faderift | So, I'll sing Hallelujah

WHO: Beleth, Kit's CR, Kit in spirit
WHAT: Kit's slightly belated funeral service, come pay your respects.
WHEN: Backdated to a bit after he died bc I suck
WHERE: A forest outside of Kirkwall
NOTES: Death, grieving, I'm so sorry this is late

Beleth had tried to speak to Orzammar--argue with them, more like, and had only stopped when she realized that she was more likely to cause a diplomatic incident than get them to agree to take his body. So, as she usually did when people failed to meet her expectations, Beleth took it into her own hands.

Kit's funeral is a bit of a mishmash between dwarven culture and Dalish--Beleth had to draw from somewhere, after all, and she knew more about Dalish funerals than any other. Kit's body is buried in a nice clearing in the forest, body lined with stones instead of branches. Instead of a tree, there's a large rock marking his grave, his name carved into the stone.

The songs sung aren't in Elven, nor are they Dwarven funeral songs. But they're still somber, and full of grief of a life lost.

Anyone who knew Kit and wishes to send him off is invited, and to the wake held afterwards. It takes place, in what seems to be most fitting for Kit's memory, in the Hanged Man. Food (from Beleth, decent quality) and drink (from the tavern, dubious quality) is provided, and people are free to mingle, drink, get rowdy, and remember a man who fit a lot of living into being dead.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Grief is a feeling foreign to Benedict, and he's still having trouble processing it when the funeral rolls around. He spends most of the day standing sullenly off to one side, shivering in the chill and shooting caustic glares at anyone who might consider talking to him.

If caustic glares had ever been enough to warn off Beleth, it certainly wasn't at this moment. She strides up to Benedict, her body language best described as 'rigid'. Somber, and almost tense, like she's readying herself for being plunged into shockingly cold water. Nevertheless, she dips her head politely when she reaches Benedict, expression as distant as she feels.

"Thank you for coming, and I apologize that you had to do so in such weather." A pity she can't just go make some random NPC fetch him a sweater in the middle of the woods, but such is life. "The wake will be held inside, I'm sure it'll be warmer there, if you wish to attend."

Benedict grunts a noncommittal reply, not even looking at Beleth. "Where's that," he grumbles after a moment, staring hard at the cairn and trying his very hardest to stop giving a shit.

“The Hanged Man. It’s a popular tavern in Kirkwall, and Kit, um. He enjoyed going there.” It still feels...wrong, to use the past tense for him.

“I can already tell you that it will be beneath the standard you like to keep, as will the food, drink, and company.” Might as well get that out of the way. But her face softens a little, and she reaches to gently touch his arm—ready to pull away, if he shows signs of disliking it. “But you’ll be welcomed there, anyway. And I think you might like a chance to talk to other people who knew Kit.”

She can’t make Benedict learn to cope with loss in a moderately healthy way, but at least she can offer him the option.

He actually seems to consider it for a time, shoulders hunched and arms folded, as closed-off as can be. Once he reaches a conclusion, Benedict glances to Beleth, almost wincing as though waiting for her to make fun of him. "I don't know how to get there."

Beleth doesn’t make fun of him, or change her galacial expression. She just nods. “You can come with me, if you would like. I’ll be heading over there soon, to begin making sure the food is all set up.”

Briefly, she wonders who is in the more enviable position—to have loss be a new, unknown feeling, fresh and raw, or to have become experienced in it? Dulled to the pain? Which would she rather be? The latter, probably, which is why she’ll try to tend after Benedict.

After another moment's hesitation, Benedict shrugs and gives a little nod of assent. He'll go there with her, even if she is an elf.
Kit was just a dwarf, after all.

Benedict can glare all he'd like. Anders has dealt with many worse glares, and it's all the easier to accept this one when he agrees with the reason and the source doesn't want him in particular dead.

"I'd offer some trite advice on dealing with loss, but I can't think of any that would help," he says quietly as he joins the younger man. "There's never been anything that's really helped before except throwing myself into work."

"I don't want anything to help," Benedict grumbles, clasping his upper arms, "I want everything to stop. And for this accursed city to fall into the sea."

"Right, of course." His voice is dry. "Because either of those is going to happen any time in the near future."

With a shake of his head, Anders leans against the wall next to Benedict. "People come to wakes to remember and to hurt a little less. You can bristle how you'd like. I know you're not unbothered and an educated guess says you don't entirely want to be alone."

He'd like the company, after all. It hurts to lose someone.

Benedict sneers and shakes his head, feeling no patience for jabs and wishing Anders would go away, at least until he becomes more conciliatory.
"I don't know what I want," Bene grumbles, misery bleeding through in his tone.

So, I'll sing Hallelujah

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