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.)

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He snorted, nodding wryly in agreement as he reached into the stall to gently comb his fingers through the horse's forlock. (Pleased by all the attention, the animal snuffled quietly and bobbed its head gently.)

"That's very true. At this point there's far more room to move up, than down. Hopefully once some of the alcohol wears off, they'll recognize that too."

She's not sure. She's already wary of templars, and the circle mages aren't much better, in her opinion. The entire war was inconvenient on the Dalish side--Rogue templars combing the countryside, ready to attack anyone Dalish because they might be an apostate, and the rebel mages couldn't care less about the trouble they'd sown for everyone. Now they may be working for the Inquisition, but it wouldn't be that easy to forget such fresh wounds.

They needed to have better incentives to want to work together. Something beyond 'kill this crazy weird monster'.

"Hopefully," Is what she says. "No one else is doing anything. If the Inquisition fails, what then?"

Maxwell frowned, an unpleasant tingle raising the hair on the back of his neck. It was a possibility of course. Bad things happened, people died, good causes failed: look at the Conclave, the Herald... but actually say it aloud, to really think about it.

It was not a happy picture.

"I guess they would have to stop fighting then at least. Seeing as many of us would be dead."

She's dubious that they would ever stop, even if everyone around them was dead, but perhaps that was just her poor opinion of humans as a whole shining through. Either way, she shrugs. "Let's hope that it doesn't come to that. Hopefully both sides realize what will happen if they let the Inquisition down. And stop blaming each other for killing the Herald and the Divine."

She paused, glancing off to the side. "I'm...sure the Andrastian faith has plenty of divinity left. Plenty to go around. I'm sure it's not completely killed off."

Beleth...may not have quite picked up what a Divine quite was.

Maxwell replied without really thinking about statement, agreeing with it on principle.

"It's a bit funny, isn't it? She was a fine woman, one of the best among us, and how she was taken was terrible, but I don't think she would want us to--" Then the wording, and the way Beleth was looking at him, hit him and he realized that was not entirely what she meant. Maybe not at all.

He flushed slightly, feeling foolish for assuming.

"I'm sorry. That's not what you meant, is it?"

"..."

Slowly, like a confused dog, Beleth tilted her head, examining Maxwell with a look of bafflement. Then, she tried to kick her brain's wheels into motion, thinking about what Maxwell had said, what she's heard. Then, slowly, Beleth came to a startling realization.

"Wait, did Andraste die at the conclave?"

The divinity that had been destroyed, but was actually a woman...it all made sense. No wonder the humans were so up in arms about it.

Maxwell's mouth slacked slightly, his eyebrows raising in surprise, but after a heartbeat, he managed to corral back. What would she know of Andraste and the Maker - the Dalish had their own religion. It made sense.

"...No," he shook his head. "Andraste was burned a long time ago. The Divine -- is a title, given to the chosen head of the Andrastian church. Divine Justinia, the last Divine, called the peace talks at the conclave and was killed there. Among the many others lost."

She'd said something dumb. She knew that as soon as she saw Maxwell's face. That's what she got for trying to assume something about the humans. Ugh. Luckily for her, Max doesn't seem to be too upset about it. She'll keep kicking herself about it later, but for now, she'll just be pleased that he isn't throwing a fit about her lack of knowledge.

"Oh--I thought Andraste had died a while ago, but, um. That makes sense." It makes sense that there's a head of the chantry, when the whole organization is so...organized. Not quite like the Dalish, who don't have much organization about their religion. And they're the better for it, she can't help but think. "Sorry...But, um. My condolences, even if it is kind of late." So the head of the chantry is dead, the Herald is dead, the Hero of Ferelden is gone, as well as Hawke. It really did seem like a grim state of things.

"I didn't know her," Maxwell said softly, after a moment. "Not personally."

He knew of her, of course. His parents loved to talk about they had once heard her lead the Chant, when she had visited the Free Marches. And he had been so hopeful, when the peace talks had been called.

"For me, and I think many, we regret the loss of life, but mourn the loss of the idea. What Justinia was, and what she was trying to do."

Like the Herald.

"We'll just have to hope that the Inquisition can keep what she started going." Beleth replied calmly, though she wasn't so certain. "What they all tried to start. It can happen, if we put the willpower into it. At least...that's what I think." Could the Inquisition do it? Absolutely. But not if they spent their time getting drunk and bickering.

"But--I think that's a task for tomorrow. I think once the tempers have cooled, it will be a little easier." She paused. "...It was nice talking to you." He wasn't so bad, she decided. Not for a human, at least.

He ducked his head, politely, and offered the horse one last scratch before stepping back.

"And to you, though I apologize if I disturbed you," he said with a small smile. "Until next time."

And as we wind on down the road

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