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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Krem pressed his lips together briefly, then told Sam the same story that he'd once told Lady Trevelyan: His family were Soporati, the 'everyone else' of Tevinter society that weren't magisters or slaves. They provided clothes, blankets, cloth for banners or the like, to others like themselves, for a reasonable price in Tevinter. He grew up learning the trade, especially being close to his father as he was. But one winter, some well-meaning magister started having his slaves manufacture clothes, selling them for nearly nothing, and Krem's family had gone out of business. His father became a slave to try and continue providing for his family, and he himself had joined the army. He didn't tell Sam everything, just mentioned that he'd eventually gotten in trouble after serving for several years, had deserted the army to stay alive, and now...he was here. Sewing nugs and smashing in heads for the best commander he'd ever served under.

"Not the most uplifting story, but it's mine. Tevinter bastard just trying to stay alive." He looks down at the needle in his hand, turning it over thoughtfully, then sticking it into the half-finished blue plush in his hand.

It is obvious that there were a couple of half truths in the story, but Sam doesn't question it. To have gained enough trust for Krem to actually be telling him anything about his past? He feels a bit warm by that. Or it could just be the alcohol in his system seeing as he had finished the rest of it while he listened. Probably a mix of both really. The point was, he was rather touched that Krem was telling him about his life instead of telling him to take a hike.

"You're amazing." Said with such admiration.

It takes a few moments for Sam to actually realize he said it. Out loud. When he does realize that he hadn't just thought it, he blinks, followed by his eyes going a bit wide. "Ah..." he says dumbly, trying to get his thoughts in order. Eventually, Sam just sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, before looking back at Krem.

"Yeah. You're... amazing. You've been a fighter your whole life, and it's never been easy. Can't say it's uplifting, but it's very inspiring." He honestly means it, offering his praise with a tilt of his head and impressed smile.

"Not really," Krem replies with a small shrug, then reaches up and puts a hand against Sam's cheek to shove on his face gingerly. "You're a giant sap, I swear." In spite of that, he does feel a little bit better. He offers Sam a slightly faltering smile, then reaches out and squeaks the nug again. He'll have to put his idea on hold for a while- does Sam even know about the plotting he'd done to rain stuffed toys down on Skyhold?- for the sake of propriety, but still, it's something, a little point of light in the middle of this bleakness.

Sam chuckles as his head is shoved lightly to the side, teetering just a little from it thanks to the alcohol. A 'giant sap' huh? He could honestly live with being called that, especially with how seems to put a smile - small as it was - on Krem's face.

Having a plush nug squeak in his face doesn't help his laughter, only makes it louder. At that point Sam reaches up and pats it on the head. "You have a few of these here. What are you making them for?"

Krem puts that nug down in Sam's lap, followed by a few of the others, just getting them all off the flagstones until Sam's legs were mostly buried. That image accompanied by Sam's laughing actually has Krem chuckling some in kind.

"Can you keep a secret for maybe a couple of weeks?" he asks, leaning forward and dropping his voice, drawing his lip into his mouth briefly then picking up the nug he had been working on. "I'm trying to make enough for the residents here. Planning on raining them down on everyone's heads from the battlements. Siege equipment may be involved."

Sam continues to laugh, playfully gasping that he's under attack by plush nugs. Course when Krem asks if he can keep a secret, the laughter stops and Sam looks at him real serious. He nods solemnly at the plan and when Krem finishes he leans towards the Charger.

And bops a nug on his nose.

His laughing starts up again at the face Krem makes, though quieter and more controlled. "That's going to be a lot of nugs. It's a grand idea."

Krem snorts and waves the nug at his face away, pushing it back down into Sam's lap.

"I have a couple of people helping me with materials. Told them I didn't care what they brought as long as it could easily be used for this. 's why they're all different colors." He holds up one made out of plaidweave as an example, a tacky little thing that would certainly bring some child a little bit of piece. "That's why I said a couple of weeks. I should have enough by then. Bull's in charge of getting the catapults for it."

As Krem spoke about it, he'd actually started to look a good deal calmer, even a little content. He places the plaid nug back in Sam's lap, pulling his knee up and resting his cheek on it.

"You can have one, if you want it."

His laughter eventually tuckers out, but Sam continues to smile, fondly poking and picking up the nugs in his lap. He could only imagine what Skyhold would look like when the plush toys came bounding down from the air. Lady LeBlanc's young charges would absolutely adore these - well some of them at least.

Sam's brows raise when Krem offers for him to take one. "Really?" Looking down at the lot of them he snorts. "But which one would I choose?" It's not a serious question. It would be the plaid one.

As he looks and contemplates each nug, Sam cannot help but steal some glances towards Krem. At first they were quick, but each time his eyes lingered longer, until he was just simply staring at the other man. Krem looked a lot calmer, and a lot less angry than when Sam had first found him. He still looked exhausted, but better? Maybe it was how he currently was resting his head on his knee. Cute?

"You look-" Talking before his brain could figure things out. Crap. "-ed... very nice today." Honestly he didn't know what he was about to say, and finished with something on the spot. Still he's being honest about it. "Red really suits you."

Edited 2015-10-28 09:49 (UTC)

Krem's brow arches up at the compliment, and he has to look down at himself to remember that hey, he was actually still wearing his dress uniform. He pulls the outer coat a little closer around him, smiling faintly.

"Couldn't very well show up in my armor...'s disrespectful," he murmurs, looking down at his boots, calf-high fine leather with buckles matching the embellishments on the coat. "Trevelyan probably would have said the same though. Nobles are ridiculous like that."

He only just registers the look that Sam is giving him, and he glances back up, very firmly ignoring the way his face started to color, for reasons separate from the night's chill.

It's a shame that Krem feels he needs to hide more under his cloak, but... was that a smile? Sam tilts his head curiously, leaning forward a bit more to get a better look. It doesn't even occur to him that he's right out gazing at Krem, not until the other man gives him a look.

There isn't enough light for Sam to catch the coloring on Krem's cheeks, but there's something about the way Krem is looking back at him that just makes him smile wider. "She would have said armor was disrespectful, or that you looked handsome in your uniform? Shame it's so cold out, the cloak hides it."

"Both, I think." Krem picks some at a seam, looking back down at the stones again. "Only downfall's that it's not made for cold weather. Freezing," he mutters, swiping the back of his hand under his nose. He makes a face at it and wipes it on the leg of his pants then looks back at Sam, leaning forward just enough to get a whiff of his breath.

"You've been drinking," he says thoughtfully, brow arching up at him. He hadn't even thought that Sam cared for alcohol in the first place.

"Mmm," he hums in agreement. "Still tasted terrible, too. Figured it would help. Can't tell if it did... is. It's an interesting feeling." There's a small shrug of his shoulders. He could still think straight, but it felt like there was less of a buffer on some things.

"I'm not surprised you're cold; sitting up here without a fire. That cloak isn't going to do much either if you're going to keep it open." Sam then moves, scooting over until he's pressing up against Krem's side. It wouldn't be much with the cloak and leathers between them, but at least would help break the breeze.

Before Krem can say or do anything at the invasion of personal space, Sam holds up a hand, a small flame popping into existence, floating just above his skin. It isn't much but it does give off some warmth.

"You get used to it after a while," Krem assures him. He blinks when Sam moves over against his side, leaning away just a bit, until the fire sparks to life in Sam's palm. The light is nice, and though it's not much of a heat source, it's still something, and Krem holds his fingers close enough to it to try and rid them of the creeping numbness.

After a little while in silence, Krem shivers. It's not enough. So he unclasps the cloak and tosses part of it over Sam, scooting a little closer to try and leech some of his body heat.

"'s not much, but I'm glad you're here," he sighs, tucking his hands in between his thighs to try and keep them warmer. "You ok? Can't have been easy, listening to them all talking out of their arses."

The smile that appears on his face is something he cannot help, not with how Krem is staring at the fire, drawn to it, and bringing his hands up to it for warmth. The bit of light also helps for him to see how the cold has made the Charger's cheeks a bit red. It's... cute - which he would never say out loud. Eventually though, Sam looks away to look at the fire, making sure it doesn't get out of control.

There's a small sigh from him when he feels Krem pull away, thinking that the moment is over, but pleasantly surprised when something settles over his shoulders. Not to mention Krem settles back down and leans into him more.

Oh. Well this was nice. More so when Krem tells him that he's glad he's there.

"I'm a little tall to hear people talking from that far down." He grins, chuckling a bit at his own joke, but settles down quickly. It's easy for him to smile and wave things off, but it is obviously bothering the Charger a whole lot - he had heard some comments. He sighs, the smile dropping, and leans into Krem a bit more.

"Nothing I haven't heard before. Nothing I haven't told myself."

"Sam..." Hearing that makes Krem all the more frustrated with the situation. He'd thought that the way people had spoken about him that night was disgusting, but the mages, they had to be having the worst of it, especially with so many belligerent templars. sure, there might be some that would egg on the fight, but it was all wholly unfair. Even the joke Sam makes at his own expense doesn't break that.

When his hands emerge from under the cloak again, Krem lays one on Sam's wrist, blowing the fire out in his palm. He feels better in the dark, even without the warmth the flame provides. It's easier to ignore the red in Sam's face that way. Not quite so easy to ignore that in his own though.

"Is that how it works then? Just be tall and gangly out of earshot?" He huffs a quiet laugh, looking up at Sam and bumping against his side.

He's not used to hearing his name. Or rather he's not used to hearing Krem say his name. It's because of that, and a strong hand grasping his wrist that allows Krem easily blow out the flame. Sam notes that even after the flame has gone out and he has lowered his arm, that Krem is still holding his wrist.

It's... comforting, but also heavy. Over both of those is the feeling of chilly finger tips; Krem is still cold.

At the nudge and hearing a soft laugh, Sam smiles again, turning his head towards where he hears Krem's voice. He gives a huff of laughter as well before leaning in. "Sorry, what? I couldn't hear you from up here- pfft." His eyes are still getting used to the dark and completely misjudges the distance, having bumped his forehead into Krem's.

There's a soft apology as he continues to laugh at his clumsiness. By the time he stops his eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and for a moment he's silent. Actually realizing how close they are at the moment. "Hey Krem..."

Slowly Sam starts to lean in closer.

Krem's hand comes up when Sam's head clonks into his, palm against the other's head as he leans back some, making a face that fades off after a moment. "Can't believe you're a klutz even when you're sitting down," he teases, then slides his hand up to ruffle through Sam's hair. He isn't rough about it his time, and his hand stills as Sam starts to lean in.

This is weird. It's a weird feeling and he's always been so...not good at things like romance and yet here he is, in a scene fit for one of the maudlin romance stories the ladies of the hold liked to read. His hand falls away from Sam's hair to settle at his shoulder, eyes darting from the other's face to just his lips.

Lips getting close enough for him to feel Sam's breath on his own.

Keeping tabs. All she needs to do is keep tabs on mages and with as tense as things have been? With the fights and arguments? Being short one rather tall and kindly mage is enough to set Adelaide into a small bout of anxiety. Not in the tavern, not in the hold, not in the garden- she winds her way around the battlements hoping to see him from above if not on the walls proper. The longer she goes without someone mentioning that the'd seen him the more tense the set of her shoulders becomes, the tighter the clench of her jaw.

It started like this. Mages missing. Mages dead. Then it all spread and splintered and shattered and that can't happen here- things are supposed to be better here. She's practically sprinting by the time she reaches the top of the stairs and turns the corner, robes swirling around her. Don't panic, he can protect himself, it'll be fine-

Two figures huddled close and- "Sam?"

She can't quite keep the tension from her voice. The worry. Please let that be him- Maker let him be alright.

The hand in his hair, the slight pressure on his shoulder, the way Krem's eyes dart ever so slightly- And then his name is being called out from somewhere behind them.

Sam doesn't stop moving, but rather than continuing forward, his head instead veers over Krem's shoulder. Once he's past it the mage proceeds to lean until he lays on the ground, hiding underneath the cloak. Maker preserve him. He was about to-

He is blushing up a storm as his mind tries to get itself under control. "Yeah?" he mutters from where he's laying.

Krem is left leaning awkwardly when Sam ducks away, and he has to get his mental bearings before realizing what had happened. He looks up at the lady mage, mouth hanging just slightly open, then clears his throat.

"Ah...this...um. Hello," he stammers, hoping that the darkness adequately hides the darkness of his blush at having been caught like this. But maybe she hasn't realized what was just happening here at all? His luck couldn't possibly be that good, could it? He reaches back behind him and punches Sam in the arm, muttering at him to sit back up. "You would be one of the Circle mages, right?"

"Sam?" He- was just here, wasn't he? She peers into the shadows to find him and sees only the lone Tevinter mercenary settled in a cloak with Sam's feet sticking out the bottom. What?

"Enchanter LeBlanc of the White Spire, yes." Relief has habit slipping over- it's been awhile since she's introduced herself like this but right now? She's too pleased that Sam isn't dead in a room, drained of blood somewhere. Even if he's hiding- why was he hiding? They'd been terribly close-

Oh.

Oh.

"I could not find Sam and became concerned with how tense everyone is tonight."

"Ow...!" He's gotten used to Krem's 'light' punches so it doesn't hurt all that much, but it does catch him by surprise. Even though he very much does not want to face any of this right now, Sam does follow Krem's request. Sitting up with a sigh, Sam pulls himself from under the cloak, letting it fall back around Krem alone.

The familiar pitch and accent of the woman's voice has Sam putting a hand over his eyes. It was Lady LeBlanc. As embarrassed as he was though he could hear that she sounded worried. Turning a bit to face her, he gives a small smile.

"I'm right here. I'm fine. Is everything alright?"

Edited 2015-10-31 04:52 (UTC)

"Good to meet you, Lady LeBlanc," Krem replies, keeping at least some semblance of respectability in the face of the Enchanter. He glances around at his pet project and starts to pick up the plushes that ad been scattered by Sam's suddenly diving for cover, wincing as one squeaked upon being squeezed. "Um. What can we do for you?"

Because obviously the way to prevent Sam's imminent death by embarrassment is to offer his Generally Being Helpful.

What in Andraste's name...nugs. Little stuffed nugs. "There have been a few...scuffles around the Tavern. I'm trying to ferry every sensible mage out of the area and somewhere less likely to land them into trouble."

The sensible ones tend to listen- the rest? Not quite so much. It's frustrating not being able to prevent fighting but here she has no true weight of authority. Putting out fires is all she's currently capable of. "But as Sam is here and obviously not missing or in trouble I think I shall be able to rest easy for the remainder of the night."

A beat passes.

"The nugs are quite well made."

Despite the entire situation, Sam cannot help but try and fight a smile starting to tug at his mouth. With having a nug suddenly squeak it is rather hard. He succeeds for the most part.

Hearing that there are issues popping up isn't a laughing matter though. "Guess I'm one of the sensible ones then? Or did you come looking for me because I'm not?" Maybe a bit of both. He was smart enough to get out before things got started, but he couldn't make any promises about not doing anything if he was around.

And as we wind on down the road

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