faderift | Cold upon the mountain

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Cold upon the mountain

WHO: Asher Hardie; open (npc appearances by The Boneflayers)
WHAT: Asher's fever returns and his crew drag him to the healing tents, knowing it's the end
WHEN: Last week of Solace - mid-whatever August is called
WHERE: Skyhold, healing tents
NOTES: eventual character death; language, discussions about death, violence, faith. Discussions about Asher's childhood. Other warnings in subject headers. Feel free to make your own threads and have them open or closed, the death thread will go up closer to the time! Related ooc post

Asher has known for longer than he's cared to admit so he hasn't admitted it. He's shrugged it off the way he shrugs off pretty much everything else in his life until three nights passed of him coughing and coughing and coughing, keeping his crew awake with it. His chest has been rattling since they brought him back until blood started coming up with it. And now there are wounds cracking open; little cuts that weep for days on end, ugly wounds from the Storm Coast or sparring that feel hot to the touch. (They smell, Amalia had hissed as she'd pressed her hands to his chest over the burn scars to try to force the fever out. Melisende had sworn.)

So they bring him to the healers tents, the sweat rolling off him as he staggers; two dwarves and a Rivaini to help him, his hound with him as ever. The mage in her red leathers explains what she can with a slight elven woman, and the elfblooded one brings up the rear with a hand to his back. They're a constant from that first day to the last, a different combination each time at least one will always be there, stepping out for privacy or finally curling up to sleep.

And Asher...Asher isn't good with this. This isn't how it's meant to be as he presses his fingers into the festering gash over one hip from where a sword bit deep through his armour but the pain only makes him swoon, makes him cough and bite his lip. Doesn't make him focus, doesn't make him want to fight. This isn't how it was supposed to be and for the first time since his mother put him out the house twelve years ago, Asher Hardie is afraid.

It makes him a rather difficult patient, to put it politely.

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"He's awake." Melisende uncurls herself from a corner of the tent, the most alert of the Boneflayers no matter how many watches she takes but alienage life for you. "I'll give you two some privacy." If she is guilty, well her guilt is an old thing for taking a boy green as summer grass and seeing him for what she wanted to. They made their peace with that but Maker she didn't think her Asher boy would go first.

Bronson is happy for attention; Asher isn't hoisting him up on his shoulders, no one is giving him their dinner, there aren't the scratches behind the ears and the forehead pressed to his. Asher smells bad and wrong, his sweat rank and the kaddis washed away. No amount of herbs will cover the smell of blood going bad, but Merrill is nice, he likes Merrill. Mal likes Merrill and Asher likes Merrill too, likes her enough he tries to smile but it pulls too tight, feels lopsided like it's going to slide clean off his face if he's not careful.

Why was he better at this when he was young and angry? Why is it so hard now? Why are the gods being cruel?

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this? Mal Reynolds is going to feel all hurt and offended." Humour is his last shield but it's all battered and splintered, and half the pieces are sticking into him.

A soft smile is offered to Melisende; Merrill may sit with the Boneflayers after, when Asher is asleep, to offer her presence to them too. Not for long, she imagines; she is not one of them, and she doesn't want to intrude, but for long enough.

A bit of biscuit is tugged out of a pouch on her belt and given to Bronson, along with those ear scratches. The living will need more care, when Asher has died. Starting now doesn't hurt so long as they don't neglect Asher, too, and Merrill would never. Not knowingly. There's a little laugh at his attempt at a joke, splintered as it is, and she moves her hand to squeeze his in it.

"Oh, I doubt that. He'll just have to deal with it, if he is; no part of whatever it is we're doing means I can't speak to my friends." There's a little pause, and then Merrill adds, thoughtfully: "Though he doesn't know you gave me a toy yet."

That could change some things.

For now, though, Mal isn't here; Asher is, for however much time is left. (Everyone leaves her, but at least Asher isn't doing it by choice. At least Asher is listening to her.)

"I won't ask how you're doing." She doesn't need to. He isn't doing well; anyone can see that. "But if there is anything you'd like, it's yours, if I can."

Asher's friends are friends to the Boneflayers: an offer that stands even more now when each one of them would rather share the good stories to beat back the painful reality they have to face. Melisende knows every single one. She was there from the start. Before there ever was a Boneflayers to speak of. She does smile when Bronson eats because well, it's less of a worry.

(If that dog goes, Maker preserve her, she doesn't know what she'll do.)

"My gran made it." Because Asher should mention that, maybe the Dalish are down with older folks just crafting whatever. He squeezes back as tight as he can, which before would feel like Asher holding back but that's not the case now. "What's the gossip? No one's telling me shit 'cept about going to Rivain"

It makes sense to Merrill, at least; the older members of the clan had more knowledge to pass on, so of course they would craft the best pieces. Besides, it's not as though she had to go up to her grandmother and ask for a sex toy.

"What's her name?" As long as he's talking, he's still there. He's still with them. Maybe it would be a mercy, for him to go -- but Merrill is selfish at times, too. When it comes to the People and to her people, it's especially prominent.

(She's going to miss the Boneflayers when they go, too. They are not all so blessed with friends.)

"Lots of people are in Orlais, at the moment. But before that, and I think before Rivain- there was that massive snowball fight." He was still on his feet for that, but not participating; she should have known then and there that something was wrong, but she had missed it like she misses the correct turns in Kirkwall and the subtleties of human expression. "Mal kissed me. I hadn't even known we'd had a date until Korrin told me, and then he kissed me right there in front of everyone. It was- lovely."

That's about all the gossip she knows, Asher; Merrill isn't always the most observant about things said in whispers.

There's a lot to be said for Asher's sort of wisdom about sex: if you can't talk about it, then maybe you shouldn't be doing it. He doesn't tell her everything but she had a daughter, and her and his grandfather have quite happily and successfully married one another. Has to be some trick to it.

"Adalind. Get the hair on my head from her, the rest is from my grandfather." The literal bear, with a beard Asher can only aspire to though it's the sort of beard a man can grow into that Asher isn't going to get the chance to now. Pity. He could've smothered people in a beard like that while staking his claim.

(Everyone is staying. This is a plan, an investment, this is the first home they've had since Kirkwall. At least one person will stay.)

"Almost got my cock frozen off twice in Emprise du Lion, wasn't in a hurry to do that again." Amalia was already burning the fever out of him then, on and off as carefully as she could as if he didn't know what she was doing. "He's a good kisser, don't tell him I said that, he'll get all fluffed up about it but he's good. Kisses really well when he's in a dress and he's got no excuse not to be in one, so don't let him try to convince you otherwise there. Don't tell me I need to send the lads to go after folks - you've never been on a date? Lovely lady like you?"

"And his name?"

There is so much she was not able to learn, so many questions she never thought to ask. Now she doesn't have time to ask them all. One hand moves up to his hair, to brush the tips of her fingers through it. She can feel the heat burning off him and she breathes, gently covering the tips of her fingers with frost.

"It was magic snow, though. Although maybe if you'd kept your cock in your pants, it wouldn't have frozen." You shouldn't pull that out in the snow, Asher, it's bad for you. Gosh. "The two of you have kissed? I'd have liked to see that."

She isn't jealous; all of them have had lives before now, and it isn't as though she and Mal have spoken about being exclusive or anything like that. "And you're the second person to tell me about him wearing women's clothing." Which really means she ought to ask Mal about it.

A soft, embarrassed laugh; Merrill pushes her cool fingers further into his hair. "No. I wasn't well-liked, in my clan, and I always expected the Keeper would pick someone for me to marry; another mage, to keep magic alive. And after that- well, I'm just... not very good at that sort of thing. I don't have your charm."

"Torbjorn. Means thunder bear. Trust me, it's accurate. Bear bit, thunder when he fights but he's not so loud as me." Maybe if Asher had lived to be so old as his grandfather then something of the old hunter would have settled in him too, tactical silence, that was what he called it. Asher hadn't had any use for it unless he had to stare down some rich fuck.

His groan is ragged, but no less grateful for that. Small comforts mean so much, when his words for them were always waved away before, when he would trip over all his gratitudes now.

"In Emprise du Lion I met Ruby and saw her take down a demon with her teeth." He did a lot there. Also killed a dragon. What a trip. So he wouldn't totally trust her with magic snow after all that anyway so there you go. "Not much to see - all this beard? Guinevere's the reason it's as neat as it is, making me look my best for my Lady. Mal got me like a bear but I think he likes people like that. As they are. For all his high-falutin delusions of grandeur. Just give him a kick in the arse or the balls or both as needed. Rub something like a beard on him now and again, keeps him in line." See this is what you do, pass on all the tricks of the trade about how to care for your Mal Reynolds.

"Was the first Korrin?" If so, he'll set the lads on her. Rude, Ataash, fucking disgracefully rude. But ask. There's a dress and a bonnet that Asher brought back from his first long jaunt away from Skyhold.

Making a face, he blinks up at her. Too familiar with someone else saying: and this is the way your life will be, this is how it will be, as well as the not really having a place at all. That was...that was home. Only it was never a home, it just hurt to realise that after. "You're you. Don't need to be me. I'm...I'm what happened to make me who I am. You can be whoever you want to be, just be a bit selfish sometimes. Take what you want. You deserve happiness when you're always trying to make the rest of us miserable bastards smile." And he does offer a crooked one, the best one he can muster when things are hitting a bit too close to the sore spots.

"Perhaps he's more of a rolling thunder than a loud crack," Merrill muses, laughing quietly. There's more than one type of thunder, just as there's more than one type of bear. The Dalish know; she imagines the Avvar know too, and for the same reasons.

The mention of Ruby gets another laugh, this one startled out of her and louder for it. "But Adelaide is the one who made the snow. Or- well, her students. Ruby wasn't allowed to turn into a wolf for it." So don't be a big baby about it, Asher -- though admittedly, Adelaide is a bit more terrifying than Ruby. "There would have been plenty to see, though. I haven't been kissed very much, but I've read a great deal, and it's not all mouths. It's hands, posture, noises..."

Merrill this is an inappropriate time and place to be thinking about Noises, calm down.

"I think I'm a bit more teeth and nails than beard, but I'll try. Maybe there's a spell that feels like beard. And no, it was James Norrington." Which... well, James is a Templar, so don't get too worked up there, Asher. "Though I may have to ask Korrin if I ever decide Mal needs to dress up. I'm horrid at picking out clothes for anyone else."

But it may just be that self-esteem, again. Asher says you don't need to be me and Merrill shakes her head, runs frosty fingers a little bit down his cheek to cool the sweat in the lines and creases. "I couldn't ever be you, not entirely, but- I can take what I've learned from you, add it to me. You're what happened to make you who you are, but part of that is the people you've met, that have made an impact. That you've loved. It's the same for all of us." Merrill is a clan giving her away and a clan giving up, the death of everyone she once knew and the friends she never expected to find. Merrill is the destruction of a chantry and an invasion by Qunari. But Merrill is also Hawke's adventurous spirit, Varric's watchful eye, and Isabela's taste for freedom; she is the alienage's sense of community and the Inquisition's sense of purpose. She will be Asher, too; not his charm, maybe, but perhaps some of his boldness, perhaps some of his bravery.

"Then- well, then I imagine it depends on what we do with those parts." Many broken, yes, but many whole, and all put together as one. It's like the stained glass in the chantry, a dozen different colors but fused neatly into something more. "What you did for me was be a friend, someone who made me laugh, and I've never been good enough at words to really tell you how much that means to me. But it means a lot, Asher. It gave me some of that happiness."

Don't go to your grave thinking you weren't anything, that you didn't have a home. Home, too, is what you make it -- and he had a home with them, with the Boneflayers, with the Inquisition.

"You ever been somewhere like this before? Where the snows wait just right for an avalanche? Can build for weeks, months, years, then all it takes is one well-timed crack and down it comes tumbling, might sweep you away and bury you until the thaw if you're not careful? He's like that." What a cheerful thought, the idea of an avalanche in Skyhold but well, someone has to think of the realities of sticking an entire refugee camp in a valley when they've spent a decent chunk of their life living in mountain terrain.

Rolling his eyes, he gives her a very light shove since it's Merrill. Or more since he's weak as a kitten but distinctly lacking in the the claws department. "That's rude, telling her she couldn't be a wolf. She is what she is. So fucking what if she was a wolf for it, that's discrimination that is." Someone get on that shit for him, he's too ill and busy rotting to get on the soapbox, especially when he's still salty about Adelaide being so up her own arse saving Anders. "And location, location, location. Broken a few beds. Tables. One or two walls in my time too. An antique fancy Orlesian couch, no one was happy about that after but at the time everyone was pleased."

Seeing as he couldn't really warn the lady about the impending cracking furniture because she was kind of...sitting on his face so you know what yeah, they began their friendship talking about dicks and sex, they should go out this way. This is how some people bet Asher would die okay.

"Tell him he's not allowed any of my homebrew. The deliveries from the farm are still going to keep coming, but he's banned. If he even looks at it it'll go flat," he jokes because Templars are such buzzkills badum-tssh. "D'you want a tip? Tight trousers. Tight trousers and tall boots, it's a cracking view. D'you get it."

Kirkwall happened to Asher to a lesser extent than to Liadan, when there was screaming and a month of silence when the destruction of the Chantry and all the ensuing chaos came to them. Asher is you have no place in the world at fifteen, Eleanor's hand on his arm, a very real sort of fear that finally cut through the anger, the sense of shame, something that felt like drowning. "Don't worry what people think. I… fucking did." Gwen said as much to him, carefully enough that it didn't feel as if she'd laid him open to the bone but then that's Gwen and him in a way, and maybe it's surprising that Asher does care but he had to learn to care, to think about being a person again and not just a weapon to go cleave limbs. "S'not worth it. Eats you up inside, swallows everything up and turns it dark, that's all you'll ever see if you think about that. Whenever someone tells you not to think a thing or do it, that's all you want to do. It's the same with this just worse, it's there, and you think maybe if you go digging around you'll scrape it out. You don't."

Asher has enough scars to know that you don't, that you can't, that some things are what they are, that you pick up and move on, make a new life and a new family. He's just bitter enough that it took long enough for him to do it, long enough for it to get in his head, to make itself a nest of all the fears and whatever else there is in there.

"You need anything...after. Let them know. They'll sort it. Whatever you need. Family is family." Which is Asher's bad awkward way of saying he loves you too Merrill and also 'sorry that Yngvi is going to be A Thing In Your Life'.

He isn't wrong, either. Haven already had an avalanche, and yet- there they are again, not preparing for an avalanche, as far as Merrill could see. Sure, the Herald had set off the avalanche in Haven for the good of all, but it could happen while there are still people in the valley itself.

"See, that's what I said, but I was overruled because she was on my team. I did get to put some war paint on her, though. It wouldn't have stuck on wolf fur." So- that was good, or something.

A- cracking view. Merrill blinks for a moment, tilting her head- and then starts to giggle. Yes. Yes, she gets it.

Don't worry what people think, though. That is harder. She trained her whole life to be a leader, to be someone people look up to. She had to worry what people would think. And now she's just Merrill, and she isn't really sure what that means, either. "I can get- obsessive, sometimes. You should have seen me while I was in Kirkwall." When she wasn't eating, wasn't sleeping, because she couldn't get her eluvian to work. She's better now, or she likes to think she is. In truth, nothing has so fully grabbed her attention; she doesn't really know.

She holds his hand tighter, shifting forward to press a kiss to Asher's forehead. He feels hot, burning up, and closer she can smell illness, infection. "They can ask me, too. I'll tell them that, but they might listen and actually do it if it's from you, too."

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Cold upon the mountain

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