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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Reaching over, Korrin hands him the waterskin and moves over to pat Bronson. What a good boy. She'd take him out for some exercise, but he won't want to leave Asher and she can hardly blame him for that. So, they'll just keep him company together.

"You know, we're supposed to visit your hold together. I'm not letting you off the hook for that." She tries to smile, even though now the memory seems more bittersweet than anything else. So much for showing off in front of the hold and teasing Mal and Asher in front of his grandfather. Why hadn't they taken the time to do that before? Looking back now, they could have.

Downing the mixture, he grimaces when it mixes with the taste of old blood in his mouth, coughing and getting some of it in his beard. It's embarrassing. Not the usual slight mess but this is being an old done man. Not even thirty and here he is and he is trying.

"I've not lost my wits." Would it be easier for him if he had? Sometimes it's more merciful when he's feverish because then hours are swallowed up without dragging on endlessly, without him being so aware of how little time he has left, and that this is where it'll be. Trapped in a tent, staring at canvas all around him, a sour stink about him. "I was going to tell Thane Ragnhild that the game was scarce, so we'd need to battle by verse. You could've lifted me, Yngvi and Gunnar could've doubled up to hoist him." The slip into past tense wasn't planned but it happens, and that's as good as an admission, isn't it, if the way he slips into stone silence is any judge.

That grimace, and sour sceent and his slipping into past tense all tear at her heart, and Korrin looks away, blinking back tears. She takes a deep, steadying breath before she gets the urge to stand and punch something. Maybe it won't happen now, but later on in the day a random bear or whatever is likely going to suffer because that urge.

"Oh, fucking hell. That's the best image ever, both parts. I'd do that in a heartbeat, you know it. And that arena thing, to see how many Avvar we could all take on at once. We'd have been hurting after, but...so worth it." And now, well...she can't bring herself to speak of that. Not in reference to herself, anyway. It hurts too much. "Mal will be so disappointed, you know, not to get paraded around like a new bride to the family. What's he supposed to do now, huh?"

She'll take care of him as much as she can, with Merrill of course. But it won't change what they could have had, and she knows it.

All Asher can do is look at her, making as if to shrug or to smile in apology but he can't get his body to do it so he reaches out his hand for hers instead. He doesn't know what to do, and Korrin lost people already, she doesn't need this. Doesn't need to lose him too, she already almost lost him once. Easier to talk. To fill the silence with nonsense while he still can.

"Sing terrible songs to Merrill. Get more dogs you'll make fat because you can't help yourself. Have babies that'll get their looks from Merrill maybe." There's something that lodges painfully, the thing Asher hasn't even told them, hasn't told anyone, can't tell them now because he should have done it and it's too late. "They'll have horses, Mal's stupid he likes them even if all they do is shit, get spooked, and shit some more."

Somewhere beneath those jokes, jokes about tying knots in particular is a boy with Asher's face. Not Asher's ghosts though. Never Asher's great terrible scars. Brynjar's mother loves him, he won't have Asher to ruin him. Lady let Korrin and Mal understand, let them forgive him for staying his tongue while he was alive.

Losing people never stops hurting, but at least Korrin had the comfort of knowing that those she'd lost before went quickly. It may have been a horrific death, but their suffering wasn't prolonged. This slow shutting down isn't anything she's seen before and as much as she knows it's a thing, it's so difficult to reconcile it with a certain Avvar. Not Asher, the man most likely to die while jumping onto a dragon or some equally terrifying creature.

She huffs, a sound of sad amusement as she holds onto that hand, squeezing it gently. "The horses...eh, we'll probably never win that battle. He's too set in his ways. There will be a legion of fat dogs, though, I promise. None will be safe from me." Speaking of dogs, if not exactly fat ones, Korrin glances to Bronson fondly. Poor pooch, this can't be easy for him. "And how's my favorite mabari? Being just the right amount of pest, I hope?"

Jayne is her favorite mabari, too. They're all her favorites, whenever they're with her. Shh, don't force to choose, she never ever will.

Liadan together with the dwarves keeps a fat purse of all the various bets people have made about how Asher Hardie will die and anything involving a bed tended to be some sort of joke about sex gone horribly wrong (or horribly right), or a bear falling through the roof, or one person saying that maybe Asher would shock them all and make it until he was old and grey, a final fuck you.

"I'll have my lads do things. Terrible things. You will never have spices again, they're Carta dwarves Korrin-" Another coughing fit, will they ever end, he's tired of them now more than anything, tired of it all, of the way he can feel his body shuddering apart each time. "He's being a good boy. Best boy I could ask for, top lad isn't that right?"

Bronson barks, and it covers up that Asher's voice is thick with tears. He knows who'll take his dog but it's always been Asher and Bronson, Bronson and Asher, and he's scared for his old boy without him.

"Pfft, carta. My kadan's a bard, I'd bet on her instead any day--" That coughing fit has her straightening up in her chair, her lips forming a thin, worried line. It's no more alarming than the last one, but she can't imagine the toll they're taking on him. "If you won't let me get you liquor, is there something else you want instead? You know I won't be stingy. Besides, I think Bronson here is entitled to a mabari crunch for taking such good care of you."

She leans over to pat Bronson, giving him the physical affection she wish she could give Asher. But for the first time ever, she's worried about inadvertently hurting him. It causes a lump to form in her throat, and she can only hope that Mal is around to lean on later.

"Carta gets shit done. They don't shove a lute up their arse and paint their face then call it a day." Asher's been to the parties, he knows what bards get up to, and Korrin's girl is Korrin's girl but that doesn't mean he can't say what he wants to about her when he's defending his gutter rats.

When Korrin offers, he recalls last time. How she didn't bring him maraas-lok. The complaints he'd rattled off to anyone who would listen but this time he looks over to his hound instead with a smile, watching them quietly. He nods his agreement to that part - he's earned treats this time, she's not wrong there - but when it comes to himself? "I...I don't want anything." The laughter is a shocked huff, one that could go either way, that could tip over and dissolve into a hysterical edge. "First time in my life I'm not even hungry either. There's some tea Gwenaelle brought me, or herbs in water. Better than what the healers are giving me."

It doesn't taste like failed attempts to cure him. More like bitter teas in need of sugar he wouldn't bother with anyway, too sharp and tart, just the way he likes some things anyway.

If Asher were as hale as he ought to be, Korrin would roll her eyes and give him a shove for that remark about bards. As it is, a shove is probably the last thing he needs, and she won't be the source of more pain. So she'll just stick with the eye-rolling instead.

The lack of complaining, let alone the refusal of anything stronger, causes those eyes of hers to darken with worry. No appetite, no being an obnoxious patient...it's not right, any of it. She nods at mention of Gwenalle, taking note and holding off from her usual opinions this time. Anyone who's kind to Asher as he is now deserves that much. "Yeah, well, change your mind and I'll stage a kitchen raid. Avery might never forgive me, but that's a burden I'm willing to take on. You're worth it."

He hates this. He hates being treated like an invalid. Part of him wants to just shout for Yngvi and Gunnar, tell them to make a show out of it and charge admission (they'd do that anyway but this way he'll get his cut, or some of a cut): Come one, come all, come see the great Asher Hardie lying in a bed like a useless fuck, rotting from the inside out, dying soft. Dying soft, dying unremarkable, dying and just having to accept it.

Not yet. Not yet and he savagely finds another wound from so long ago that's decided to sour as well, a scar that's turned angry purple, scratches as if it's just itchy until his fingers aren't wet but everything burns.

"Avery? Who's Avery?" He's desperate for distraction.

Korrin's not good at ignoring issues that are right in front of her, preferring to deal with them head-on even if that's a bigger headache initially. But she'll let Asher have his way, at least for now. He has it hard enough as it is, and she has no desire to make it worse on him. Plus, the longer they can go without talking about the nuggalope in the room, the longer she can hope it's not truly happening. It's not like her to live in denial, but something tells her that won't be an issue for long, anyway.

"Oh, she's one of the cooks. Prickly, not long on social skills, but for a Fereldan cook, she knows what she's doing when it comes to the kitchen. I still prefer Burly myself, the Tal-Vashoth guy who makes a mean curry." Thank the Maker for Araceli and her persuasive abilities, as Korrin knows she'd be suffering without them.

"You missed out on a good time at Rivain, by the way." Her tone is only a little sarcastic. The mission itself was horrific, but the thought of having Asher at her back for it wouldn't have been. "Cutting down Templars, rescuing mages, getting overstuffed at my grandma's place...she pretty much already adopted Mal and Kas. You should've seen him passed out with his face in the plate, it was hilarious."

Usually Asher's the same but Korrin's parents loved her. Still love her. Asher knows that from the way she talks about her family and that he's actually met them; they've been to the Holdings but they can't have mistaken the tension for anything other than what it was. Korrin has seen all of Asher's scars on the surface, she's known him without an awful lot of the scars he carries with him now but she doesn't know the fine tracery under his skin, the kind invisible to those that don't bear the same marks.

"She's a Fereldan cook, if she's cooked anywhere else she's probably had everyone wondering aloud if she knows this from that, if she's even seen this before," he waves a hand. (Attempts to, it gets about an inch up and flops back down heavily to the bed. Asher pretends not to notice. Asher is getting good at that now.)

"We don't go to Rivain if we can help it. Out of respect. Weird shit happens in Rivain anyway." It occurs to him that she wouldn't even really know that; Asher goes everywhere if he has to but there's Nasir, and Nasir doesn't want to go to Rivain despite being Rivaini, no more than Melisende wants to set foot within Halamshiral. Asher gets that. "He's the short one, yeah? Never thought I'd see a little Vashoth unless you or Lena spawned." And that needs to stop sticking under his tongue, under his ribs, all the people Korrin has never met but will in a matter of weeks because she's a good friend.

That last comment gets a scoff and eyeroll out of Korrin, who just shakes her head. "No, fuck that. Maybe I'll adopt one day, but I'm not putting up with birthing anything except a food baby. Lena's the same damn way, though she puts up with Tal-Vashoth guys better than I do." Not that she minds guys, just not of her own kind. There's usually too much baggage from the Qun for them to unwrap, and Korrin doesn't want to be the one to help them with that, not after dealing with one freaking out in her bed.

And try as she might, Korrin can't recall any reason for the Boneflayers to avoid Rivain. Though now that she thinks about it, all of their mutual jobs have been elsewhere. So, she raises an eyebrow. "Weird shit happens everywhere, but what makes Rivain worth avoiding?" The best food ever, clothing-optional beaches...no, there isn't anything to dislike about that corner of Thedas, other than the too-close proximity to Par Vollen.

"Well there goes ten sovereigns to Liadan," he wheezes. Not that they were betting on that. Not that Liadan would tell. Inscrutable that one in the way only Coterie (ex-Coterie but well, she's still got the face) can be so good luck getting an answer out of her. What smile there is on his face slides right off but Nasir probably won't care.

Asher's not going to be around long enough for him to care. The Boneflayers probably won't stay, or they'll stay away for a time, he thinks they'll come back and keep looking for work and establish themselves again with Melisende and Liadan at the head, maybe get a few new folks. But they need to heal. So he won't be angry if Asher says something to a friend about this.

"Nasir's from Rivain. Didn't you think that one of Zevran's kestrels looked familiar?" Enough that Asher had spoken to Zevran about it, and then Nasir's twin (there's no denying it, they've all stood and stared at them side by side and there are memories, everyone but Amalia slipped away then, she was moral support the same way the kestrels were for Nasir's brother). Ill as he is, he still watches Korrin, waits to see if she thinks it through, if she puts the pieces together. "He had some family that went for the Qun but they grew up on ships and around docks. Until they didn't. Until just Nasir did."

Korrin quirks an eyebrow at mention of a bet with Liadan, which would have claimed her focus if Asher hadn't kept going. Not that she really cares enough to keep talking about children, anyway. With everything even more of a mess than it usually is, having them in any sense is the furthest thing from her mind.

At mention of Zevran's kestrals, her brow furrows...then those eyebrows shoot straight up after a moment. "...Andraste's ass. No, I didn't see it at the time. I was too damn angry about what happened to Zevran with the Crows and what they did to him. I told him it was a waste of time to keep those remaining alive, certain they didn't deserve it and would just turn on him anyway." She sighs and rests her head in her palms. "Now I'm even gladder that he didn't listen to me."

Sorry, Nasir. If it had been up to her, his own kin would be dead right now. It's times like this that remind her why she's glad to to be in any leadership role. She's too hotheaded to see beyond the moment at times. Not that anyone could have predicted that, exactly, but Zevran's kestrals have proven to do more good than harm.

If there's one fine tradition of the Boneflayers that does not extend to those that aren't contracted members, then it's the complicated system of bets and wagers that are set up, where Yngvi and Gunnar collect the bets, and Liadan handles and keeps track of the financials involved.

"Don't think Nasir remembered. Don't think Nasir wanted to remember but when they all decided to stay after--" Korrin knows, no sense in reminding her about what isn't going to happen again, that there won't be some miracle recovery where Asher is his old self ever again. "Well seeing a ghost in the flesh brings it back. Zevran explained more about Crows than I think I wanted to know. S'good for him. Having that. One of the girls didn't seem so fond of you when we all went over so I s'pose that explains it." No skin off Asher's nose really, he wasn't there, he didn't really want to know beyond telling the lad that he was family but Asher has spent just as much time collecting bounties and hauling people in as he has straight-up taking skulls.

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Cold upon the mountain

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