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

[vir_tasallan]

"Oh my goodness, creators-- I'm so sorry! Got caught up in all these other-- I'm Merrill, it's nice to meet you." The smile she gave him was sheepish but only because she'd skipped all manners entirely. The brandy must be going to her head more than she'd expected.

"As far as revolting goes, there's lots of reasons. Number one being I'm an elf and you're human. There's animosity there that goes back ages-- and I mean, literally, ages." she inspected the mark, feeling something quite familiar about it. It wasn't obvious why it was familiar, simply that it felt like she should know of it. Puzzling, to say the least.

"I'm sure you're asked this a lot, but does it hurt?" she glanced up at him from her inspection. Surely he had many questions about the world around him, maybe he might fancy someone asking him how he was instead?

[wontforgetyou]

"Ah, but that wouldn't necessarily be true where I come from, now would it?"

He might be human, but he wasn't a human from Thedas. Take that and add a life where he'd spent the past few years traveling to places and times he'd never even imagined about and meeting aliens of all sorts, and things were a maybe a bit different for him than they were for others. Maybe he wasn't perfect, but when he met someone who seemed perfectly nice and kind (if maybe a bit tipsy from the brandy) he wasn't necessarily going to go about thinking she was revolting.

Even her asking him about his hand didn't bother him, despite it being a question he'd been asked about more times than he could count by now, and he gave her a smile.

"Don't worry about getting caught up in everything, though. It's good to meet you as well. As for my hand...aye, well, it's not hurting now. It ached a bit when I first turned up here, but it seems to have calmed down some. Couldn't tell you why that is, mind. I've not really come across anything like this before."