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

[byblow]

"No," Alistair says, voice raised over the cook's shouting while he stomps out the fire, "everything is fine. I don't know why--" Stomp. "--you'd think--" Stomp. "--it wasn't."

The first isn't out, but it's manageable. Only her skirt. He removes his boot and is ready to tell her to smother it when it ices over--the fire, no part of the cook--and he turns back to the mages to find one lowering her hand and looking mildly abashed, but in the sort of way that makes it obvious she would rather no one notice her going against her friends. It's a sentiment Alistair would probably understand better if he had more friends.

Instead it only annoys him.

"Thank you," he says to her, pointedly, and then finally looks at his helper. "And you, Se...oh..."

He doesn't recognize her. It would be nice if he did; it would probably be a sign that he'd made a genuine effort to befriend his peers at the monastery. But he does realize that she's someone he ought to recognize, at least, someone unplaceably familiar, so he trails off into squinting at her in a very obvious searching-for-a-name sort of way.

[nofury]

"Knight Hill."

Someone finding their conscience was admirable. Poor taste in friends was not. Maria keeps her focus on the (literally) incendiary members of this little group party even as she replies. One fire was more than enough for the evening, thank you very much.

"If you remember those few days as a Templar-" and she bit her tongue, just in time, from adding my lord. Even if it was meant more as a small reminder of those...difficult teenage days than bitter, it wouldn't serve to have any semblance of division just now- "Warden."

[byblow]

"Oh," Alistair says again. He pauses, remembers her for real, and adds, "Ohh."

Hill. Maria. Templar. Not completely horrible, but still--Templar. He doesn't look any warmer. But the mages are still standing there, and the cook is still smoking, so this isn't quite the time to say, Hello, it's been so long, how are you, please forget about my awkward childhood and focus only on my awkward adulthood and I promise to do the same, and so on.

"Well, now it's two again five, so that's--" He looks the mages over again. "--still very unsportsmanlike. Maybe I should conscript two. What do you think, Knight Hill?"

Three of them step back--they don't like the idea, at least, which is sort of sad. Nine years ago people were lining up.