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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"It's not like that," Krem huffs in return, holding himself back from punching Sam in the arm for not listening. It wasn't Sam's fault that he isn't a mind reader, or that Krem isn't good at putting his thoughts into words when he was particularly vexed. "My point's that I didn't want to just go ahead and kiss you and then start doubting either of our judgment until it spun itself out in my head until everything was broken." His hand does come up at that point, but only to rake back through his hair, scratching at it in his frustration. It fell across his brow, making his appearance all the more disheveled.

"Can we just try again or something? Or would you rather I just left now?" he sighed, looking up at Sam with a pout.

It's not like that, he says. Well what was it like then? Before he could ask just that, Krem continued to plow on with his words, quickly causing Sam to snap his jaw shut in surprise. Maybe he was a bit drunk, because Krem had just admitted that he wanted to have kissed? Scratch that, Krem was asking if they could try again?

He knows he should be answering this considering that along with 'try again' there is 'should I just leave', but Sam finds himself having a hard time with words at the moment. He's not sure if it is on purpose or if it is completely by accident, but he cannot tear his eyes away at the image that is Krem at that moment. Standing there in clothes too big for him, hair disheveled, and pouting. Yes, pouting.

Sam knows he's blushing, a bit overwhelmed by the words and the way Krem is looking at him, and at feeling how warm his cheeks are getting he has to turn his head away, just so he can think. Nervously he rubs the back of his neck. "I... would rather like to try... kissing you again."

If it weren't quite so dim this far back in the stables, Krem might see just how red Sam was turning, and his own blush would have been just as obvious. The way Sam says that, getting quieter, as if it were merely an afterthought, it's disgustingly cute. It reminds him of instances as a child, sneaking away with other children to get into mischief.

This is different, but not entirely, and the train of thought makes Krem smile faintly as one hand curls into the front of Sam's robes, pulling him down gently until their faces are level. He can hear the squeaking of the plush in Beleth's hand, adding another layer of mild absurdity to the scene.

Holding his breath to keep it from tickling, Krem finally closes the gap, lips pressing into Sam's, his own dry and somewhat chapped against the other man's.

He cannot hear the squeaking. Actually he cannot hear much of anything save for the tempo of his pulse drumming in his ears, which only increased when he felt a hand twisting the front of his robes. That probably was a good thing because the absurd sound would more than likely send him into a fit of nervous laughter.

Sam allows himself to be pulled forward easily, noting how much he has to lean in the back of his mind. With the light as dim as it is, he feels more than sees when Krem presses forward to him, the light brush of skin making him take in a breath through his nose.

The kiss is simple, just the press of lips, but it's enough that Sam lets out the tiniest of noises. His own lips were not much better than Krem's, but with worrying them during his walk they were a bit softer.

For a moment he isn't quite sure what to do with his hands. Slowly, and cautiously though he raises one and lightly settles it along the side of Krem's head. Just lets it sit there without curling or anything, quietly seeing if it is allowed.

There is a temptation to push, to deepen the kiss, but Krem is nothing if not very, very good at controlling himself. He leans his head into that touch briefly, pressing into the kiss then drawing away, his hand falling away from Sam's collar.

With a clearing of the throat, Krem reaches up, tossing Sam's hair back away from his forehead, ruffling it in a teasing fashion then turning back toward where Beleth was still playing with the plush and the hart. He has an idea of what to make for her, when he's finished with the rest of his project. If he can find properly purple cloth, and someone to carve horns.

"You must have been having some excellent conversation with your friend here," he says quite calmly, holding a hand up for the hart to nose at.

Her eyes are closed, and she's doing her best to not listen, to not pay attention to anything else. So when Krem speaks, too close to be ignored, she nearly topples over. The nug gives a loud squeak in protest. She quickly straightened up, back to being a deer in the headlights. She glances between Sam and Krem, and then back to Krem, because he's talking to you, idiot.

"Yes. Very much so." She assures him, then stares down at the nug, and shoves it at Sam with more force than strictly necessary, not looking at the man. No, that's not going to do, she has to be polite, she has to handle this calmly. She's an adult. She's an adult and she's going to act like an adult, and not like some teenager at arlathvhen.

She turns to face Krem, nodding at him. "I'm, ah. Sorry. For...Well. I didn't know that you guys were. Um. Like that." Smooth. She should have written it down and passed him the note. "But you guys look really happy together. And I'm happy for you." Better. Now to escape. "But I've got...things. To do. Over there." Over there being literally any location that is not here. "Important things. So, uh. Congratulations. I'll tell Cy you're off limits." Hah! A hilarious joke to end it on. Nailed it. She'll just start scooting out of the stables, trying to think of another location that would also be safe from erstwhile humans. Maybe on the barn roof.

It was a bit too short for his liking, and as much as he wants to explore this new... thing a bit more, Sam knows not to push it. It had been something on his mind for a while now, ever pressing the more time he spent with the other man, but always kept hidden out of insecurity. It had been a slip that he had tried on the battlements, the supposed rejection weighing on him heavily. The fact that Krem had come looking for him and replicated the feelings to a point? His chest felt tight in how content he felt by knowing that.

He smiles slightly at the feel of his hair being ruffled, enjoying it more than he'll admit at the moment. It would have been great to revel in this moment for a bit longer but-

'Squeak'

And suddenly Sam finds himself feeling kind of... awful, when he follows Krem back over to where they had left Beleth, more so when she shoves the nug into his chest while he's straightening out his hair. Even if he wanted to be happy, it didn't seem fair for someone to feel bad. But he doesn't know what to say. That the two of them weren't like that? Honestly it had just happened, but then would that be sending a wrong signal at Krem?

And then Beleth is mentioning Cyril. He's not sure who the comment is being directed to, but regardless it makes Sam stand a bit straighter and the blush on his face a bit brighter.

The more Beleth fidgets and stammers, the more Krem is sure that kissing Sam might have been a terrible idea. The elf might have been trying to play it off like she was happy for them both, but Krem can tell that she's unhappy with the new developments.

Without letting his expression waver, he shakes his head, gesturing Beleth over to the two of them. "Please, stay. This is your place, after all." He pauses and flinches a bit when the hart turns and snorts at the side of his head, spraying him in a fine mist of what he sincerely hoped was only spit. "Alright it's his place, but still."

Despite everything else happening, she can't help herself--At the sight of the hart snorting at Krem, a quiet giggle escapes, looking amused despite herself. She takes a few steps over to the hart, reaching out to pet its neck. "This isn't his place either, really. He's a wild thing. Here because he wants to be." It's easier to talk about a hart than anything else that comes to her mind at the moment--Not that a whole lot is coming to mind.

She doesn't know how to agree to Krem's words without saying Alright, then you leave because it has to be one or the other, she doesn't want to stay around while they're...working things out.

Tomorrow will be better, she tells herself. Tomorrow the initial shock will wear off, and she'll realize that things are better like this, that Sam and Krem will be happy together, and this way, no one will have to deal with all of her stupid and messy issues. Yeah, this worked out well. It was going to be fine.

"Alright." She finally says, apparently speaking to the hart. "I can stay here, if that's alright."

That fluttering that had been in his stomach before was slowly turning into a twisting in his gut. Beleth was obviously upset about a lot of things tonight and they had to add to it.

Sighing, Sam rubs the back of his neck. "Sorry, Beleth. It wasn't my intention to cause you any distress. Krem's right, you and this guy," he nods his head towards the hart, "were here first. I've... cleared my head enough. I'll head back to the forges."

"If it's all the same to you, maybe I could...I don't know. Find somewhere somewhere quiet to stay, in the warm. My room's right above the tavern, but, well. Not exactly feeling up to listening to them shouting through half the night." He looks apologetic at suggesting he stay there with Beleth and the hart at least, his hands coming together in front of him as he picked at his nails some. Maybe some time in the quiet and animal-smelling straw would help him clear his head, and Beleth would have some company that could talk back. She clearly needed someone with more intelligence than the average mount right now.

But that left Sam, and he already felt terrible about the idea that maybe he was just stringing the poor man along. Sam deserves this even less than either of them did. He reaches out and lays a hand gingerly on Sam's arm, looking up with a silent promise that they'll talk about this later.

Hesitantly, she looked between Krem and Sam. She didn't want to make them feel guilty, not when the world is going to shit and they have a chance at having some measure of happiness this mess. She deliberated within herself on the various pros and cons of the options in front of her, and decided to let herself be a little selfish. Maybe it'd make them feel a little better too.

"You can stay in the stables, if you want. It's warm enough. And quiet." Her eyes flicked over to Sam, and she gave a casual little shrug. "And it's quieter than the forge usually is. If. Both of you want to stay here. I know it's, ah. Not really the best place in Skyhold, but it's not the worst." Beleth clearly knows how to sell a place. After a moment, she jerked her head at the hart. "And the neighbors aren't bad."

He'd be lying to himself if he said he wasn't interested in staying. He honestly did like Beleth and she looked like she needed company that wasn't purple and with horns, and Krem... seriously Sam was having a hard time not blushing every time he looked at the man - that outfit was just distracting. And they had just kissed so not like this was awkward or anything.

Giving a huff, Sam runs a hand through his hair. "Guess I'll go and start piling up the hay then."

Krem's hands came together in front of him, picking at his nails as he looked between Sam and Beleth, and the hart that was still trying to investigate what was happening here. He eventually shakes his head, first laying a hand on Sam's arm and nodding him off toward the hay, then approaching Beleth.

"I'm not running you out of your home," he says quietly, frowning as his hand comes to rest on her forearm, light enough to barely be felt. "Stay. I'll figure something out."

"This is hardly my home," She gave Krem a small smile, gesturing to the area around her. "Unless you think I really live in the stables?" There is no right answer for that, so she just shook her head, moving on. No, this wasn't her home--just like the wild hart. For a moment, she just glanced at the hand touching hers, then looked up to him, rubbing the back of her neck.

"But you're not running me out of here. I mean, unless you don't want me here. I don't see why the stable can't hold all of us. It's a pretty big building. And, um. I'm pretty small. So. We could probably make it work." She doesn't actually look at Krem when she speaks, glancing first at Sam (to make sure he's alright with this), and then at the stable in general. Ah, the ceiling. That sure is a ceiling.

Sam is pointedly not listening as to their conversation when he walks away, feeling that the two of them needed to talk. That meant giving them space, which he was clearly doing by going to the very far end of the barn. Course once he got there he wasn't quite sure what to do.

He said he would get hay, but where would he take it? Walking it over near where they were talking would be unproductive on his end on giving them space in the first place. Sighing, he simply flops down in a pile, figuring to get comfortable.

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And as we wind on down the road

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