Open: The Wake of Sina

[writteninblood]

WHO: Sorrel, the Dalish Clan(s), and all else who would attend
WHAT: Sina's funeral/wake and her burial
WHEN: Backdated: Mid-December/Haring
WHERE: The Gallows, and The Plains
NOTES: The first log of 2018, and the last for Sina

i. The Burial
"Death - the last sleep? No, it is the final awakening."
-Walter Scott

The ceremony was an old one, inherited from the rites of the old Dales and the words, half-remembered, passed down in secret from ancient Arlathan. Perhaps they now bore no resemblance to those rites, too worn down by younger hands, as shaped by the intervening centuries as wet clay, but nothing had changed about their purpose.

Death is an event. It happens to you, once only. These things, the gentle, holy words, the soft little shape, curled up in its hollow, and the tree... they are for the living. They are alive. It happens like this:

The pit is dug, deep and round, to protect that which once housed her life, to nourish the new life that will call this place home. Handfuls of soil are put over the body, tears and prayers, and words to the spirits, to Sina, who may be beyond hearing, or may not. The words are as much for those to speak as for any who listen, after all. Tall and fine, the elves of Arda pass their gift to the Keepers, a seed from their home, a token of their love for Dahlasanor's lost daughter. The Dalish mages join their magic and voices together, and the seed grows from shoot, to sapling, to a fine young Mallorn tree, silvery and strong. It will survive the winter that Sina never saw, and many more thereafter. Here, on hallowed ground, made sacrosanct by elven lives lost and elven blood spilled: the tree called Siuona.

(The funeral is mostly a Dalish (and Fern, ect) party only. It happens on the plains at the site of the Dahlasanor massacre. Feel free to thread out or handwave whatever you like for this part!)



ii. The Funeral
"Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them."
-George Eliot

Not long after, when the clans have parted ways with those who's obligations pull them back to Kirkwall, there is another kind of gathering. There is a room in the Gallows that was once several rooms; earlier renovations have knocked down walls and combined the space into something more suitable for a meeting-hall, for drinking together, for speeches, and memories, and the needs of an organization like the Inqusition. And their need tonight?

Drink! Drink and song and stories, memories of Sina Dahlasanor, with laughing and weeping to follow. Good, simple food, abundant wine, free-flowing tears, and the embarace of the mutually aggrieved.

So, drink up, friends! Give a toast, tell a story, tell everyone how Sina touched all your lives, all that she did, all that she was to you.

Tonight, we drink for Sina.

Comments

[mythalenaste]

The Burial

Now is the time for weeping, for keening, but that is not how Pel longs to express her grief now. So many tears have already been shed, so many wails smothered by her own pillow, the clenching of her gut, the dryness of her mouth, the pounding headaches, reddened eyes and nose and lips, a trembling weakness, the taste of salt. And at the end, an empty feeling of melancholic serenity, surprise that the world is still unchanged after so much pain and grief. The only thing different is the absence, as if Sina left to visit her clan.

But her clan is here now, and there can no longer be any mistake or pretense as they lay that fragile body in the ground. Weak and shaking, Pel kneels to press her hands to the ground and deliver some of the magic that grows this beautiful tree, as special a tree as can be found, a surprising gift from outsiders. After, she stands, picks up her daughter from the ground, and takes a deep breath. But she does not keen or weep.

She sings.

Pel has only ever sung for three people in her life: Merrick, Sina, and da'Sina, and no one else has been privy to it. Her singing voice is breathy but supported, sounding almost like pan pipes, but on pitch nevertheless. The song is the same as Sina sang for her daughter when she became ready to meet the rest of the world, four days old and with her young de facto Keeper bathing her in milk of the halla. It is a prayer to Ghilan'nain, a plea for the navigator goddess to be her guarding eyes and guiding hands now that she cannot see or reach her. A prayer for Sina to find light and love in the arms of the Creators. And one supplication for the singer: that she can let go.

The longer she sings, the breathier her voice becomes, the more stuttered the meter, as she remembers the image of Sina passing under wisteria and into a bright field, laughter in her voice, without even the memory of pain in her body. By the end of the song, there are loud sniffles coming from Pel, her pitch wavering, until she cuts short the last word and breaks down in hushed sobbing.

The Funeral

The baby has been put to bed, some friend has promised to look after her so Pel can attend the wake. She feels numb enough that she drinks too much without realizing. She makes no toasts and tells no stories. Her song at the burial was the only secret she wanted to share. She can't bear to laugh, but it's even more painful to cry anymore, as if either one would be spoiling the spirit of this event. She finds herself talking to Sina's parents at some point, then to Sina's Keeper, then to Keeper Deheune. There is real solace in the fact that so many people loved her the way Pel did, and does.

You may find her talking to one of these people. You may find her sitting quietly and staring into a half-full cup. You may find her standing and stumbling toward the door, clearly upset but too drunk to walk a straight line.