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

[nofury]

She has her answer ready by the time his question is fully out, but holds a moment, considering the man before giving it. Consideration was a luxury she'd not quick to give up when she can afford it. In battle it's instantaneous choices and snap decisions, but here? She can take the time. Even if it does nothing to change her answer, it's enjoyable to have the chance.

"Lyrium is a powerful leash. But my choice- and you may change your mind when you hear it, commander- is his punishment should be assisting the mages, in whatever tasks they need, until told otherwise. As his total duty, no missions outside of that singular purpose. Forced interaction, in the hope of some understanding. We need to understand each other, or this," she waves a hand over the slumped man, "will be the legacy of not just the Templars, but the Inquisition."

She frowned briefly, rolling over one last possibility in her mind.

"And if he learns nothing from that, I understand there are some druffalo in the Hinterlands in need of a man of such limited ability."

[theonly]

He gives a single nod at her answer as to what it is that they should do. "A fair answer. I worry about letting him be close to them, however. His armor and weaponry will be taken away, but he will not suffer lyrium withdrawal." A beat. "Do you want me to let him know that you are the one that gave him this sentence? It would be better than what I would give him."

And it would be if the Templar could not fit in with the Inquisition, would be driven out, he would ensure that the man would not become a Red Templar, would not join the renegades. His eyes lift up to look over the crowd. He would ask the Qunari if he would be willing to use his axe against a useless sword and shield. Stannis gives another nod as he approves of this Templar and decides that they are in need of some control in the ranks.

"I'll ask that the Commander give you the title that you should have."

[nofury]

"You're welcome to tell him, Commander. The order could use a little more honesty all around."

Somewhat ironic, coming from someone like her. But there was a differences between the Nightingale's network and the Templar Order only operating behind closed doors. Reasons for actions and punishments should be clear, no hidden away. Besides, he was likely to remember her face thanks to the fine black eye he was sure to wake with, if nothing else.

"Thank you."