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

[kremdelacreme]

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."

[arlathvhen]

"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.

[el_tybs]

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.