It was late into the evening when Nostariel, having checked Ashtonās shop and the Hanged Man both, found herself climbing the hill towards what sheād come to think of as their spot, the one they often occupied after her archery lessons. That had been about half a year ago, and yet she still visited quite frequently, when she was seeking a moment of peace after a long day at the clinic. It was quite the hike for something like that, but entirely worth it, if you asked the Warden. The sun was falling past the horizon now, the last sliver of it just disappearing from the sky. Soon enough, Kirkwall and the area around it would be plunged into darkness, and she with it. The stars, though, were usually enough to remind her that she wasnāt in the Deep Roads anymore, and she loved them for it.
When she arrived, he was there, and from the line of bottles beside him, heād been present for quite a while. That many in, heād not likely be in a fit state for much, but then, she knew that from experience, and she wasnāt going to judge him for it. Whatever the demon had shown him had hurt him, deeply, and she could sympathize with that, too.
She stood for a moment, unsure how to break into the situation without feeling much like an ogre in a room full of fine ceramics. Just this morning, sheād been delighted to see him, and she thought it fair to say that heād been rather happy to see her, too. Now, she wasnāt sure how heād react to the intrusion. Nostariel fiddled absently with the hem of her shirt, studying her returned friend and deciding that he looked rather different, but still unmistakably like Ashton. Like Ashton, whoād not stood by like a nervous fool when she was at her lowest. She couldnāt do that, either.
Taking a breath, she stepped forward, enough to be easily noticeable, and settled herself a few feet from him, looking out at the same vista sheād gazed at regularly for at least a year. How strange, that time kept moving even when she was unaware of it. āYou donāt have to talk about it, if you donāt want to,ā she said quietly. āBut, if you do, Iām here.ā It sounded kind of pathetic, even to her own ears, but what else was she supposed to say? She had no idea what that face, those words, had meant to him, and she couldnāt tell him it was all okay when he so honestly seemed to believe that it wasnāt.
A fire popped in front of him, and he sat crosslegged staring intently into it. Behind him, not too far away, a series of white-fletched arrows protruded from a tree. In his lap sat the bow he had spent the better part of the past three years working on. Even in the dim light, it was a work of marvel, perhaps even more so, as the firelight danced around it. White as the whitest snow, trimmed with a deep walnut colored wood, bone and wood meshed into one and created a weapon as beautiful as it was deadly. Inside the bleached bone arc, there were carvings, though in the light they were hard to make out. Besides, the bow was not the intended object, but rather, the man sat holding it.
His usual silly grin and playful eyes had long since melted away into the fire, leaving the real face of the man in it's wake. Sullen brown eyes reflected the sparks of the fire, the light hitting the new scar on his cheek just so to make it seem wider than it really was. Ashton had heard Nostariel's approach long ago-- he expected it even. He had spent his time in deep thought, thinking about what would he say, how he would say it, and to just wrangle his feelings into a coherent phrasing. But now, the pitter-patter of her feet sent his thoughts scurrying, and he forgot everything he had been thinking about. But still, he didn't move, he didn't try to run, to brush her off, or even turn away from her. He just... waited.
Maker knows he made her wait.
And she spoke. Six months away, and he never forgot that voice. What thoughts he had left grazing in that mind of his, her words sent them into a spiral. At first, He didn't know what to say back. What could he say back? "Oh gee, thanks"? No, that wasn't good enough. He couldn't just hide it from her anymore, not after that demon made it so public. The guilt he felt was entirely deserved. It wasn't something he should have kept from her. Not after what she told him. He should have came clean then. "Don't... don't say that. It's not about what I want. What I want doesn't matter anymore," It was what she wanted, but he couldn't with that sentence just sitting there. Finally, he lifted his eyes from the fire and met hers. "You told me what haunted to you, and you didn't have to... Just." He trailed off. His eyes dropped to the fire again, as if the effort of holding her had gaze drained him.
"Please... Just ask. You deserve that much," Ashton said.
That drew her brows together, but she wasnāt here to argue the finer points of what mattered to whom, she was here to listen if he needed it. And from the sounds of things, he rather needed it. Still, Nostariel was silent for a while, trying to decide what she properly wanted to ask. She had a feeling the story he told would be neither short nor pleasant, but that was all right. Hers hadnāt been, either. Those were the ones that needed the listening the most. Slowly, she nodded.
āAll right. When we were in the Fade, the Desire Demon showed us something, and the words it spoke were cruel. Thatā¦ doesnāt usually happen, but it always shows people what they want. I suppose that can only mean that you wanted someone to be cruel to you. But why?ā He wasnāt cruel to other peopleāsheād never known him to do something with ill intentions, so it was hard to picture him so deeply acknowledging that he deserved something of such a kind.
There it was. The question that cut the frail string that was all but holding him together. He inhaled and answered simply, "Because I deserve it." It was a grim sentence, though he felt nothing from it. It was entirely true, after all. He deserved it all, the stinging words, the truth it spoke, but most of all he deserved judgement. "Every thing that creature said was true, demon or not. Every bit. I deserve that punishment, and more. So much more. It's all because of me that that girl couldn't live her life. I stole that from her." He said, sighing. He was dancing around the issue. He still hadn't told her why. He didn't dive into the issues like she had
So he closed his eyes and breathed out. He'd tell her, he decided, and let her judge him. He could never find that girl again, tell her he was sorry, and let her decide his fate. No, instead, he'd let Nostariel do it. He'd tell her his story, and let come what may. "I told you I came from Ferelden. I didn't tell you what I did when I arrived here." His humorous tone usually told with stories like these was nowhere to be found. He didn't think about the words coming out of his mouth, he just let them fall. It's not like he could hold back what he was saying anyway. "I was a smuggler, to put it kindly. There were many refugees from Ferelden, but none of them were getting into Kirkwall by the time I arrived. I had to sell my skills in order to get a pass through," He said, picking up a stick and prodding the fire.
Once the cinders were well stoked, he continued, "It started simply enough, I suppose. Hop aboard a marked ship and guide it to a port. We'd meet people there and they'd unload the goods or take the ship off of our hands, and then we'd vanish into the night, like nothing happened. Before I knew it, we began jumping ships. Three of us would board one in the middle of the night, take out the crew, and then... steal the goods." By now, his hand had dropped the stick and went to one of the bottles to his side. He then uncorked it, chucking the cork over the cliff, and took a drink. He took a moment before starting back where he left off. "It was like any other operation, I suppose. Three of us hopped into a row boat and rowed out into port. Once we were close enough, we jumped out and boarded the . We cleared the top deck in less then ten minutes. Quick, clean, easy-- supposedly." Ashton said, now holding his head with a hand.
He felt... numb? He'd played the scene over many, many times in his head before, but not once had he ever put it to words. It was a strange sensation, spilling all of this. He usually kept it all behind a wall of his usual mannerisms. A drink here, and terrible joke there, some flirting with nameless women, anything to take his mind off of it. But now here he was, neck deep in the waters. But, he'd rather tell no one but Nostariel. He sighed and continued. Ashton wouldn't leave it half told. "I went below deck to check the cargo and make sure no one slipped away to stab us in the back later. I found the cargo alright." And this was the hard part. He hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "It was slaves-- elven slaves, bound for Tevinter. The entire deck, filled with cages and chains. They were packed in like animals, old, young, women, children alike. I just stopped and stared. I couldn't believe it. I saw the keys to the cages on a nail in the wall, but I didn't reach for them. I was.. Afraid I guess." He said.
"The people I worked for, they could have had me killed, easy. Burned my home to the ground, and then paid off the guard to look the other way, if I did anything other than what I was supposed to. The elves screamed for my help, begged and pleaded, but I couldn't. I was selfish, afraid for myself. I didn't even think about the elves. I tried to turn around but this one girl. The same one you saw on the demon's face. She stared at me. I-- I don't know if it was hate, fear, sorrow, or even pity. She stared at me and I stared back. I can see her now, pleading with me with-- with those eyes so that she could be free," His voice had cracked, and it was getting harder and harder to talk. But her had to tell her, he just had to. He couldn't just quit and give up now.
"So.. I-- I turned around. I left them there. We sailed the ship back to port, and that was it. I never saw them again..." He finished, visibly shaken. He shook his head and then covered his eyes with his hand. "The keys were right there... I could-could have saved them, I could have saved them all. But I was weak, I was a coward, and I ran. That's all I ever do," he said, with a cold, heartless laugh. "I ran from the blight, I ran from my home, I ran from them, and now I've run from you. I failed them, I failed Sparrow, I failed Feynriel, and now I'm failing you. I'm-- I'm sorry," The cold laughter had morphed into tears. He couldn't hold them back anymore. There was no way he could keep them pinned back now.
"I'm so sorry," He pleaded. He had told his story, and whatever it had cost him was worth it. He needed to be judged. Whatever Nostariel said, whatever she thought of him...
He deserved it.
Nostariel could hardly believe what she was hearing. It seemed so completely at odds with her impression of Ashton that it almost didnāt register properly, like it was a bad joke. āOh, and then there was my stint as a smuggler, right after I left the Templars.ā Well, it wasnāt the smuggling part that was hard to believeāsheād been allowed into Kirkwall because of the Wardens, but she held no illusions they would have taken her otherwise. An elf? Surely not. And sheād known how many struggled to find a place here only to give up and return home. Sheād known someone without much coin like Ash would have to find some work to get in, and truly, smuggling was far from the worst thing that anyone had done for that privilege.
Butā¦ to turn his back on people who were suffering, for his own sake? It was hard to accept. Then again, what else could he have done? They were on a ship, close quarters, with other smugglers who would not be keen to let the people escapeā¦ but no. There was no doubt. He still should have done something. Fear was paralytic, and she could understand that, but it didnāt make what had happened right. It didnāt make not helping those people right.
Nostariel turned the thoughts over in her head for a long while, staring into the fire. By now, night was fully upon them, the only light in the clearing from the fire and the stars overhead. He had apologized to her, and she didnāt really understand that, except that maybe he was putting their voices on her tongue, asking for her to forgive him or not, as them, or maybe just as herself. She wasnāt sure that either of those things was something she could do. She was no goddess, no arbiter of absolute right and wrong. She didnāt know the answers. All she knew was what heād doneāto them, yes, but also since. Sheād been beside him on numerous occasions when he risked his life, and saved hers, and did what he felt was right or necessary. Was it enough? The answer was another one of the things she didnāt know. She was uncertain, and the world was an uncertain place. Those driven forward by obvious goals to which they adheredāLucien, Amalia, Ithilianāthose people were the exceptions that proved the rule.
Everyone else swam in grey areas, trying to orient themselves in the world the best they could. Even those three must doubt, sometimes. Everyone doubted. Everyone could be pushed to uncertainty and confusion sometimes, and nobody made the right choices all the time.
āI canāt forgive you,ā she said, then rushed to correct herself. āI mean, I donāt have the ability, not that I wouldnāt if I could. Youāve never wronged me, and whatever else you think, youāre not failing me. I donātā¦ I donāt have the answers. I donāt know what to say or how to make it better, if thatās even possible. Butā¦ regardless of their magnitude, everyone in the world makes mistakes, some of us pretty often.ā It was a really sorry attempt at humor, but she was choosing to pretend she didnāt notice that he was crying. It wasnāt like drawing attention to it would help, and she didnāt know what else to do. āI guessā¦ yes. What you didā¦ it was wrong. And you know that. Something Iāve learned is that repeating it over and over again doesnāt change it. Nothing we do can bring those people back. I canāt get my friends back, or Tristan. Theyāre all dead, and those people are lost to you just as much as if they were. You and Iā¦ we can either beat ourselves over and over with that knowledge, and our part in it, or we can do better. We can make ourselves better, and swear to never repeat our mistakes. It wonāt erase them, but at least it will make them mean something.ā
Her words hurt, but there were truth in them. She could not give the forgiveness he sought. No one but those that he wronged could. He saw that now. Maybe he always knew that. But he was reaching out for branches now, something to pull him out of the quicksand he found himself in. His hand shifted from his face and to his forehead, dragging his hair out of her eyes and using it for support. She was right. How far had she come, since they both sat in the Hanged Man talking about their pasts over a bottle of wine. Nostariel had been a mess of tears back then, struggling with her past, and now here they sat again. Their roles reversed. It was Ashton who was the one in tears, and Nostariel who was listening. He sighed, he'd messed up. He kept messing up. He just couldn't seem to do anything right. It needed to stop. Nostariel was right.
"At least forgive me for leaving you?" He asked, the most recent of his mistakes. "I ran, and I make no excuse for it. I left you, and I'm sorry. I just felt.. I don't know what I felt. It's hard to put to words... It's like, I don't deserve to be happy. Not after what I did, you know?" He had taken what happiness the girl could have had, so why could he be happy? He didn't deserve to be happy. He certainly didn't deserve someone like Nostariel.
Nostariel shook her head. āOf course I forgive you. Thereās nothing to forgive, really. You went on a bit of a hunting trip, and you promised me youād come back. Here you are. Itās that simple.ā Granted, the rest was a lot more complicated, but not that. Seeking to draw him away from his melancholy for a moment, she shifted, standing smoothly and pulling an arrow from her quiver. āWould you like to see something interesting? Iāll never beat your shot, butā¦ā She trailed off, and figured she might as well. Nocking the string to her bow, she drew back, aiming up and over, an arc through the sky at nothing in particular, and released. Watching it, she waited for the moment when it crested its arc and began to fall, then triggered the spell. Midair, the arrow burst into a shower of tiny, glittering ice crystals, raining down over the field and reflecting the firelight.
āIt might be a bit impractical, since it always destroys the arrow, but I think I know this fellow who can make me more. Lovely person, he is. Always has a smile for me on a bad day, and a shoulder on a really bad day. It might not be a lot, but he helped me. Without him, I might still be drowning in a bottle somewhere. Personally, Iām rather glad I met him.ā She smiled slowly, replacing her bow at her back and offering him her hand. āI hope I can return the favor, someday.ā
A smile crept it's way back into his face. It was a light, fragile one, but it was there where one hadn't been moments ago. Her arrow, the words she had spoken. It's what he needed to hear. He felt relieved, that she didn't blame him. He still felt it was wrong, but he'd make it up to her... He promised himself that he would. He was quiet as he reached for her hand, taking it in his and kissing it. He then gently released and reached another bottle, and attempted to pry the cork of. However, it was proving to be more stubborn than he was in the mood for. Instead of setting it down and reaching for another though, he bashed the top against a rock. His mind was clouded, and he didn't think. What resulted was the shattering glass cutting his hand. Though if he felt the pain, he didn't show it, only looking at the bottle that was now in pieces. "Huh. Didn't work how I expected it to," He said, reaching for another.
Once it was in his grip, he reached for the top again-- though this time he hesitated. He was in deep thought for moments before he chuckled, this time light and airy. "This fellow, he sounds like an interesting sort. I think I'd like to meet him one day." He said. It wasn't the man that he could meet today, nor the man he meet tomorrow. But it was a man he'd like to meet. "You're right, of course. Sitting here, feeling sorry for myself, for my actions," for those people, "It's just causing more damage." He sighed and lowered the bottle, eyes rising from the fire and meeting Nostariel's again. "I've watched you, you know? You're not the same Nostariel who slept and drank in the Hanged Man every night. You've gotten better, stronger for it. I was... Am proud of you. You're so much stronger than I am."
That was it. He turned the bottle over in his hand before chucking it over the cliffside, "I suppose it never did anyone any good anyway," he said with a smile and soft chuckle. He then wiped the blood on his hand off and spoke again, "You return that favor everyday I'm with you. You're the only thing that makes all this worth it."
"I think it's about time I learn from you."
Thatā¦ hadnāt exactly been her intention in offering her hand, but she decided to go with it, rather glad it would be hard to see her blush in the dark. She winced when he broke the bottle over his hand and sighed. He was a much more coherent drinker than sheād been, but she was willing to bet he was just as drunk. Catching the offending arm, she murmured a quick heal spell, watching as the flesh knit back together. āWell, alcoholās a disinfectant, anyway,ā she replied drily. It was one less thing on his list of potential problems. Sheād always thought of her healing magic as more necessary than handy, but that didnāt mean it lacked small applications.
What he was saying, she thought, was incredibly sweet, and suddenly her throat didnāt quite seem to work properly anymore, and she had to swallow past the thickness in it, the redness of her face spreading up her ears and down her neck. He was drunk, he was drunk, he was drunk and sad, she couldnāt take this too seriously. Clearing her throat a smidge awkwardly, she released the now-healed hand and sat back. āWell, lesson one is I really have no idea what Iām doing,ā she confessed. Sheād sought out ways to improve herself hoping to find the answers along the way, and while she had some, she was far from a sage on the subject of forgiving oneself. āWeāll just have to make it up as we go along.ā
"Should I take notes?" He said, laughing. He'd needed that as well. He still hurt, but at least the wound was reopened. Now, maybe, it could heal properly. One could only hope. He sat in quiet for a moment, just enjoying her company. Enjoying the sounds of nature, the sound of her breath and his breath. Finally, his gaze dropped, though it wasn't the same as before. This time he was looking at something, something in his lap. "You know, while I was gone on my hunting trip every night was quiet. I almost went crazy-- maybe I did, who knows. I thought I could escape, but it only left me alone in my thoughts. For half a year I've been by myself. I've realized that, I don't like to be alone. For half a year, I've only thought about one thing."
He was quiet again, this time his fingers tapping against the bone of the bow. He then gripped it with both hands and looked back up to Nostariel. "Here, it's yours," He said, holding the bow out for her.
Nostarielās eyes were wide as saucers, and she shook her head immediately. She recalled when that bow had been the arm of a dragon. āI couldnāt possibly!ā she exclaimed, āSomething like thatā¦ Iām a hobbyist, at best. That belongs in the possession of someone much better at shooting than me.ā It was also the work of his hands, and while she was immensely flattered, she also wasnāt sure he was really sober enough to be giving away such a thing. Or that sheād be able to draw it if he was.
He laughed again then rephrased his last sentence, "You misunderstand. It's yours. Me using it would be the same as me using your staff. I made it for you. From the beginning, that was my intention. My hands don't deserve something like this, but yours... Yours are perfect. I've asked Rilien to work an ice enchantment into the bone." He said, but he drew the bow back all the same. A flutter of a smile later and he seemed to waver. It seemed that he was actually... timid.
Being the fool in the crowd never worried Ashton, nor did playing one in front of individuals. He had no shame to speak of, and shyness was just a word. But now with the bow in hand, he looked every part of the timid child he played. He hesitated for a moment before he sighed. "I'll prove it to you," With that, he thrust the bow into the firelight so that it better illuminated the arc of the bone. In the light, the carvings were revealed before Nostariel. "I learned how to scrimshaw, just for you."
The carvings were scenes from the Tale of Ewan. The scrimshaw was flawless in form, rendered from the most important parts of the book and handled with the utmost of care. The stories collided and meshed into the next, weaving an ornate fabric work of the story all the down the bow. And above where the hand was supposed to rest, a phrase carved in careful calligraphy. "Dreams are never silly. Believe in them." "This bow isn't meant for my hands. I haven't named it yet, because it's yours to name," He said.
He hoped with all his heart she liked it, more than he hoped for anything in the world.
Nostariel was rendered effectively speechless, struck as dumb as the day sheād been born who-knew-where, to who-knew-whom, some odd number of years ago. She took the object from his hands almost reverently, tracing her fingers over the carvings. Perfect. Heād said her hands were, but if his could make something like this, than he was the perfect one, not her. The carvings ran from Ewanās early days as a page, to his meeting of the enigmatic Piper, to his slaying of the great Dragon of the Fells. Nostariel was a little chagrined to find the moisture gathering behind her eyes, but she hadnāt cried from happiness inā¦ well, ever. What an odd feeling.
Laying the bow to the side with the utmost care, she dove forward, wrapping both arms around Ashton in a tight hug. āThank you. Thank you so much. I canāt imagine anything more perfect.ā Well, not in the way of gifts, anyhow.
And just like that, everything melted away. His past, his mistakes, her sad history, for a moment he forgot it all. He felt whole. It was funny, he'd never felt whole, just as if there was something missing in the pit of his being. There was nothing but them. He returned the embrace and hoped she would never let go. She spoke one last time, and he laughed again, a joyful, real laugh. Then he whispered something into her ear, before pulling away and looking at her, a smile on his lips.
"I can."
When she arrived, he was there, and from the line of bottles beside him, heād been present for quite a while. That many in, heād not likely be in a fit state for much, but then, she knew that from experience, and she wasnāt going to judge him for it. Whatever the demon had shown him had hurt him, deeply, and she could sympathize with that, too.
She stood for a moment, unsure how to break into the situation without feeling much like an ogre in a room full of fine ceramics. Just this morning, sheād been delighted to see him, and she thought it fair to say that heād been rather happy to see her, too. Now, she wasnāt sure how heād react to the intrusion. Nostariel fiddled absently with the hem of her shirt, studying her returned friend and deciding that he looked rather different, but still unmistakably like Ashton. Like Ashton, whoād not stood by like a nervous fool when she was at her lowest. She couldnāt do that, either.
Taking a breath, she stepped forward, enough to be easily noticeable, and settled herself a few feet from him, looking out at the same vista sheād gazed at regularly for at least a year. How strange, that time kept moving even when she was unaware of it. āYou donāt have to talk about it, if you donāt want to,ā she said quietly. āBut, if you do, Iām here.ā It sounded kind of pathetic, even to her own ears, but what else was she supposed to say? She had no idea what that face, those words, had meant to him, and she couldnāt tell him it was all okay when he so honestly seemed to believe that it wasnāt.
A fire popped in front of him, and he sat crosslegged staring intently into it. Behind him, not too far away, a series of white-fletched arrows protruded from a tree. In his lap sat the bow he had spent the better part of the past three years working on. Even in the dim light, it was a work of marvel, perhaps even more so, as the firelight danced around it. White as the whitest snow, trimmed with a deep walnut colored wood, bone and wood meshed into one and created a weapon as beautiful as it was deadly. Inside the bleached bone arc, there were carvings, though in the light they were hard to make out. Besides, the bow was not the intended object, but rather, the man sat holding it.
His usual silly grin and playful eyes had long since melted away into the fire, leaving the real face of the man in it's wake. Sullen brown eyes reflected the sparks of the fire, the light hitting the new scar on his cheek just so to make it seem wider than it really was. Ashton had heard Nostariel's approach long ago-- he expected it even. He had spent his time in deep thought, thinking about what would he say, how he would say it, and to just wrangle his feelings into a coherent phrasing. But now, the pitter-patter of her feet sent his thoughts scurrying, and he forgot everything he had been thinking about. But still, he didn't move, he didn't try to run, to brush her off, or even turn away from her. He just... waited.
Maker knows he made her wait.
And she spoke. Six months away, and he never forgot that voice. What thoughts he had left grazing in that mind of his, her words sent them into a spiral. At first, He didn't know what to say back. What could he say back? "Oh gee, thanks"? No, that wasn't good enough. He couldn't just hide it from her anymore, not after that demon made it so public. The guilt he felt was entirely deserved. It wasn't something he should have kept from her. Not after what she told him. He should have came clean then. "Don't... don't say that. It's not about what I want. What I want doesn't matter anymore," It was what she wanted, but he couldn't with that sentence just sitting there. Finally, he lifted his eyes from the fire and met hers. "You told me what haunted to you, and you didn't have to... Just." He trailed off. His eyes dropped to the fire again, as if the effort of holding her had gaze drained him.
"Please... Just ask. You deserve that much," Ashton said.
That drew her brows together, but she wasnāt here to argue the finer points of what mattered to whom, she was here to listen if he needed it. And from the sounds of things, he rather needed it. Still, Nostariel was silent for a while, trying to decide what she properly wanted to ask. She had a feeling the story he told would be neither short nor pleasant, but that was all right. Hers hadnāt been, either. Those were the ones that needed the listening the most. Slowly, she nodded.
āAll right. When we were in the Fade, the Desire Demon showed us something, and the words it spoke were cruel. Thatā¦ doesnāt usually happen, but it always shows people what they want. I suppose that can only mean that you wanted someone to be cruel to you. But why?ā He wasnāt cruel to other peopleāsheād never known him to do something with ill intentions, so it was hard to picture him so deeply acknowledging that he deserved something of such a kind.
There it was. The question that cut the frail string that was all but holding him together. He inhaled and answered simply, "Because I deserve it." It was a grim sentence, though he felt nothing from it. It was entirely true, after all. He deserved it all, the stinging words, the truth it spoke, but most of all he deserved judgement. "Every thing that creature said was true, demon or not. Every bit. I deserve that punishment, and more. So much more. It's all because of me that that girl couldn't live her life. I stole that from her." He said, sighing. He was dancing around the issue. He still hadn't told her why. He didn't dive into the issues like she had
So he closed his eyes and breathed out. He'd tell her, he decided, and let her judge him. He could never find that girl again, tell her he was sorry, and let her decide his fate. No, instead, he'd let Nostariel do it. He'd tell her his story, and let come what may. "I told you I came from Ferelden. I didn't tell you what I did when I arrived here." His humorous tone usually told with stories like these was nowhere to be found. He didn't think about the words coming out of his mouth, he just let them fall. It's not like he could hold back what he was saying anyway. "I was a smuggler, to put it kindly. There were many refugees from Ferelden, but none of them were getting into Kirkwall by the time I arrived. I had to sell my skills in order to get a pass through," He said, picking up a stick and prodding the fire.
Once the cinders were well stoked, he continued, "It started simply enough, I suppose. Hop aboard a marked ship and guide it to a port. We'd meet people there and they'd unload the goods or take the ship off of our hands, and then we'd vanish into the night, like nothing happened. Before I knew it, we began jumping ships. Three of us would board one in the middle of the night, take out the crew, and then... steal the goods." By now, his hand had dropped the stick and went to one of the bottles to his side. He then uncorked it, chucking the cork over the cliff, and took a drink. He took a moment before starting back where he left off. "It was like any other operation, I suppose. Three of us hopped into a row boat and rowed out into port. Once we were close enough, we jumped out and boarded the . We cleared the top deck in less then ten minutes. Quick, clean, easy-- supposedly." Ashton said, now holding his head with a hand.
He felt... numb? He'd played the scene over many, many times in his head before, but not once had he ever put it to words. It was a strange sensation, spilling all of this. He usually kept it all behind a wall of his usual mannerisms. A drink here, and terrible joke there, some flirting with nameless women, anything to take his mind off of it. But now here he was, neck deep in the waters. But, he'd rather tell no one but Nostariel. He sighed and continued. Ashton wouldn't leave it half told. "I went below deck to check the cargo and make sure no one slipped away to stab us in the back later. I found the cargo alright." And this was the hard part. He hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "It was slaves-- elven slaves, bound for Tevinter. The entire deck, filled with cages and chains. They were packed in like animals, old, young, women, children alike. I just stopped and stared. I couldn't believe it. I saw the keys to the cages on a nail in the wall, but I didn't reach for them. I was.. Afraid I guess." He said.
"The people I worked for, they could have had me killed, easy. Burned my home to the ground, and then paid off the guard to look the other way, if I did anything other than what I was supposed to. The elves screamed for my help, begged and pleaded, but I couldn't. I was selfish, afraid for myself. I didn't even think about the elves. I tried to turn around but this one girl. The same one you saw on the demon's face. She stared at me. I-- I don't know if it was hate, fear, sorrow, or even pity. She stared at me and I stared back. I can see her now, pleading with me with-- with those eyes so that she could be free," His voice had cracked, and it was getting harder and harder to talk. But her had to tell her, he just had to. He couldn't just quit and give up now.
"So.. I-- I turned around. I left them there. We sailed the ship back to port, and that was it. I never saw them again..." He finished, visibly shaken. He shook his head and then covered his eyes with his hand. "The keys were right there... I could-could have saved them, I could have saved them all. But I was weak, I was a coward, and I ran. That's all I ever do," he said, with a cold, heartless laugh. "I ran from the blight, I ran from my home, I ran from them, and now I've run from you. I failed them, I failed Sparrow, I failed Feynriel, and now I'm failing you. I'm-- I'm sorry," The cold laughter had morphed into tears. He couldn't hold them back anymore. There was no way he could keep them pinned back now.
"I'm so sorry," He pleaded. He had told his story, and whatever it had cost him was worth it. He needed to be judged. Whatever Nostariel said, whatever she thought of him...
He deserved it.
Nostariel could hardly believe what she was hearing. It seemed so completely at odds with her impression of Ashton that it almost didnāt register properly, like it was a bad joke. āOh, and then there was my stint as a smuggler, right after I left the Templars.ā Well, it wasnāt the smuggling part that was hard to believeāsheād been allowed into Kirkwall because of the Wardens, but she held no illusions they would have taken her otherwise. An elf? Surely not. And sheād known how many struggled to find a place here only to give up and return home. Sheād known someone without much coin like Ash would have to find some work to get in, and truly, smuggling was far from the worst thing that anyone had done for that privilege.
Butā¦ to turn his back on people who were suffering, for his own sake? It was hard to accept. Then again, what else could he have done? They were on a ship, close quarters, with other smugglers who would not be keen to let the people escapeā¦ but no. There was no doubt. He still should have done something. Fear was paralytic, and she could understand that, but it didnāt make what had happened right. It didnāt make not helping those people right.
Nostariel turned the thoughts over in her head for a long while, staring into the fire. By now, night was fully upon them, the only light in the clearing from the fire and the stars overhead. He had apologized to her, and she didnāt really understand that, except that maybe he was putting their voices on her tongue, asking for her to forgive him or not, as them, or maybe just as herself. She wasnāt sure that either of those things was something she could do. She was no goddess, no arbiter of absolute right and wrong. She didnāt know the answers. All she knew was what heād doneāto them, yes, but also since. Sheād been beside him on numerous occasions when he risked his life, and saved hers, and did what he felt was right or necessary. Was it enough? The answer was another one of the things she didnāt know. She was uncertain, and the world was an uncertain place. Those driven forward by obvious goals to which they adheredāLucien, Amalia, Ithilianāthose people were the exceptions that proved the rule.
Everyone else swam in grey areas, trying to orient themselves in the world the best they could. Even those three must doubt, sometimes. Everyone doubted. Everyone could be pushed to uncertainty and confusion sometimes, and nobody made the right choices all the time.
āI canāt forgive you,ā she said, then rushed to correct herself. āI mean, I donāt have the ability, not that I wouldnāt if I could. Youāve never wronged me, and whatever else you think, youāre not failing me. I donātā¦ I donāt have the answers. I donāt know what to say or how to make it better, if thatās even possible. Butā¦ regardless of their magnitude, everyone in the world makes mistakes, some of us pretty often.ā It was a really sorry attempt at humor, but she was choosing to pretend she didnāt notice that he was crying. It wasnāt like drawing attention to it would help, and she didnāt know what else to do. āI guessā¦ yes. What you didā¦ it was wrong. And you know that. Something Iāve learned is that repeating it over and over again doesnāt change it. Nothing we do can bring those people back. I canāt get my friends back, or Tristan. Theyāre all dead, and those people are lost to you just as much as if they were. You and Iā¦ we can either beat ourselves over and over with that knowledge, and our part in it, or we can do better. We can make ourselves better, and swear to never repeat our mistakes. It wonāt erase them, but at least it will make them mean something.ā
Her words hurt, but there were truth in them. She could not give the forgiveness he sought. No one but those that he wronged could. He saw that now. Maybe he always knew that. But he was reaching out for branches now, something to pull him out of the quicksand he found himself in. His hand shifted from his face and to his forehead, dragging his hair out of her eyes and using it for support. She was right. How far had she come, since they both sat in the Hanged Man talking about their pasts over a bottle of wine. Nostariel had been a mess of tears back then, struggling with her past, and now here they sat again. Their roles reversed. It was Ashton who was the one in tears, and Nostariel who was listening. He sighed, he'd messed up. He kept messing up. He just couldn't seem to do anything right. It needed to stop. Nostariel was right.
"At least forgive me for leaving you?" He asked, the most recent of his mistakes. "I ran, and I make no excuse for it. I left you, and I'm sorry. I just felt.. I don't know what I felt. It's hard to put to words... It's like, I don't deserve to be happy. Not after what I did, you know?" He had taken what happiness the girl could have had, so why could he be happy? He didn't deserve to be happy. He certainly didn't deserve someone like Nostariel.
Nostariel shook her head. āOf course I forgive you. Thereās nothing to forgive, really. You went on a bit of a hunting trip, and you promised me youād come back. Here you are. Itās that simple.ā Granted, the rest was a lot more complicated, but not that. Seeking to draw him away from his melancholy for a moment, she shifted, standing smoothly and pulling an arrow from her quiver. āWould you like to see something interesting? Iāll never beat your shot, butā¦ā She trailed off, and figured she might as well. Nocking the string to her bow, she drew back, aiming up and over, an arc through the sky at nothing in particular, and released. Watching it, she waited for the moment when it crested its arc and began to fall, then triggered the spell. Midair, the arrow burst into a shower of tiny, glittering ice crystals, raining down over the field and reflecting the firelight.
āIt might be a bit impractical, since it always destroys the arrow, but I think I know this fellow who can make me more. Lovely person, he is. Always has a smile for me on a bad day, and a shoulder on a really bad day. It might not be a lot, but he helped me. Without him, I might still be drowning in a bottle somewhere. Personally, Iām rather glad I met him.ā She smiled slowly, replacing her bow at her back and offering him her hand. āI hope I can return the favor, someday.ā
A smile crept it's way back into his face. It was a light, fragile one, but it was there where one hadn't been moments ago. Her arrow, the words she had spoken. It's what he needed to hear. He felt relieved, that she didn't blame him. He still felt it was wrong, but he'd make it up to her... He promised himself that he would. He was quiet as he reached for her hand, taking it in his and kissing it. He then gently released and reached another bottle, and attempted to pry the cork of. However, it was proving to be more stubborn than he was in the mood for. Instead of setting it down and reaching for another though, he bashed the top against a rock. His mind was clouded, and he didn't think. What resulted was the shattering glass cutting his hand. Though if he felt the pain, he didn't show it, only looking at the bottle that was now in pieces. "Huh. Didn't work how I expected it to," He said, reaching for another.
Once it was in his grip, he reached for the top again-- though this time he hesitated. He was in deep thought for moments before he chuckled, this time light and airy. "This fellow, he sounds like an interesting sort. I think I'd like to meet him one day." He said. It wasn't the man that he could meet today, nor the man he meet tomorrow. But it was a man he'd like to meet. "You're right, of course. Sitting here, feeling sorry for myself, for my actions," for those people, "It's just causing more damage." He sighed and lowered the bottle, eyes rising from the fire and meeting Nostariel's again. "I've watched you, you know? You're not the same Nostariel who slept and drank in the Hanged Man every night. You've gotten better, stronger for it. I was... Am proud of you. You're so much stronger than I am."
That was it. He turned the bottle over in his hand before chucking it over the cliffside, "I suppose it never did anyone any good anyway," he said with a smile and soft chuckle. He then wiped the blood on his hand off and spoke again, "You return that favor everyday I'm with you. You're the only thing that makes all this worth it."
"I think it's about time I learn from you."
Thatā¦ hadnāt exactly been her intention in offering her hand, but she decided to go with it, rather glad it would be hard to see her blush in the dark. She winced when he broke the bottle over his hand and sighed. He was a much more coherent drinker than sheād been, but she was willing to bet he was just as drunk. Catching the offending arm, she murmured a quick heal spell, watching as the flesh knit back together. āWell, alcoholās a disinfectant, anyway,ā she replied drily. It was one less thing on his list of potential problems. Sheād always thought of her healing magic as more necessary than handy, but that didnāt mean it lacked small applications.
What he was saying, she thought, was incredibly sweet, and suddenly her throat didnāt quite seem to work properly anymore, and she had to swallow past the thickness in it, the redness of her face spreading up her ears and down her neck. He was drunk, he was drunk, he was drunk and sad, she couldnāt take this too seriously. Clearing her throat a smidge awkwardly, she released the now-healed hand and sat back. āWell, lesson one is I really have no idea what Iām doing,ā she confessed. Sheād sought out ways to improve herself hoping to find the answers along the way, and while she had some, she was far from a sage on the subject of forgiving oneself. āWeāll just have to make it up as we go along.ā
"Should I take notes?" He said, laughing. He'd needed that as well. He still hurt, but at least the wound was reopened. Now, maybe, it could heal properly. One could only hope. He sat in quiet for a moment, just enjoying her company. Enjoying the sounds of nature, the sound of her breath and his breath. Finally, his gaze dropped, though it wasn't the same as before. This time he was looking at something, something in his lap. "You know, while I was gone on my hunting trip every night was quiet. I almost went crazy-- maybe I did, who knows. I thought I could escape, but it only left me alone in my thoughts. For half a year I've been by myself. I've realized that, I don't like to be alone. For half a year, I've only thought about one thing."
He was quiet again, this time his fingers tapping against the bone of the bow. He then gripped it with both hands and looked back up to Nostariel. "Here, it's yours," He said, holding the bow out for her.
Nostarielās eyes were wide as saucers, and she shook her head immediately. She recalled when that bow had been the arm of a dragon. āI couldnāt possibly!ā she exclaimed, āSomething like thatā¦ Iām a hobbyist, at best. That belongs in the possession of someone much better at shooting than me.ā It was also the work of his hands, and while she was immensely flattered, she also wasnāt sure he was really sober enough to be giving away such a thing. Or that sheād be able to draw it if he was.
He laughed again then rephrased his last sentence, "You misunderstand. It's yours. Me using it would be the same as me using your staff. I made it for you. From the beginning, that was my intention. My hands don't deserve something like this, but yours... Yours are perfect. I've asked Rilien to work an ice enchantment into the bone." He said, but he drew the bow back all the same. A flutter of a smile later and he seemed to waver. It seemed that he was actually... timid.
Being the fool in the crowd never worried Ashton, nor did playing one in front of individuals. He had no shame to speak of, and shyness was just a word. But now with the bow in hand, he looked every part of the timid child he played. He hesitated for a moment before he sighed. "I'll prove it to you," With that, he thrust the bow into the firelight so that it better illuminated the arc of the bone. In the light, the carvings were revealed before Nostariel. "I learned how to scrimshaw, just for you."
The carvings were scenes from the Tale of Ewan. The scrimshaw was flawless in form, rendered from the most important parts of the book and handled with the utmost of care. The stories collided and meshed into the next, weaving an ornate fabric work of the story all the down the bow. And above where the hand was supposed to rest, a phrase carved in careful calligraphy. "Dreams are never silly. Believe in them." "This bow isn't meant for my hands. I haven't named it yet, because it's yours to name," He said.
He hoped with all his heart she liked it, more than he hoped for anything in the world.
Nostariel was rendered effectively speechless, struck as dumb as the day sheād been born who-knew-where, to who-knew-whom, some odd number of years ago. She took the object from his hands almost reverently, tracing her fingers over the carvings. Perfect. Heād said her hands were, but if his could make something like this, than he was the perfect one, not her. The carvings ran from Ewanās early days as a page, to his meeting of the enigmatic Piper, to his slaying of the great Dragon of the Fells. Nostariel was a little chagrined to find the moisture gathering behind her eyes, but she hadnāt cried from happiness inā¦ well, ever. What an odd feeling.
Laying the bow to the side with the utmost care, she dove forward, wrapping both arms around Ashton in a tight hug. āThank you. Thank you so much. I canāt imagine anything more perfect.ā Well, not in the way of gifts, anyhow.
And just like that, everything melted away. His past, his mistakes, her sad history, for a moment he forgot it all. He felt whole. It was funny, he'd never felt whole, just as if there was something missing in the pit of his being. There was nothing but them. He returned the embrace and hoped she would never let go. She spoke one last time, and he laughed again, a joyful, real laugh. Then he whispered something into her ear, before pulling away and looking at her, a smile on his lips.
"I can."