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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She hears the pebble hit something in the dark, but what is another matter. Something moves, but she doesn't care enough to find out, holding her arms around her knees.

"It was different at Perendale." It's not an excuse. It's not even a reason. Just a somber, humbling thought, that something she had always seen as just and fair had not been the same elsewhere and was presently far from it. She had thought the murmurings of rebellion strange, all that time ago, especially when templars came into the argument, but she was young, hardly older than a child, and probably naive. She had seen them as they should be and not as they were to most.

Sabriel sighs, shortly. "I'd speak to them, if I did not already know that would make no difference."

"No, it wouldn't. It doesn't matter how long you've been a Grey Warden or what your rank would be, they'd still see you as a mage, end of discussion. Maybe it won't turn into something truly ugly, but I don't feel confident in taking that for granted."

She sighs, then tilts her head as she glances up. "What was it like at Perendale, then?"

"Different," she repeats, but that's not the last of it. It's hard to explain something she's known for much of her life, something that just is. "Perendale was a place of learning. They kept us safe, and they listened to us." Within reason. "It was a fair existence, a co-existence, but some would have seen it as not enough. They wanted complete freedom, even though Nevarra... Nevarran mages always had more than other Circles. The world fears magic, but we were not feared there."

"I think I would have liked to linger in Nevarra. Not as part of a Circle, but still. A little more respect would have been nice." Creepy necromancy aside, though Korrin doesn't want to disparage her childhood friend's homeland by saying so. "I just never understood the point of criminalizing people before they'd done anything. If they become abominations or resort to blood magic, sure, but just being a mage? Where's the fairness in that? They need mentors, absolutely, but there's a world of difference between that and punishing them for the rest of their lives."

If she did, Sabriel wouldn't mind. She's far from in agreement about the whole necromancy thing, not that she'll run around saying so - in her father's day, it made more enemies than friends. But this isn't Nevarra, and is the Inquisition, and would likely gain her more allies, but...

There are so many opinions everywhere, and her focus has to be Wardens first. Even if the rights of mages is a close second. If she could do everything, she absolutely would.

"There should be a choice, I think. That choice should also be that of the mage - even if they are a child. But that stigma... how do we make that go away? It's so ingrained."

"Thanks to Tevinter, it is. That's the argument I hear every time, you know. 'If we give them rights, then we'll become the Imperium', like it's inevitable. Nevermind that the Tevene people here are actually decent folk, at least those I've met."

Krem. Dorian. That lovely magister Maevaris.

"Do the Grey Wardens treat you any different? Is it a more united order on that end, or do they side-eye you as well?"

Sabriel sighs. She hasn't spoken to any of the Tevinters, here, but being Nevarran, she lacks any sense of prejudice. Besides... "Look at us all. We all think we know each other, without actually knowing." Not just the world of mages, but the world of everyone else. Not everyone can be like they say, can they? That would be impossible. And yet, the world goes on believing.

Sabriel considers. "Those that I came with don't." Maybe they feared magic, and maybe they didn't, but they treated her no different. She was Sabriel, the one that sighed often, reminded them that petty theft was not a good campfire past-time, and potential saviour of lost animals had they, well, not been on the run. She was also a mage, but that also meant lighting campfires when it shouldn't have been possible, so maybe that also went in her favour. "The Order itself... before we left, it depended on the person. We're supposed to leave who we were behind; who or what we were before does not matter. But it's not always that easy. Some feared mages. Some likely disagreed with the Commander on that principle."

Not those she came with, but others - Clarel was a mage, and some would begrudgingly dislike that. Magic was weird, and they feared it, even after spending their days striking down darkspawn and drinking their blood.

Korrin nods thoughtfully, not overly surprised at Sabriel's words but still wanting to hear her perspective. She's tired of assuming things without hearing them directly from those involved. 'Knowing each other, without actually knowing', indeed. The Vashoth can admit, at least privately, to being guilty of that at times.

"But it's not an issue gnawing at the core of the Order, it sounds like. That's good. I can't say I'd be interested in joining -can qunari even do that?- just to get better treatment, but at least the Grey Wardens can be something of a good example. If at least most of them can put aside such difference, then it shows there's hope for those outside the order, too."

"Race is not a barrier or consideration, but... I never saw a qunari." Maybe that's an Orlais thing, with an overabundance of humans. A few scattered elves, even fewer dwarves; just lots and lots of humans, like everywhere else in Thedas. "Perhaps it's different, further north." The Anderfels or otherwise.

"I only hope we see our interior problems out for that example to live on to outsiders," Sabriel says quietly. For all the treatment of mages she has witnessed, the current treatment is only going to worsen relationships with Wardens, and mages.

A qunari Grey Warden. Now Korrin had to ask around, just to see if that was ever actually possible. She still has no desire to be one, but her curiosity about the matter remains. And that curiosity helps dampen that temper somewhat.

"I hope so, too. I know the situation with the Grey Wardens isn't the best right now, but people haven't forgotten the good they've done. The last Blight was just a decade ago and without the Wardens, it'd have spread beyond Ferelden. Maybe some idiots have forgotten that, but not everyone."

Even if she did, the order is in such a mess right now that Sabriel would not recommend it, or extend it, to anyone. Especially not a mage; sacrifice is one thing, but possession and blood magic?

"Many people say so. And it helps that Alistair is here." That Alistair, yes, even if they are more familiar with the Hero of Ferelden, which is not Alistair, but Cousland. The looks of her fellow Wardens grow particularly sour when his name comes up. "He wouldn't think so, but he does inspire a confidence in others. And he listens." Always a bonus.

Korrin nods approvingly to that, a small smile on her lips. "It's an interesting boon, to have so many veterans of the Fifth Blight here, especially those that knew the Hero of Ferelden. I've talked to Zevran instead, but it'd be interesting to meet Warden Alistair sometime. Though I expect he gets bombarded with questions all the time about that sort of thing, doesn't he?"

Sabriel's face darkens at the mention of Zevran - it's note a look of hate, but slight fear from the mention of the elf. She really has no idea what to make of him, and as much as she doesn't judge others from one meeting alone...

Does he have to counteract everything she says with flirtation? Does he?

"For what the Inquisition faces, and for the support we'll undoubtedly still need - to say there are Veterans of the Fifth Blight here will make people take notice." Game players would like to be involved with such people, wouldn't they? "He seems to. I don't think I've ever heard him tell it because he wants to... except with Zevran, and Sigrun."

Being on the run with him has taught her that his reaction of joking around, being light-hearted on an issue, often means there's something more. But it's not for her to dig, even if she wonders.

"I'll introduce you to him, sometime."

That reaction to Zevran is noted, and Korrin raises an eyebrow. She's been on the receiving end of his flirtatious nature enough to guess that he spreads that around to almost everyone. Hopefully that's all it is, though perhaps she'll have to talk to him about her friend and boundaries. Protective instincts don't fade with time, apparently.

She does perk up a little at mention of an introduction, but she reminds herself to curb the enthusiasm nonetheless. "I'll do my best not to pry too much, I promise. No more than he'd seem comfortable with, anyway. Besides, you can tell a lot about someone from the way they fight. It'd be interesting to see the Grey Wardens in action...especially if we're both out there." Now that they're both mages, Korrin's eager to see how well they'd complement each other on the battlefield. How can she not be?

She's about to say it's unlikely she'll see the entire Warden enoutrage fighting together unless pressed into action. Even they personally haven't fought much together beyond the necessity, with a lot of running and evasion instead. But her attention is drawn to the last of Korrin's words.

"Both of us?" It's more a thought than a question, a thought that does intrigue her. She's fought alongside one or two mages before, fought for her life in order to undertake the Joining in the first place, but fighting with a friend over a comrade-almost-friend is not something she's experienced - and not yet another mage. "That would depend. Aside from the fire-" which she knows about, but fire streams and walls only get you so far- "-my magic is mainly defensive, or debilitating. Healing, all the easier if I can see the wound inflicted. Primal magic never came easily to me."

Korrin grins at that, already satisfied with the potential combination. "Then we'll be a good balance, since primal magic is most of what I do. I can throw up a barrier if need be, but my strength is in Storm magic and I know some fire and ice as well. Healing is something I've never gotten the hang of, though I'll keep potions on me."

Usually those potions run out far before she returns to camp, but with someone at her side who can heal, that's much less of a problem. Really, Korrin just ought to learn that sometime, but she keeps worrying that she'll miss out on learning something more to her style instead.

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And as we wind on down the road

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