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

He chuckled, squeezing the toy in his hands again before catching Krem's eye when the man looked up.

"Me? No, the cold doesn't bother me much, really. Frostbite - that might bother me - but this? A cup of ale would warm me right up in no time."

He paused, then looked slightly sheepish. "Not that I think ale would be a good decision tonight, considering. Why?" A thought crossed his mind then, and a sly little grin came to his lips. "Are you cold? Do you need someone to warm you up?" He leaned over to bump Krem's shoulder with his own. (The fact that Krem's maul was not currently in his hands made it a good deal easier to flirt with him. Besides. Everyone needed a distraction.)

Krem snorted, shoving some on Gavin's shoulder. "You've been waiting to use that line haven't you?" Yes he was cold, but he was just fine being cold if it meant having his time away from the mess that the mages and templars was sure to become.

But, distraction achieved. Well-played, Gavin. Have a nug in your face for your troubles.

Gavin laughed as the nug hit him in the face, grinning back at Krem as the man's mood obviously lightened. Mission achieved indeed.

"I refuse to either confirm or deny that accusation," he said, still grinning, tossing the nug back as he shuffled closer, slipping an arm around Krem's shoulder and rubbing the opposite one with his palm to generate a little friction heat.

"Can you really blame me, though? Perfect line."

"You're ridiculous," he huffed, shifting how his cloak rested over his shoulders and making a face at Gavin. "Perfect line for someone you have a shot with maybe, unless you flirt with everyone with a handsome face."

Oh but that isn't right, is it? He'd spotted it from his little niche of the tavern, Gavin trying to chat up some attractive human and getting stumble-tongued. Cute, and any other time he might have prodded over the whole scene. For now, he just suffices with "maybe try pointing that in a direction with a hand to hold, hm?"

"I flirt with all my friends," Gavin replies happily, before settling back down with the nug in his lap. "It's not my fault all my friends are tremendously handsome."

He looked back up with a grin. "You need anything else, supplies-wise? I could do a run for you."

He's still a bit nonplussed, but that 'friends' comment is nice. He just takes that for whatever it might be worth and shrugs some. "I'll be fine on fabric for another few days, with the supply that's been handed to me, but...maybe more stuffing? Ram's wool has been my main material for it so at least it's easy enough to get ahold of."

"Ram's wool," Gavin says with a nod as he stands up, stretching, tucking his nug into the collar of his tunic so he wouldn't lose it. "That sounds easy enough. I'm sure I'll be able to find some. And maybe another blanket, for you, or you're going to freeze up here."

Krem can't help his snort when Gavin sticks the nug into his collar. That is unfairly cute. "I'll be fine up here for a little while longer, don't worry about it. The wool, you can find me later. You should try and find somewhere warm to stay for the night, though."

"Oh, I always manage something," Gavin said, offering a smile for the worry. Tree? Tree. It would probably be a tree.

He leaned over to muss Krem's hair, darting away before the man could swipe at him for it, and waving as he disappeared, terrible at goodbyes as always.

And as we wind on down the road

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