Cold upon the mountain

[hlif]

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.

Comments

[unbrokenoath]

We should be used to it, Kaisa had said at Herc's wake. We should be used to losing people, we've lost so many. That was a month ago, and like bad food that waited until you thought you were safe to lay you smack on the floor, Kaisa finds out that even now she's still not used to it.

She's twitchy and on edge, like she was at the wake. Suppressing any emotions that hurts, that shows weakness, has been a great talent of hers for years, and anger is the closest that she can manage. Outside of the entrance to the healing tents, she paces back and forth, occasionally letting small frustrated noises out. Finally, when she notices the healers peeking out to see why there was a pissed off Warden stalking them, she went inside.

She stops when she gets to Asher's bed, chewing her lip hard for a moment, before she finally speaks. Even then, she can't quite hold still. She shifts position, shifts around, crosses and uncrosses her arms.

"Fuckin' ass," She greets him lovingly. "Told you t' be careful. Told you t' come back safe. Ya listen like a bear with his ass on fire, you do."

[hlif]

Nasir had gone looking for her at the behest of Yngvi and Gunnar (Gwen is present so often by Asher's side, they will stay where Gwen stays, and they will fetch and carry for the elven woman though she rarely needs it, trotting along as silent sentinels in stark contrast to their usual constant chatter) but had returned empty-handed, a message left with his twin amongst Zevran's Kestrels to be safe.

When he spots her he's almost relieved. Relieved as he can muster and slips in before she does to emerge with Amalia, his arm tight around her, lips to her temple. Their grief does not belong to strangers though they watch and wait until she steps inside before they leave to finally eat, to find comfort in one another. To remember that they are alive.

"Heard you don't listen much better: told them that not all my old man's homebrew for the wake was for you." Asher's first shot is cheap but Asher had skipper the wake on the grounds that a dying man (he'd known then, he'd felt it settle over him, in him, had clumsily tried to ask Benevenuta if Hercules had known how to be ready for it, if a man could be ready for it) had no place at such a thing. Knowing is one thing, admission is another. He waves the healer out; you can't do much for Asher's wounds at this stage. (Asher doesn't know how the wake went, he drank, he prayed, he cried. He knows Kaisa. He knows how potent Hardie Holdings Homebrew is. He can add two and two.)

Listen, Asher is still in this great land called Denial, Next Stop Fuck You If You Think I'm Talking About It. (She'll be so pissed if she finds out he can drop his guard around Orlesian nobles for this shit, he'd lay down a bet with the boys but his boys would cry.)

[unbrokenoath]

She wants to keep pacing, moving like she's afraid of reality catching up to her. But that would make it hard to speak to Asher, and probably look fucking dumb. She takes the seat previously occupied by own of his mercenaries, moving stiffly, not that boneless and uncaring way she usually does. She's still restless, though, and she doesn't look at Asher right away. Her laugh at his teasing has no humor.

"Yeah, well, I'm real charming and convincing. Didn't drink it all, though. Took three people t' keep me from tryin' to kick up trouble. If I'd drank it all, would've taken twice that." Her smile has as little humor as her laugh, and she runs a hand through her hair, fluffing it enough that it all but stands on end before slowly drifting back down. "For my wake, I'm gonna demand people have a tavern brawl. 'Course, I don't plan on going t' my Calling. Hopefully, I'll be dead before then." It's easier, oddly, to talk about her own eventual but inevitable death, than the one looming far closer.

"My personal goal is t' be the Warden that kills the next archdemon, but ya gotta be realistic. I'd settle for killing Corypheus' weird dragon thing. That's close enough." At least she knows how to set realistic goals. She pauses for a moment, then turns away to glare death and destruction upon the roof of the tent, all while reaching over to set her hand on Asher's arm. It's a step forward.

[hlif]

Trying to keep track of people moving around too much is either exhausting or it's something that comes with a heavy side of nausea so he appreciates it when she settles. Right now he likes knowing just where everyone is. He wonders, briefly, what Hercules would say about this and part of him wishes the old man was here until he has to give himself a real shake because men like Hercules that can go to their deaths resolute shouldn't have to be around someone like Asher who can't accept the inevitable. Men like Hercules shouldn't have to watch men young enough to be their sons wasting away. (He isn't thinking of his father who hasn't really been his father in anything more than a conversational sense in years.)

"If you drank it all your liver would've climbed out and left you," Asher tells her since he knows these things, because one of his first drinks was trying Stafford's ales. Just us Asher my lad, Stafford had said and his moustache had been gold in the light as he'd clinked his cup against Asher's. Asher hadn't liked the taste of it yet but he'd learned, learned that certain drinks could be a meal if they had enough malt in them, and if you had the will to think of them that way. Her words pull him back and out of his memories, pull his smile too tight. "Kaisa, f'fuck's sake," that comes out as one breath that's fondly exasperated because that's sort of them isn't it?

"You're not high enough up the food chain for that. Not even for his dragon - you even killed a normal dragon yet? Don't recall you running off after one in Emprise du Lion. Or in the Approach, think I would've heard about that. They send in the big ones for that. Sharks, not minnows." He's being a shit but you can't hit dying men so haha, the joke's on you Kaisa.

[unbrokenoath]

"You know what, Asher? Fuck you, that's what." She says it with a fondness of her own, trying to frown at him, but defaulting to a smug smile with a snort. She squares her shoulders, puffs out her chest, like she is going to gain something from trying to look bigger than she is. She likes doing it with men who are bigger than her, or when her ego has taken a blow, but after a few moments, she realizes...He doesn't look as big. He hasn't shrunk, but there's something withering within him. He's smaller, now. And slowly, she deflates.

"I'll tell you what, Asher. I'll kill that fucking dragon, I'll kill a normal dragon. I'll kill ten dragons. And I'll--" Show them to him? Give them to some fucking bird so it can take it to where his soul is? Shove it in a rift and hope it rattles around to him? She stops abruptly, fingers digging into her legs.

"Chug the blood, I guess, because that's what fucking idiots who like getting skewered do." She hisses instead, and there's a moment where her voice cracks. She glares at her hands, and she wants to yell, wants to shout at Asher, how dare he? How dare he make her have to suffer through this, right after Herc? But you don't fucking yell at dying men, and Kaisa naturally filters grief into anger. It makes it hard to speak.

Her hand goes for Asher's hand, instead. Actions are easier than words, anyway.

[hlif]

There's been so much talking lately, and it isn't that Asher isn't honest since it's Asher, because he would rather let a person know where they stand, same as he wants to know where he stands with them, and this is hard. With his own crew it's easy. They know him. Know what he'll say before he says it, that give and take that just comes so naturally, and he's known Korrin and Mal near as long as he's known them. Gwen too who has been...well she's been stronger than most of Skyhold would ever give her credit for.

Warriors are never good at this, and Asher is tired. If Kaisa is expecting him to be able to continue with jokes the way he did when he was a mess then she'll be disappointed, and that's something he can live with.

"Kain hasn't been skewered and he leaps into the air, so if a rifter's got more sense than you…" Well what does that say about you, but oh yeah, not a Grey Warden, because that's always such a sterling life choice of great decisions. Herc Hansen was the best of them, and Asher will take that to his Lady same as he gave her, and Korth, and Hakkon all his prayers that he had told Benevenuta when he had struggled to hold it together. A man does not tell a friend's...not a widow but by the gods she had felt close enough for all Asher's jokes that he's dying when he goes to offer what paltry bullheaded attempts at comfort that he might.

Which is a reminder of the chest, actually. Fuck. He squeezes her hand back, rolling his eyes. "You touch that blood and Yngvi'll fuckin eat your arm."

[unbrokenoath]

"Can he even reach that high? And it won't be his blood. It'll be my blood, 'cause I killed the dragon myself. That's how shit goes. I'll lick the Maker-damned dragon if I gotta, Asher, that shit'll be mine." She tells him primly, rolling her eyes right back. But he squeezes her hand, and goddamn, her eyes are already stinging. There are more jokes there somewhere, about how she's a Warden, she's already got a death wish, but it falls flat even in her mind.

The hand not holding his presses hard against her upper lip, and she takes deep breathes, but the burning doesn't go away. Well, maybe it'll be okay. It's not like Asher's really in a place to get at her about being a crybaby, is he?

Her head lowers to rest against his arm, because it's not crying if he can't see the tears, right??? Right. That's how this shit works, Kaisa has decided it. For a few moments, she's silent, mouthing a prayer. She knows that Asher isn't a believer, but--well. The Maker loves all His children, and surely that includes grouchy Avvar. If you have to take him, grant him peace, grant him comfort. Please, take away his pain.

"D-Damn it, Asher." And it's impossible to hide the way her voice shakes. "I'm going to miss you."

[hlif]

"He climbs well, taught him like he was my own." Only he's not, Asher's got one of his own but Asher won't be the one teaching him how to climb, that'll be Sigrid, Aura if she keeps making the trips, everyone else in the hold but not Asher who'll be a story he tries to put a face to. Asher's face without the scars, brown hair not blonde. Not that she knows, not that any of them know. Just the hold, just Aura, just the Boneflayers, people who were all there for it. (He can't lie to Aura, doesn't feel right lying to a sweet girl that loves him that much.)

What is he meant to say to her? I'll miss you too? He'll be gone. And he's...he's made his peace with that or close enough, she missed the messiest days when it was hard, when he was chafing at it like it was something he could fight before the acceptance came forth. Before he remembered everything any Thane had ever taught him: that there was always a finger of cold in any tent. The Lady is waiting, and even her patience has limits. Say your goodbyes Asher Hardie, she seems to say each time the sides of the tent move with the wind. And I will take you away from all of this.

"I'll be with my gods. My gods haven't turned their backs on the world or been locked away. My gods are always here and living and watching and breathing. I told you that a long time ago." It feels a long time ago. Last time he was fully healthy at any rate.