open: lol never mind.

[cozen]

WHO: Open!
WHAT: A memorial that doesn’t go as planned.
WHEN: Justinian 1
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Nah.

The ceremony takes place in one of the side courtyards that’s been converted into a garden, where the oppressive architecture is offset with flowers and trees. There’s a small pyre, for those whose traditions call for pyres, but no bodies to burn. Instead there are tokens, flowers, favorite foods, treasured possessions—not yet lit.

(For the others, the Dalish and Nevarrans and anyone else with a different wish, their friends and family will have made different arrangements alongside the pyre, probably, if they aren’t universally reviled.)

Anyone who wants to speak, whether it’s a prepared speech or a single spontaneous sentence, can do so. The tone is respectful but only so solemn. It’s been more than a week. For many, the worst of the shock has passed, and the sun has continued to rise and set, and there’s room between bouts of misery for fond memories and occasionally laughter. The memorial is a door that’s closing—slowly, kindly—and tomorrow, on the other side of it, the war will continue.

Today, on this side, the only people judging anyone else for crying are the assholes.

***

Across the harbor, more than a dozen filthy and tired people come to a stop on the docks, and the loitering ferryman pauses to take stock of them, then starts laughing. There isn’t even any local mythology about ferrymen and the dead. It’s just that funny to him on its own, that he’s been rowing miserable people around all week, and here’s the source of all that misery, dirty and tired but significantly less dead than believed.

When he stops laughing, he offers to dunk everyone in the harbor before rowing them over. For the smell, you know. No one is going to be happy to see them if their eyes are watering too much to actually see them. Then he laughs some more at his hilarious joke.

But he does eventually load up his boat—and maybe there isn’t room for everyone all at once, maybe some dramatic reunions will be delayed, maybe some people will be even more fashionably late to their funeral than the others—and carries everyone across the bay, still chuckling intermittently.

***

In the courtyard, the speeches and anecdotes (and singing, perhaps) wind down to long silences peppered with murmurs or sniffling. Someone is preparing to light the pyre. And then the gate creaks open.

Comments

[altusimperius]

"No, that's-- fine," Benedict says, still haltingly, still a little off-kilter even as he leans forward into a proper hug. His embrace is tight, one might even say clingy, his fingers digging into Anders' back as though he's afraid he'll disappear.

Because people do disappear, here.

[justice_is_blond]

That's a far tighter hug than Anders had expected, but he's not complaining. He likes hugs. After a solid, excellent few moments he releases Benedict and steps back, smiling.

"Sorry, I probably should have done the whole bathing thing before that. But it's... It's somehow, actually nice to be back in Kirkwall. I never thought it would be, honestly." The city hasn't done him right much of the time. "And I'm not sure what someone says when they come back from the dead. I've never done that before either."

[altusimperius]

"It's fine," Benedict says again, with the slightly absent, put-on air that suggests it isn't fine, but his reasons aren't forthcoming.
"I'm glad you're back," he adds, breezing over Anders' chatter before looking around distractedly. "You were-- everyone came out all right?"
Just like that he's focusing on him again, but a little too focused, emotion threatening to spill over his disorganized facade.

[justice_is_blond]

Something is up, with Benedict seeming a thousand miles away one moment and then extremely focused, and Anders glances around in confusion for a moment before he realizes he's being an idiot. Benedict is here because he cares, genuinely cares, and the attempts to seem aloof are just that anymore - seeming.

Anders reaches back to put an arm on Benedict's forearm, voice going gentle. "Yes. It wasn't exactly easy or fun, but we're all all right. There's no injuries left save some sunburns, some hunger, and some brutal crimes against fashion and hygiene. And timeliness. We're okay and we're back."

[altusimperius]

Anders' observation is partially true: the aloofness is there, but the composure isn't, and Benedict's half-smile has a neediness about it when Anders touches his arm.
"That's good," he says, "that's... I'm glad." And he's telling the truth, however oddly. What's odder still is how he folds Anders back into a hug afterward, his hands shaking over his friend's back, the embrace silent and fraught. Something is still wrong, despite the best case scenario.

[justice_is_blond]

Now that's actually worrying. Anders holds him tight.

"Benedict? Are you all right?" His voice is quiet. Anders understands pride, understands wanting to hide weakness, so he's absolutely not going to draw attention if he can help it. "I'm here, we're all here."

He's not so egotistical as to think this is just about him. Benedict had probably thought he'd lost a few people. But that doesn't make Anders any less concerned. "I'm not planning on going anywhere."

[altusimperius]

"We're not," Benedict says, his voice quiet and shaking, though he feels slightly better being held. "...we're not all here. People just-- they just disappear. Or they die. Maybe both."

He pulls away, his gaze darting around at the crowd, his attention far off. "I'm sorry," he says quickly, "I'm-- going to go." Pride and hiding weakness, indeed. Benedict barely looks like he can keep himself together, but he casts one final sheepish smile toward Anders before he takes his leave.

[justice_is_blond]

"Later? Find me?" he calls after Benedict. It's definitely not just Anders that Benedict is thinking about, but it's also clear that Benedict needs some breathing room at the moment. And Anders also has another reason to not chase after the young man - Nate's probably only here for a day or two and Anders can't bear to lose any of the precious time they have.