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

[theonly]

"You may come to regret the decision to allow me to punish those before us." He closes his eyes. The seething hatred that he feels for the politics, for the ghastly nature of everything this funeral represents, it burns. But he feels himself finding a calm in that fire. "It may not be tonight that such a hammer comes down. I worry that if you allow it, I may decorate the courtyard with the heads of those who continue to annoy me."

His eyes open to turn a cold gaze upon those in the tavern with them. It may not be a joke, but he would have to leave to retrieve his blade. That may be the only thing to stop him as he worries what would be missed if he did leave to acquire a proper weapon. "They'll find themselves remembering themselves sooner rather than later, that much we can agree upon, Alayre."

[equanimiti]

"Then go forth and decorate. The fortress is still within ruins, is it not? The entails may attract pests but it will instill these buffoons with fear." A little bit of dark humor from Sauveterre. Harmless dark humor at that. There's no way that Alayre would allow Stannis to do such a thing here. The same would go for Rutherford along with countless members of the Inquisition.

"In all due seriousness, let us hope that none of them win our ire in such manners. I grow weary just thinking about all the chaos brewing." He replies with a slight frown upon his face. Alayre is not one for conflict but he won't flee from them either.

"Let us see if the Inquisition holds fast to its morals by the time sunrise comes."