Disclaimer: I don't own DragonFable.
This is a very experimental attempt at writing a bit of Ash fluff/angst/stuff. Not sure how it came out, but see what you think! And to any of my Black Haze readers (that haven't given up on me yet), I promise updates are coming. Eventually. Sorry about the delay :P
Note: this isn't 100% canon compliant but everything's probably vague enough that it doesn't matter anyway, I don't know. Enjoy!
The evening dawns soft and sweet over Falconreach. It's Ash's favourite time of day. The sky is a rich purple, a few stars peeping past the clouds. It can be dangerous outside at night and so most of the locals have turned in already. Only a few of the braver travellers remain on the streets, more often than not shrouded in cloaks or bearing swords.
Ash leans against the wall of the inn, sketchbook in hand. It's getting too dark really to keep drawing, but he doesn't want to go inside yet. He doesn't want to be reminded of the future laid out for him, of one day taking over the inn and being condemned to a life of mundanity. Out here, he can pretend to be part of something greater. From his page, a penciled knight brandishes a sword at him.
He is dragged out of his thoughts by a figure striding towards him. Clutching his sketchbook to his chest, Ash turns to the figure, which reveals itself to be a woman.
Hey, kid, she says. Her voice is confident, strong. This is Falconreach, right?
He nods dumbly in response. Strangers don't normally talk to him, especially not this kind – tall, lean and oozing with self-assurance from her travel-stained boots up.
Thanks, she calls to him and begins to turn away. She pauses for a second, glancing at his open sketchbook. Nice art. She smiles, steps into the inn and shuts the door behind her.
The next morning Ash is out sketching the sunrise, embellishing it with a few dragons he knows he'll never get to see in real life. The door beside him slams open, and he startles, pencil running an ugly mark over the page.
It's her again.
Still drawing?
"Yeah," he says, proffering his book as proof. She smiles and studies the page.
You know, this is brilliant, she says. Could I see some more?
So he shows her his dreams, all neatly laid out on paper. She admires each of them in turn, voicing delight.
"You're an adventurer, aren't you?" he asks eventually.
I'm a hero, comes the reply.
"You must see amazing things." He can't help the note of envy leaking out.
She laughs. It's a kind sound. That I do. I could tell you about some of them, if you like.
They head into the inn together and sit by the fire. There, she tells him things so wondrous he can do little more than gape – of beasts and monsters and heroes and dragons and adventures that wouldn't feature in his wildest dreams. Her storytelling lasts well into the night and he eventually falls asleep at the table with a contented smile.
He's disappointed to find that she's not there anymore when he wakes up but she's left him a note promising to bring him a dragon's fang next time she comes by, which is almost as good.
So much time passes before her next visit that he's almost forgotten her. She does come back, though, and true to her word she presses a fang into his palm. He marvels at it. It's cool and sharp and almost the size of his hand. He wonders at how large a creature it must have belonged to, and the strength it would take to slay such a thing. He ties it to a leather thong and wears it proudly around his neck.
She buys him a hot chocolate, and tells him of her latest travels, down through a portal into an underground city – Ravenloss, she calls it – to help a lonely young man fight his destiny.
Her voice lulls him. His eyes feel heavy, and he feels them slowly drifting shut against his will until he feels a hand gently shaking his shoulder. Go to bed, she tells him. I'll still be here in the morning. He yawns and she ruffles his hair, giving him a light push in the direction of his room.
That night he dreams he is an adventurer; a hero. Everywhere he goes he is swept up in excitement and glory and no one can decide his future for him.
There's a comparatively smaller gap leading up to her next stay. "Do you have any new stories for me?" he asks when he sees her, and she leans down with a smile. Always, she chuckles, and she launches into a story about the rivalry between the dwarves and the secret codes they would devise to protect their discoveries from each other. "We could make our own code!" he exclaims, delighted by the idea. "Then no one would know what we were saying." So they do.
Years pass in such a manner. She keeps visiting, always irregularly and rarely for longer than a day or two, but enough that he can no longer imagine a life without her. Her tales fill a void in him that aches for adventure, and she always has compliments for his art. One stay she suggests to him that he could make a living from selling his works and he seizes on the idea. Perhaps if he does, one day he'll be able to leave the inn and everything it stands for.
The dragon fang hangs like a silent promise around his neck.
oOo
The inn is attacked by bandits. Ash's parents don't come out. He cries for days, cries until he has nothing left inside of him except cold and emptiness and hurt.
oOo
Everyone has been promising to look after him, but that's not enough. That won't bring his parents back.
If she'd been there, she could have saved them.
If he becomes a hero, he'll be able to save everyone. He'll never have to cry again, because heroes don't cry.
Ash will run away. There's nothing else for him to do. Nothing ties him to the inn anymore. Nobody has expectations of him. No one will mourn for him if he fails. (except her, a small voice whispers)
He is free, and it hurts.
He leaves a note for her, written in their code, explaining what has happened and where he will be. He wonders when she'll see it.
Then he pulls out his sketchbook. His fingers run fondly over the worn rawhide cover. So many mornings spent in the sunrise, knights and dragons flowing from his fingertips.
He won't need it anymore. He will need to be disciplined, focused and determined, not mired in childhood dreams.
He tosses the book into the fireplace, and he doesn't cry, because heroes don't cry.
oOo
Over the next few months he throws himself into his training. He can feel himself growing stronger with every passing day, the last of his puppy fat being stripped away and his muscles bulging with exertion. He often wonders where she is, but he has a goal now, and he won't give up. He's going to be a hero.
oOo
Finally his dream is realized. He is an Archknight, highly respected and extremely capable. His skill with a sword is almost unparalled. He can do all but stop time.
And so, when war comes to Falconreach, he is sent to the front lines.
It's not his first battle – far from it – but it is his most brutal.
People everywhere are hurt, dying. And for what? In this face of this slaughter any reasoning seems weak to him.
A man tries to sneak up and stab him from behind. Ash spins on his heel, pivoting out of range. He drives his blade through the man's torso with barely a thought.
It is only as he watches his attacker sink to the ground, blood spilling from a gaping chest wound, that Ash realizes he knows this man. Those are the broad features of the man that gave Ash his first drawing book, so many years ago.
Ash's lip trembles.
(look what he has become)
This is not his dream. War is not glorious. He knows that now. He might be an archknight, but he is no hero.
(heroes aren't real)
He is so very tired. The dragon fang hangs like a noose around his neck.
(murderer)
oOo
It has been so long since he last saw her. He had been afraid he'd never see her again.
Now he's finally in front of her again, he almost wishes she were truly dead. He hasn't been told much about the situation, only that they're unable to break the spell holding her a prisoner to time.
What should he say? Nothing seems right. Is there even any point in talking to a block of ice?
"I've been trying," he tells her eventually. "I've been trying, but it's so hard. You made it all seem so easy." He waits a moment, almost as if expecting a reply. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he adds, "I need you. I can't do this without you." And then, because in this moment of honesty without consequences it needs to be said:
"I miss you."
It feels like desecrating a grave. She's frozen mid-step, wild and powerful and yet preserved like a dead butterfly on a pin.
He wants to cry. He doesn't deserve to cry anymore though, so he locks the tears away and doesn't let them out.
oOo
He's been sent back to Falconreach on temporary leave. His superiors tell him it's because he deserves it after the effort he's been putting in, but he knows better. He knows it's because they can see him breaking around the edges.
At first he's listless. His training's been his sole focus for so long, he's not quite sure where it ends and he begins. Being back in the inn doesn't help. It forces him to remember things he'd rather leave behind. Slowly, though, he tries to dust himself off and pull himself back together.
Ash wakes up with an odd sense of purpose one morning. He dresses quickly, fills a pack with essentials, and with his sword in hand heads out into the world in search of her underground city. Ravenloss, she'd called it. He doesn't know quite what he's hoping will come of this venture, indeed he's terrified that something might, but it seems terribly important to him.
Perhaps he's searching for answers – trying to find out what happened to her, why she was taken away from him. Or maybe it's validation of some kind. Maybe he just wants a bit of proof that her stories were real, that she left a mark on this world. He supposes that makes sense – after all, he's modelled his life after hers. If she couldn't achieve anything lasting how can he hope to?
Maybe he needs a sign that she truly existed.
He shouldn't need proof – not when she's still there, not when he's already visited her (he hasn't been back since that first visit. He doesn't want to see her like that again). He needs something to cling to, though, a goal, a hope.
In the end none of these thoughts matter, because there's nothing to be found. The portal is there, just as she described, but it leads nowhere.
He can't tell whether he's disappointed or relieved.
That night his sleep is calm. It is the first time in months.
oOo
It's a quiet evening in Falconreach. Ash leans against the wall of the inn, humming softly to himself. The air is crisp and the sky is perfectly clear, a thousand thousand stars looking down at him. He rubs a hand across his scarred cheek.
Ash? a voice murmurs. It takes him a moment to place it – so familiar to him and yet warped and distorted by memory over the years – but then he can feel his heart jump to his throat and he's scared to breathe because -
He turns slowly until he's facing her.
He wants to say she's just how he remembered but she isn't. She looks younger than she ever has before to him, and then he understands, she's been frozen in time but he's older now, closer to her age, so of course she wouldn't look so old as she used to.
It is you, she smiles. You're so grown up now, I could barely recognize you!
He's missed her so much.
With a muffled sob he throws himself into her arms. Heroes don't cry, he thinks, and he's ashamed of his weakness, but he was never a hero anyway and she's crying too, crying and laughing and looking so proud she might burst so what does it matter?
I'm sorry I wasn't there for you while you were growing up, she tells him. I'll do my best not to miss anything more from now on though. You're like a little brother to me, you know. He smiles at her in response, but has to fight down a lump of bitterness her words dredge up. He's not a child anymore, can't she see? He doesn't deserve this kindness now.
She buys him a mug of ale and he tells her stories of what he's done in the past few years and it's like nothing has ever changed between them. He can feel the dragon fang nestled against his chest like an amulet, warm and familiar and reassuring.
As he watches her smile, Ash thinks that maybe, if he lets himself, he can be happy again.