faderift | 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.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Just because you can doesn't mean you should. Pretty sure that if we made a list, of who should get punched and who shouldn't, we would be on opposite sides. Mostly because then you'd be around to make sure I didn't die of getting punched.

[But he was pretty okay with just the fact that Bruce was smiling - which was a good enough sign that he was relaxing a bit.]

Though I'm pretty sure everyone is innocent, tonight. None of us killed the-- [a hitch in his voice, his own smile growing slightly strained] -- Well. There are better people to be angry with, is all I'm saying.

[Bruce doesn't say anything to the brief hiccup of Gavin's words, only doing his best to keep the smile on his face. It was a very hard time for everybody, and while Bruce himself wasn't going to get better any time soon, the least he could do was to try and make others feel better.]

Everyone has different ways to express their grief. [He says, as gently as he can. It's not that he's saying that Gavin doesn't understand, but sometimes just talking about it helps.] We all just need some time to understand.

[He didn't say anything, at first. Letting the moment lapse into thoughtful silence, before eventually leaning over to rest his head against Bruce's shoulder.]<.small>

You're a kind man, Bruce. Though I still think you should let me take punches for you.

[Bruce stills at first, very clearly stunned with the sudden closeness. It wasn't even anything big, yes, but this--the elf--

For a long moment Bruce finds himself stuck, entirely unsure how to respond or react. He didn't even know if anybody was ever this physically close to him before; there was his Circle life, and then life on the run after that. Being trapped with crowds was one thing but this--]

You-- [He starts then stops, hesitant, still so unsure. His mind is a whirl and its over something he understands to be so simple but yet doesn't feel as such at all to him.] You...

[He takes a breath and forces himself to stay perfectly calm.]

You should take care of yourself better. [He manages out after what must seem like a very long pause.] There's only so much poultice I can spare for you.

[It's impossible not to notice the tenseness, but Gavin doesn't remove himself - if Bruce wanted him to, he'd ask, and given the reaction Gavin figures he probably needs more people leaning their heads on him rather than less. Besides, it's nice.]

Alright, alright. [The response is a murmur and a low chuckle.] I'll do my best, or at least rotate through the healers better, so that you don't notice.

Try not to wear all of them out. Otherwise you would end up back in the same position again.

[Despite the words there's hardly any fierceness to his tone, and Bruce takes in another slow breath, steadying himself. Its strange, having somebody this physically close and knowing that it doesn't matter at all. Obviously if the truth was know that would change, but--

This was one small thing he could let himself have. Perhaps just for now.]

With a bunch of worn out healers at my feet? [The tone is light and teasing, Gavin relaxing as he felt Bruce relax. See? All good.]

I can't tell if that's a good or a bad thing, but I'm leaning towards good. I suppose it depends on how many of them are tenderly sighing my name.

[There's a soft snort from Bruce this time round.]

Sighing in exasperation, I'd wager. [aka no, Gavin, its not really a 'good thing. Bruce shifts a little in how he sits, letting the elf remain however he wants.

He also takes another bite from his cookie half.]

Just be more careful when you can. I know you have good intentions, but sometimes people just don't see it when they're so consumed with something else.

[A state that Bruce knows all too well.]

[Gavin chuckles, finishing off his own half of the cookie and licking his fingers to get the crumbs off. When Bruce shifts, he takes that as his cue to sit up, though he's still sitting close enough that his shoulder is resting comfortably against him. When he speaks, though, the humour is gone, and Gavin's voice is smaller than it had been. Slightly wistful.]

I'll take care of myself, Bruce. And if I can't - well. There are plenty of things out to kill us, these days. There are worse causes to die for.

[Bruce is silent for a while. He doesn't doubt Gavin at all; he knows he's got nothing but everyone's best interests at heart. Perhaps if he was alone he wouldn't be saying anything - but now that he knows that many of his clan were here as well--]

And there are better things for you to live for. [He says softly, and maybe with a hint of persuasion.] You have your clan. At the very least, I know they will mourn you if you do meet your end.

[A brief pause, and Bruce takes in a small breath before he continues on.] And you are a good person. Thedas would lose out if you died.

[What this world needed was more people like Gavin. Not people like Bruce.]

[The earnestness of Bruce's words makes him pause, but it is too honest, for him, and too close to fears and worries that Gavin has, for him to appear to take it seriously. He simply can't think that deeply about it without betraying himself. So instead he grins, reaching up to ruffle Bruce's hair before Bruce can stop him.]

If you keep on like that I'm going to start blushing. Don't worry about me, Bruce. You'll have to put up with patching me up for a while yet. I won't die on you.

[Not that it was a promise he could really make, but it was a pleasant fiction.]

[Bruce blinks and hunches a little when Gavin suddenly ruffles his hair like that, not entirely prepared for it. But its... not that bad at all, and Bruce pauses for a bit after Gavin pulls away and speaks.

Very strange, all of this.]

I very much hope not. [He smiles again.] There'd be nobody else to share my cookie with.

[And speaking of cookie Bruce finishes up the last bit of his, munching and chewing it down.]

[Something in that made Gavin incredibly sad, but it didn't leak onto his face. Inwardly, he made a note to himself - Bruce needed more people to share cookies with. He was determined not to hear another sentiment from Bruce like that again.

He deserved to sound so much happier.

But outwardly all Gavin did was laugh.]

Can't have that, [he agreed, smiling,] Can't have that.

And as we wind on down the road

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