[ Some of the people that Merrill lost are people she had to kill herself. Her Keeper, her clan, their swords and bows listed in malice and their hearts shut to her -- she remembers each of their names, carved each into a stone in the garden of Skyhold. Others faded away, vanished into the night like a sheep taken by wolves. Some of them have come back. Some of them are still missing (Hawke is still missing), and on days like this, Merrill doesn't know if they'll ever be found.
She has been the one to leave, too. She left both clans, once because it was her duty as a mage and once because it was her duty as a member of the People, but only one was ever really her choice. There are people she will never see again, people who would not want to see her. But Asher- Asher had been a friend, someone who made her laugh, who didn't care about her vallaslin or her confusion over human customs. He had loved her, in his way, and she had loved him in hers, and there had been nothing she could have done to save him.
(There is still the knife at her belt. There is still the blood in her veins. There is still her magic. But she hadn't tried it, and she will never know if it would have worked, or if it would have been worth it.)
She holds tight to Mal, rubbing his back. As much as she grieves, she can only imagine that Mal grieves more. Warriors are not meant to die slowly in bed, and it is always hardest on their fellows in arms. Even Honeysuckle knows, unusually quiet when he would otherwise be raising a fuss over not being out and moving when partially tacked up; he shifts slightly, but it is background noise that dims under the beating of Mal's heart beneath her ear. ]
Ir abelas, [ she whispers, not even sure if he can hear her, if he knows the words. ] Ir abelas, ma vhenan.
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She has been the one to leave, too. She left both clans, once because it was her duty as a mage and once because it was her duty as a member of the People, but only one was ever really her choice. There are people she will never see again, people who would not want to see her. But Asher- Asher had been a friend, someone who made her laugh, who didn't care about her vallaslin or her confusion over human customs. He had loved her, in his way, and she had loved him in hers, and there had been nothing she could have done to save him.
(There is still the knife at her belt. There is still the blood in her veins. There is still her magic. But she hadn't tried it, and she will never know if it would have worked, or if it would have been worth it.)
She holds tight to Mal, rubbing his back. As much as she grieves, she can only imagine that Mal grieves more. Warriors are not meant to die slowly in bed, and it is always hardest on their fellows in arms. Even Honeysuckle knows, unusually quiet when he would otherwise be raising a fuss over not being out and moving when partially tacked up; he shifts slightly, but it is background noise that dims under the beating of Mal's heart beneath her ear. ]
Ir abelas, [ she whispers, not even sure if he can hear her, if he knows the words. ] Ir abelas, ma vhenan.