[ He's been manfully holding up Korrin through the aftermath, trying to do what he can for the Boneflayers since they're Asher's Crew, try'n to not lose his goddamn mind. But it's Merrill and he can't not. ]
Sure. I'll, uh. I'll be right 'round t'pick you and Honeysuckle up, yeah?
[ She needs to be busy. But she also needs to prepare, and considering the fact that the Dalish and the Avvar don't always get along (story of their lives, she supposes), she feels she needs to make a good impression.
And she needs to make sure Mal is okay. Not just because Korrin asked, but because it's Mal. ]
I just have to drop Barkley off- we're going to see if he can't make Bronson feel a little better. Then I'll be ready.
[ It feels like she should say more. There have to be more words for something like this. But nothing comes, and Merrill disconnects to go bring Barkley to Korrin.
When she goes to the stables, it's with saddlebags filled with rations (just in case), Honeysuckle's soft leather tack (she hadn't particularly wanted to use any on him at all, but he is- spirited) easy to put on now that she's had practice. As soon as she sees Mal, though, she'll abandon it to wrap her arms around him. ]
[ Spear, bow, Sasha tacked up and ready, her soft nose butting into Mal's shoulder as he leans to press his forehead against her cheek. Jayne leaning against his legs in a sign of commiseration. He don't lose people like this.
He loses them, mark his words, they go- but not like this. Not long and aching and drawn out. A quick shot, a sudden blade, a harsh storm. That's how he loses people. To the inevitable, to the fickle fates, to the sea. To something expected. A quick cut that mends clean and leaves another scar-
Not this long, raggedy thing that cleaves deep and won't heal right for some time. He's subdued when he turns to face Merrill, quiet when he loops his arms around her. Dead silent when he presses his face into her hair and takes a slow, shuddering breath. ]
[ 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.
[ All the languages he'd learned- never much put mind to the elven tongue. All lilting and odd, airy, best spoken in soft whispers not meant for human ears. He doesn't know what it means, what Merrill says. But her arms are 'round him tight and her voice is soft and so maker damned kind that it's like a knife. But she's lost Asher just as much as him. They were friends too. And oh how he'd be laugh'n if he went and fucked this up now, wouldn't he? Sit back and tell him he owes it to them both to be good to Merrill. Show her a good time.
Later, when the hurt's less. When they can both breathe without bleed'n.
His hand comes up to smooth her hair back, head tucking down to rest against her scalp. She's so slim, is Merrill, like most elves. Fine and fair and delicate in ways that say she oughta be fragile. But there's a strength in the arms that cling to him. A braided, whipcord steel that makes him hug back just as tight without think'n. He won't hurt her. Won't bruise her. She's stood up against worst things, he's sure. You don't lose people on the regular without build'n up a little steel. ]
You loved him too, huh?
[ In their own ways. Low and tightly wound and friendly. Asher was like that, pick'n up sorts that cared. ]
[ Love is something that Merrill gives freely, without reservation. She knows many don't believe in it the same way that she does, believe you can only love a few people and not everyone. That Mal can ask her if she loved Asher as well is a good sign, she thinks; he loves too, close enough to the same way that she thinks he understands. ]
I did.
[ There's a soft, quiet sigh. Love and loss -- how often they seem to go together. And nothing that she was able to do for any of those she's lost, but she can't stop wondering what if.
One hand reaches up, her fingers gently tracing along the line of his jaw. ]
[ Not everyone wants it or needs it but- there'd been a hole in Asher Hardie. Something no amount of fucking and fighting and drinking could fill. Something only family and understanding could manage- only friends and affection could begin to top off. He don't rightly know why he felt so bereft-
But Mal was pleased as anything to offer his share. ]
He needs- needed. It. [ Past tense and that'll always feel like swallowing glass, won't it? Mal distracts himself by turning his face enough, pressing lips that aren't as cut as they feel they ought to be against her palm. Murmurs like it's a secret she oughta hold fast to. ] We'd joke about gett'n married. You ever hear that? 'Bout mak'n an honest man outta him.
[ Asher had always been kinder than he had appeared, at least to Merrill. A honey badger with emphasis on the honey, with claws that he hadn't ever dug into her. So many of those who had come to the Inquisition had seemed alone even when surrounded, and Merrill thinks that she's drawn to them because she understands it.
Mal is like that, sometimes. They all have their pasts that they don't want to bring up, emptiness that they can't fill by themselves. ]
I hadn't, [ but she laughs slightly, thumb stroking his cheekbone. ] I know when I went to see him, he'd tease me about how you'd be offended that I was seeing him without you. I told him that you'd just have to deal with it.
[ No romantic relationship will prevent her from seeing her friends. But that is something she thinks Mal will understand himself, will appreciate. ]
I'm sure it would have been a lovely ceremony, though.
All het up cuz I missed out. Don't rightly know if I ever saw the two a'you together. Musta been a sight. The hijinks that must have ensued.
[ Two people that he held dear knock'n around together? It woulda been somth'n to see. His heart twists in his chest at the thought- knowing he'll never get that chance. But they got their memories. They got their stories to share. It'll haveta be enough. ]
You coulda been our flower girl. Pranc'n down the procession, toss'n flowers everywhere. I think that's what you do at weddings.
I think we scandalized all of Skyhold once, [ she muses. But- she knows. All the things that could have been, that should have been, that now can't happen. It's hard. It hurts. ]
Probably not at Avvar weddings, but I don't know which one of you would sing. [ Out of all she doesn't know about Avvar, she knows this bit thanks to Asher. ] I'd have had Bronson and Jayne come with me, running through the flowers.
[ At the mention of Jayne, she drops her hand down to scratch the dog behind the ears; she hasn't forgotten about you, dearest. ]
[ He tips his head down, brushing her hair with his lips, chuffing soft laughter into the dark strands. Oh how his heart aches. How his very bones ache. And they got a long ride yet. Still he's in no hurry to leave the warmth of the stable.
Jayne's even content for all that he needs a run, butting his muzzle up into Merrill's hand. ]
Prolly me. Asher had a unique sing'n voice. I'd need a coupla beers though. Or maybe you coulda sung, bet you got a lovely voice, Chatton.
[ They can hurt and be happy at the same time. Mal was a soldier. Merrill was the First, and this is not the first friend she has lost to something slow and smoldering instead of something fast. It doesn't make it hurt less, but it does mean she knows a bit more of how to handle it for herself.
But only a bit. ]
Oh- well, I don't know, really. I've only ever really sung for myself. [ And Honeysuckle, but he's never really expressed criticism about the singing. ] Asher told me that for Avvar weddings, the bride sings and the man marrying her has to untie knots. However many knots he unties are the number of years they're married for.
[ There's a little laugh, her head tilting back slightly so she can look up at Mal. Jayne gets another scratch and then her hand moves to find one of Mal's instead. ]
I imagine he'd have made sure the wedding was like that. Honest, but only for a little bit.
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[ He's been manfully holding up Korrin through the aftermath, trying to do what he can for the Boneflayers since they're Asher's Crew, try'n to not lose his goddamn mind. But it's Merrill and he can't not. ]
Sure. I'll, uh. I'll be right 'round t'pick you and Honeysuckle up, yeah?
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And she needs to make sure Mal is okay. Not just because Korrin asked, but because it's Mal. ]
I just have to drop Barkley off- we're going to see if he can't make Bronson feel a little better. Then I'll be ready.
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[ He swallows down something low and wretched that has no place in his throat. ]
Jayne needs a run anyhow. He'll be glad t'see ya.
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[ It feels like she should say more. There have to be more words for something like this. But nothing comes, and Merrill disconnects to go bring Barkley to Korrin.
When she goes to the stables, it's with saddlebags filled with rations (just in case), Honeysuckle's soft leather tack (she hadn't particularly wanted to use any on him at all, but he is- spirited) easy to put on now that she's had practice. As soon as she sees Mal, though, she'll abandon it to wrap her arms around him. ]
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He loses them, mark his words, they go- but not like this. Not long and aching and drawn out. A quick shot, a sudden blade, a harsh storm. That's how he loses people. To the inevitable, to the fickle fates, to the sea. To something expected. A quick cut that mends clean and leaves another scar-
Not this long, raggedy thing that cleaves deep and won't heal right for some time. He's subdued when he turns to face Merrill, quiet when he loops his arms around her. Dead silent when he presses his face into her hair and takes a slow, shuddering breath. ]
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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.
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Later, when the hurt's less. When they can both breathe without bleed'n.
His hand comes up to smooth her hair back, head tucking down to rest against her scalp. She's so slim, is Merrill, like most elves. Fine and fair and delicate in ways that say she oughta be fragile. But there's a strength in the arms that cling to him. A braided, whipcord steel that makes him hug back just as tight without think'n. He won't hurt her. Won't bruise her. She's stood up against worst things, he's sure. You don't lose people on the regular without build'n up a little steel. ]
You loved him too, huh?
[ In their own ways. Low and tightly wound and friendly. Asher was like that, pick'n up sorts that cared. ]
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I did.
[ There's a soft, quiet sigh. Love and loss -- how often they seem to go together. And nothing that she was able to do for any of those she's lost, but she can't stop wondering what if.
One hand reaches up, her fingers gently tracing along the line of his jaw. ]
Do you want to talk about it? About him?
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[ Not everyone wants it or needs it but- there'd been a hole in Asher Hardie. Something no amount of fucking and fighting and drinking could fill. Something only family and understanding could manage- only friends and affection could begin to top off. He don't rightly know why he felt so bereft-
But Mal was pleased as anything to offer his share. ]
He needs- needed. It. [ Past tense and that'll always feel like swallowing glass, won't it? Mal distracts himself by turning his face enough, pressing lips that aren't as cut as they feel they ought to be against her palm. Murmurs like it's a secret she oughta hold fast to. ] We'd joke about gett'n married. You ever hear that? 'Bout mak'n an honest man outta him.
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Mal is like that, sometimes. They all have their pasts that they don't want to bring up, emptiness that they can't fill by themselves. ]
I hadn't, [ but she laughs slightly, thumb stroking his cheekbone. ] I know when I went to see him, he'd tease me about how you'd be offended that I was seeing him without you. I told him that you'd just have to deal with it.
[ No romantic relationship will prevent her from seeing her friends. But that is something she thinks Mal will understand himself, will appreciate. ]
I'm sure it would have been a lovely ceremony, though.
no subject
[ Two people that he held dear knock'n around together? It woulda been somth'n to see. His heart twists in his chest at the thought- knowing he'll never get that chance. But they got their memories. They got their stories to share. It'll haveta be enough. ]
You coulda been our flower girl. Pranc'n down the procession, toss'n flowers everywhere. I think that's what you do at weddings.
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Probably not at Avvar weddings, but I don't know which one of you would sing. [ Out of all she doesn't know about Avvar, she knows this bit thanks to Asher. ] I'd have had Bronson and Jayne come with me, running through the flowers.
[ At the mention of Jayne, she drops her hand down to scratch the dog behind the ears; she hasn't forgotten about you, dearest. ]
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[ He tips his head down, brushing her hair with his lips, chuffing soft laughter into the dark strands. Oh how his heart aches. How his very bones ache. And they got a long ride yet. Still he's in no hurry to leave the warmth of the stable.
Jayne's even content for all that he needs a run, butting his muzzle up into Merrill's hand. ]
Prolly me. Asher had a unique sing'n voice. I'd need a coupla beers though. Or maybe you coulda sung, bet you got a lovely voice, Chatton.
no subject
But only a bit. ]
Oh- well, I don't know, really. I've only ever really sung for myself. [ And Honeysuckle, but he's never really expressed criticism about the singing. ] Asher told me that for Avvar weddings, the bride sings and the man marrying her has to untie knots. However many knots he unties are the number of years they're married for.
[ There's a little laugh, her head tilting back slightly so she can look up at Mal. Jayne gets another scratch and then her hand moves to find one of Mal's instead. ]
I imagine he'd have made sure the wedding was like that. Honest, but only for a little bit.