaned and polished for the Herald's funeral. She takes a nice long swig from her flagon before even thinking to reply.

"Does that mean the shit-stirring idiot of a moment ago will be assigned latrine duty or something else horrid? Because I wouldn't protest that. It's just as tiring always being the scapegoat for this crap." First the Divine, then the Herald, then whoever Corypheus kills next. Can't anyone just blame him?

[equanimiti]

A quiet chuckle is barely heard. "He'll be cleaning out the tables for the next month or so. Only the Maker knows how filthy that gets." Alayre answers as he takes another swig.

As much as he wants to lament over the current situation here in Skyhold, Alayre realizes it's best to say nothing. Eventually all the wrongs here will be righted and those who've done them will be punished. That is the way of things. Only time will tell whether or not Skyhold rises or falls.