ad meliora.

ASHER has received a 5 STAT level up and is now LEVEL 9.

you will gain levels by being active throughout the roleplay and meeting certain requirements. these requirements are a secret, but consider every ic post as something that gains you experience and puts you one step closer to your next level up.

remember, the stats you can add have been randomized, and you must now distribute one point each across five different stats. this means you will add one stat point to all stats but four. you must add two of those stat points to two of the strong skills listed on your application (SPEED, LUCK, CHARM.) 

ASHER has received an 8 STAT level up and is now LEVEL 7.

you will gain levels by being active throughout the roleplay and meeting certain requirements. these requirements are a secret, but consider every ic post as something that gains you experience and puts you one step closer to your next level up.

remember, the stats you can add have been randomized, and you must now distribute one point each across eight different stats. this means you will add one stat point to all stats but one. you must add two of those stat points to two of the strong skills listed on your application (SPEED, LUCK, CHARM)

finnuf​:

asher speaks, and it’s coherent, and to finn, proof that his mind, at the very least, is salvageable. asher sounds more than coherent, really; intelligent, maybe, considering the root of what ails him and asking what answers they’ll really be able to find. even finn didn’t think that far ahead, but maybe he is just a little afraid, and maybe he doesn’t want history to repeat itself. he doesn’t want to lose someone else without knowing he did everything he could, but if asher thinks he can hang on long enough for a diagnostic spell, that isn’t for finn to decide.

“it depends on your condition,” the priestess explains. “if it’s a magical ailment, sometimes i can find what it is quite quickly. if it’s an illness, it’s more difficult. as for locating the source…likely not. with some time, i can determine what type of poison or curse it is, and some types are more common in certain areas than others, but that’s as close as i’m able to get to pinpointing who or what is responsible. maybe 30 minutes, for me to gather as many details on what ails you as possible.”

is it possible that asher is actually cursed? poisoned? it’s not like asher is that important–– politically, or anything of the like. why would someone want asher dead and not finn, especially when he literally met asher because someone wanted him dead? finn would expect to suffer the same ailment as asher, but he certainly hasn’t had more nightmares than usual, nor does he have asher’s level of paranoia. 

“are there really poisons or curses that give terrible nightmares?” he asks the priest, who nods.

“any encounters with dark magic can cause nightmares if not treated quickly enough, truthfully. it can be quite hard on the psyche.”

in that case, it sounds like it might be harder to pinpoint the issue than finn thought. he looks over at asher, thankful he’s at least able to sip his tea successfully to some degree. now that he’s not about to jump out of his skin, he really does look exhausted. finn can only imagine what he’s going through right now.

“i understand it’s probably frightening, but rest assured, if you fall asleep, it won’t impact the diagnostic spell or restore spell. you are safe here,” the priest tries to assure asher. finn hopes it comes as some comfort, but he doubts it. is it possible that asher would sleep soundly just by being here? just due to whatever tea the priestess gave him? finn doubts that, too, even if he wishes otherwise.

asher doesn’t know much about magic. sure, he’s read fairytales of all sorts and books upon books about battles and the soldiers and mages who fought in them. but those were tales or tactical analyses, not instruction or true understanding of an art utterly foreign to those who do not know how to wield it. he had hoped, maybe, that some personal signature might be attached to each spell a certain caster sends out to the world, something unique and easy to trace back to the source. alas, the priestess dashes any hope that his suffering might’ve been worth something. no, there’s no point in delaying this; finding the what won’t help him understand what happened or how to avoid it. all he knows is this is no natural illness; even a man who knows almost nothing of magic can tell that much.

the woman tries to assure him that he’s safe here, and while asher might trust his physical safety in the home of a priest, he’s not entirely sure that his unconscious mind is afforded the same protections. he shakes his head, silently denying the offer to rest. “i can’t.” is all he manages to say, his tongue suddenly tied in a knot as if some unseen force is preventing him from describing his own ailment, the nightmares that torture him as soon as he closes his eyes. frustration takes the place of fear for a moment and he can’t help the way his eyes suddenly go misty, too exhausted to keep himself from crying in front of finn and a stranger.

“there’s no point,” asher finally manages, choking down any impending sobs until there’s only just the slightest shake in his voice instead. he’s had a lifetime of hiding his tears, enough practice that the effort isn’t too much for his exhausted body and spirit. “what good would knowing for certain do then? it’s not like i can counter it. it’s not like i can stop it from happening again.” god, he’s tired. in a moment when finn isn’t as attentive to the cup he’d been helping asher with, it slips from the ill man’s hands and clatters to the floor with a wet thunk. tea spills everywhere, still mostly undrunk, though he supposes he should just be happy that he didn’t shatter the vessel with his weakness. “i’m sorry,” asher apologizes to the priestess for the trouble, leaning over to grab the cup off of the ground only to find himself dizzy and feeling ill when he sits up again a little too quickly.

ASHER has received a 6 STAT level up and is now LEVEL 7.

you will gain levels by being active throughout the roleplay and meeting certain requirements. these requirements are a secret, but consider every ic post as something that gains you experience and puts you one step closer to your next level up.

remember, the stats you can add have been randomized, and you must now distribute one point each across SIX different stats. this means you will add one stat point to all stats but THREE. you must add two of those stat points to two of the strong skills listed on your application (SPEED, LUCK, CHARM)

finnuf​:

asher leans on him, and finn figures this is better than asher being too afraid to even touch him before. he must trust him a little again, then. that comes as a relief, even if there are far more important matters at hand than asher trusting him, like asher’s survival, for one. finn doesn’t think nightmares can kill someone, but he knows lack of sleep and dehydration can, and if the nightmares are just a symptom of something deeper, who knows how much trouble asher is truly in? hopefully they’ll find out soon.

in the meantime, he can’t help but wonder what he would do if asher really did die. he would survive it; he knows. would asher become just another name on the list of everyone finn has lost, or would finn mourn a little more for him than most? maybe in the past, finn would’ve felt little. he would’ve accepted asher’s death as some inevitability of anyone getting too close to him and worked to move on, pushing that grief to the back of his mind to join all of the rest he’s never truly addressed. now, though, with some power over the situation–– with them so close to finding a solution (finn hopes) ––he desperately wants him to be okay. asher, who has always believed in him and trusted him even though finn did nothing to deserve it; who told him he would follow him anywhere, when finn mentioned returning to etlia to defend the people he abandoned once already. asher has seen him cynical and cowardly and useless and still deemed him a worthy companion.

asher is a worthy companion too; more than that, really. asher is kind and energetic and optimistic, naive but smarter than he seems, friendly to everyone he meets even when they don’t deserve it–– or at least he used to be. finn would take him even like this, he realizes; even if asher is always fearful and fragile from now on, he owes it to him to stay by his side, because he knows asher would do the same for him.

finn’s chest feels a little tight. it’s okay. she’ll help us. he’ll be okay. he tries not to consider the possibility that this is all asher will ever be again, or that he will die. not before they do everything they can here.

i’m so tired, asher says, that fear in his voice again, and finn squeezes his hand. “we’re going to fix this, and you’ll be able to sleep well soon. i’ll let you sleep for three whole days if you want,” he tries to joke, even though he probably would.

soon, the priest returns with the tea she promised, and stands there hesitantly. finn reaches his free hand out for the cup, assuming asher will be little help when it comes to holding a drink steady on his own, and she hands it over to him. “do you think you can drink some of this? i’ll help you.” he holds the tea out to asher, still holding it enough that they won’t drop it, but leaving plenty of room for asher to guide it to his lips.

he looks back at the priest then. “what next?” he questions, because he doubts tea will fix all of asher’s problems, even if it might help temporarily.

“i think the safest bet would be for me to simply cast a restore spell. it should help cure any condition that may be troubling him; illness, poison, curse, whatever it may be. depending on the severity of the condition, one spell may be enough to cure it, or it may take a few casts. if you want to take a bit more time, i can use a diagnostic spell, and see if we can put a name to what ails him.”

finn isn’t sure what the best course of action is, and he figures it’s not his decision to make, anyway. “what do you think, asher?” he asks him. “we can try to heal you right away so you can sleep as soon as possible, but you may never know what this was; or we can take a little extra time to figure out what it is first.”

“three days...” he echoes finn, his voice hardly more than the slightest murmur. will he actually be able to sleep that long, his mind peacefully empty without such painful and gruesome dreams that torment his resting hours? asher can’t imagine it right now; he can’t remember the last time he’s slept uninterrupted for three hours. but gods, if he could close his eyes right now and drift off into absolutely nothing, he would. if he never had a dream again, even the kind ones he used to have where he’d play with the sand and the waves of his homeland or dance along the galaxy, he’d be satisfied. peace, even if it’s nothing more than emptiness, would be worth it.

asher hears the gentle creak of someone hovering nearby before he opens his eyes to see the priestess standing there, watching the two men before approaching with the tea she promised. maybe he already feels a little better; maybe some sanctity of the home of a holy person has managed to put his mind at ease just a little bit. or maybe it’s just wishful thinking and the placebo effect; asher will take it either way. it’s with great effort that he manages to force his eyes open, to watch as the woman hands the tea to finn instead of the man it was brewed for, and he has the sense not to be offended by the action. he knows his hands would tremble under the weight of the cup even if it was empty, the last of his strength drained and then some from the mere journey here.

“i can drink,” he assures finn, forcing himself to sit up a little straighter, focusing closely on his own hands as they find finn’s and guide the cup to his lips. he wonders if he should be embarrassed, being fed a cup of tea like a toddler who hasn’t yet learned table manners, but asher has the sense not to hold too tightly to any shame. he’s unwell; he acknowledges it to himself. he’s sick, though there had been no physical symptom until the mental agony wore on too long. maybe he should have told finn about the dreams before. maybe they could have made it here before the situation had become so dire, like asher’s life force is an old candle stub nearing the end of the wick, the tiny flame sputtering with the effort of staying alight.

the tea tastes good on his lips, though. he can only manage tiny sips, the act of swallowing almost painful against a too-dry throat, but he manages it albeit slowly. it relaxes him further, as promised, though there’s the lingering fear that if he becomes too at ease, he’ll drift off to sleep. he doesn’t think that a few sips of tea will be much help in warding off the terrifyingly vivid dreams.

what next? finn asks, and even asher hadn’t been so eager to rush to save his own life. he find gratitude for the finn of the waking world in his heart; who would have thought that the surly and prickly man he had met so many months ago would care for his life so passionately now? asher knows that in another situation, perhaps a time when he didn’t feel death breathing down the back of his neck, the thought would make him feel rather pleased. there’s no warmth here, though; the cold stone in his gut still sucks any pleasure out of his system and instead replaces it with that lingering dread.

“how long does a diagnostic spell take?” as unwell as he is, asher’s mind is not fully dissolved into a miserable pudding. perhaps it’s a glimpse of his usual self; not the bubbly and cheerful exterior, but rather the inquisitive and sharp mind behind the smiles. “if it’s poison or a curse, could you find out... where it came from?” who it came from he almost asks; though who else would it be? as much as he just wants rest, just a moment of peace, asher knows he would be a fool to sacrifice some proof of his grandfather’s ugly, incessant hatred of him. maybe there’s not a judge in the world who would care to see it, but he’d have it for the someday, maybe. 

finnuf​:

asher throws up. finn doesn’t really know what to do, but he figures, at the very least, that it’s a physical indication of asher’s dire state. it only makes finn more determined to get him to the priest he has in mind. even if she can’t help his mental wellbeing, surely, if he’s throwing up, something can be done about that, right? it strangely almost makes him feel a little better about doing this.

he just puts a careful hand on asher’s back. “it’s okay,” he assures him, voice soft, because it’s not like asher can help it, and finn would never expect him to. he hesitates again, thinking, and leaves asher’s side for another moment, just to fetch his canteen, thankfully still mostly-full of water. “can you drink some water?” he asks, both a request and question of if his friend is physically capable of doing so, especially without vomiting again. “it might help, especially if you’re dehydrated.”

i’ll manage, asher says, and finn nods. they really have no choice but to believe that. finn doesn’t know what he’ll do if asher can’t. he decides not to think about it.

[ TIMESKIP ]

it doesn’t take too long to reach the doorstep of the priest finn desperately hopes will help them, but maybe it is too long. any wait at all feels too long in this moments. he knocks on the door, a little frantically, and after waiting about 15 seconds without response, pounds on it louder. “i need help, please!” he calls, hoping someone on the other side of the door will hear, and alert the priest, if she doesn’t hear it herself.

eventually, he hears something on the other side of the door, and it opens, just a crack.

“i’m sorry to disturb you this late in the night, but i have an emergency. please help us.”

the door opens a little wider to reveal a familiar face, whose eyes widen in recognition when she sees him. “lord finnian,” she mutters.

finn doesn’t argue over that not being his name anymore, and simply bows to her in greeting and gratitude. “my friend is very ill.” hopefully she can see that herself. she spares a glance at asher, and gives them a small nod.

“come inside,” she says, opening the door enough for them to slip inside, and she closes it beside her.

there are some ill and injured, on cots or bedrolls on the floor, but the priest leads them to one that’s unoccupied, up against one of the walls. “please sit,” she instructs asher. “you can as well,” she says to finn after. there’s enough room for them both to, so finn does sit beside asher.

“are you injured?” she asks asher.

“he’s not; he’s vomiting, and hasn’t slept in days. nightmares. paranoia,” finn explains quickly, and the priest nods in understanding, eyes flickering to asher once more as she observes him for a moment.

“i’m going to fix some tea that should calm you,” she informs asher. “then we can discuss what to do next.” she looks to finn afterwards. “keep him occupied.” 

finn nods, and once she disappears, out of sight, finn apprehensively reaches for asher’s hand and holds it, loosely enough so asher can pull it away if needed. “is this okay?” he murmurs to him.

it’s all asher can do to stay upright by the time they’re approaching their destination, apparently. or maybe finn has just given up on him and is finding a more comfortable place for asher to breathe his last. he doesn’t know if he’s actually dying but with the way every cell of his body screams in agony at their very existence, he’s pretty sure he’s not long for this world without some sort of medical or magical intervention. maybe both. even in his state, asher can’t help but theorize just what exactly is plaguing him. was it some slow-acting poison? something rotting away inside of him until the shell that’s left can’t survive any longer?

his thoughts are interrupted by a woman opening the door and he makes a conscious effort to focus in on her rather than let his head drift off towards space. his eyes feel funny, he realizes, but he’s aware of the fact that she recognizes finn—lord finnian. “my friend is very ill,” he says, and asher doesn’t have the strength left in him to agree aloud, simply letting the two lead him inside, sitting him down on a cot. there’s the urge to lay his head down and rest, though asher knows that won’t actually do him any good.

perhaps the physical exhaustion mixes with the mental load he’s carrying when she asks him a very simple question, asher’s tongue becomes too heavy in his mouth. finn’s there instead, explaining his symptoms, and asher finds himself grateful; he doesn’t think he even has anything to add. she says something about tea, about staying occupied, but his ears had started ringing loudly like they had before and he only caught about half of it. he just knows that she’s helping, somehow, and that’s good enough.

finnuf​:

thankfully, asher takes finn’s hand. he had no obligation to; finn wouldn’t blame him if he refused, after what he must be suffering through, but he’s glad he does. he doesn’t know how well asher would be able to heave himself to his feet, judging by how wobbly he looks now. he looked a bit wobbly even sitting down, somehow, but standing is worse. at least he’s standing, though. finn will take that much. he lets go of asher’s hand in favor of holding onto his arm to better steady him.

is it really okay to leave everything here? “i don’t think we have much of a choice,” finn replies. he doesn’t want to take the time to pack everything up. he knows asher wouldn’t be able to help, and if finn has to carry the weight of their supplies by himself, that means he can’t offer asher the physical support he needs for them to successfully get to their destination. in this moment, that’s honestly all that really matters to finn. 

supplies can be replaced. they don’t have the most gold in the world, but they can find ways to make more, or find people that still like finn enough to offer them a temporary place to stay, maybe. they can’t replace asher, though, and for as annoying and somewhat useless asher has been the entire time finn has known him…he’s been company. support. someone that sees the good in finn that he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to see in himself, and maybe that’s a selfish reason to need someone, but maybe he does.

“you’re more vital,” finn says in response to asher this time, and he means it. “try to stand by yourself for a second,” he requests, just for a moment, so he can reach for his sword and properly equip it. that’s one thing he should have, just in case, and it’s quick, so he returns to asher’s side almost instantly, holding onto him once more.

“okay, let’s go. try to walk as fast as you can, but if it’s not fast, that’s fine. i’ll match your pace and make sure you don’t fall.” finn leads asher out of their camp, taking another moment to reassess their location and the necessary direction to travel, before he faces them toward it and starts walking, slowly first, looking over at asher to make sure he doesn’t simply pass out. finn hopes that doesn’t happen, but hopefully he’ll find some way to carry him if it does.

taking finn’s hand had been a risk enough, in asher’s fragile mind. finn taking hold of his arm to steady him might be necessary, but it makes asher’s heartbeat pick up, the sudden fear of being trapped through the touch running through his mind. he tries to take a deep breath, tries to calm down from what he knows must be irrational thoughts. it only does him very little good; instead, he just kinda lets out a shuttering breath. he doesn’t pull away, not when he thinks he might lose the strength in his legs right now, but he can’t quite relax. something might happen if he does.

asher makes his peace with the camp they’re leaving behind. he expects them to return to scraps and scuffs in the dirt as the only signs that they were ever there. starving to death in the woods would be such a terrible way to go, he can imagine. and his imagination has become quite vivid about such things these days. finn assures him that he’s more vital than anything they’re leaving behind, but asher can’t quite believe that. he knows he offers nothing to this group. company, maybe. but mostly he just takes up space and costs more to feed. maybe it would be better if finn did kill him. is there any point in living in this world?

when did his thoughts become something not truly his own? asher has always loved life. he’s always taken pleasure in the little things; the sounds of birds, the wind on his face. now every little sound, every little sensation makes him just about jump out of his skin. he knows he’s not the person he used to be; he’s barely a person at all.

finn lets go of him only for a moment and asher sees black spots in his vision and the world suddenly seems like it’s twisting this way and that. it’s all he can do to bend over in time before his gut tries to turn itself inside out. the young man lets out a terrible, hacking sound as he spits out nothing but bile. “sorry,” he gasps between retches that he can’t seem to control, “sorry—” is he crying again? he can’t tell.

finnuf​:

it doesn’t always stop you anyway, asher says, and finn’s heart sinks even further. how much has some twisted version of him tormented asher in his dreams? his friend speaks of it from experience; too much experience, from the sound of it.

they have to fix this. they have to at least try.

asher doesn’t seem to believe him at first, and finn supposes he can’t blame him. it is a little insane, certainly even moreso to someone struggling so deeply with an unfathomable and bizarre problem. he watches asher’s face as he slowly processes finn’s offer, and he waits patiently. when asher repeats finn’s words, he nods. it is late in the night, but surely, anyone treating the injured and unwell needs someone to keep watch at night, right? surely, if he knocks on the door, someone will greet him and not turn them away. they have to. he doesn’t know what will happen if they don’t. he doesn’t want to know.

asher asks how far, and finn is quiet for a moment, thinking of the route they’ll need to take to get there. there are no warp pads to help them reach their destination, but he can picture the way they need to go. “i’m not sure exactly,” he admits. “i know where it is, but i don’t know the distance or how long it will take to get there exactly. it’s in etlia, though. an old friend that helped me a lot, when lucinier territory still existed. if she can’t help us herself, hopefully she can tell us where else to go.”

he hopes the solution will be simple. a potion, maybe, or a mere restore spell to cure any poison or illness that may be the root cause of the nightmares. surely it can be simple. he prays, quietly, to the gods; a quick apology for not serving them well, followed by a request for them to cure his friend. surely daldona in particular will grant them that grace, won’t she?

asher agrees to try, and that’s really all finn can ask for, regardless of what exactly he means by the words. he feels relieved, and hopeful, and a little desperate on asher’s behalf. the situation is far more dire than he imagined, after all, and he can’t help but feel terribly worried. two nights without sleep. no wonder asher seems so delirious and inconsolable. two nights without sleep could do that to anyone, let alone someone kept awake by nightmares.

asher apologizes, and finn shakes his head in the darkness, even if asher may not be able to see him clearly. “you don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he assures him, because finn knows, for as much as he hates this, it must be leagues worse for asher. he doesn’t need guilt on top of all of his fear and exhaustion and anxiety. sure, finn would’ve preferred if he slept opposed to ending up in this state, but he understands what led them to this position and he’s not about to fuss over something they can’t change when far more important matters are at hand.

finn collects himself, then rises to his feet. he looks around their camp for the night, making a mental note of what belongings he’ll need to take with him, before turning back to asher and holding a hand out for him. “let’s only take what’s vital with us. no need to weigh ourselves down with too much, and hopefully we’ll be able to return quickly and sleep a little before there’s too much daylight.”

it’s in etlia. asher supposes there’s some relief in that alone. mostly, he just worries if he can make it to wherever it is that finn thinks he needs to go. his limbs feel like lead and his head aches something terrible. but what other choice does he really have? “okay,” he agrees again, and tries to believe that an old friend of finn’s will truly have his best interests at heart. he tries to remind himself of the finn he decided to follow; he was never exactly noble or gentle, but he wasn’t cruel. if asher can trust that he’s truly awake right now, he can trust that the finn before him will not be cruel either.

you don’t have anything to be sorry for, the other man assures him and asher has to struggle to bite back the urge to burst into tears. it’s the kindness, the reassurance that finn really didn’t have any obligation to give him. with his dreams so tortured by nights of pain and death, the littlest act of kindness makes him want to burst at the seams. he physically trembles with the effort of choking back his tears, knowing that not only would they do him more good, but they’d only exhaust him further. he needs whatever strength he has left to make it to whoever it is who finn thinks can help.

finn is the first to rise, which makes sense considering he’s the only one who knows where they’re going. something about leaving camp makes asher uneasy, but he knows better than to trust his own instincts right now. the worst that could happen is he actually dies this time, and maybe that wouldn’t be so bad after all. it’d mean his grandfather would finally get what he wanted. but asher shakes his head, trying to clear the image from his mind. he takes his knife from under his pillow; he knows he’s not much good with it, but it still brings him a little comfort to know he has it.

finnuf​:

finn watches asher’s terror in the dark and feels his heart somewhere in his throat. then asher, broken and scared, asks if he’s awake, and if this is real, and that’s how finn knows it really must be nightmares. 

“yeah, this is real, you’re awake,” finn tries to assure him, though he suspects it’ll do little.

you’re going to kill me, aren’t you? asher asks him, voice shaking, entire body shaking in fear, and finn doesn’t know why he suddenly feels like crying. maybe it’s for this sudden lack of trust; more likely, it’s because this isn’t the asher he knows, and finn is afraid for him. what if that asher is gone forever, replaced by this bundle of nerves, like a fearful dog that suffered through years of abuse?

it must be sort of like that, except finn doesn’t know how long this has been going on, and it’s because of him. well…not really, but some mirage of him has done terrible things to asher in his dreams, and it makes finn sick to his stomach. he doesn’t want to hurt asher, in life or in sleep. how much suffering must he be responsible for when he never meant to cause any? how many people has he hurt just by existing?

“i’m not going to kill you. if i hurt you, you can kill me yourself, remember? i mean that,” finn tries again, but he doubts this will help, either. the finn of asher’s dreams probably tells him that and kills him anyway, right? 

how does he fix this? is there any way to bring his asher back? he misses him, finn realizes, and he hopes it’s not too late. he should’ve mentioned something sooner. how did he not do something before now? how did he let it get this bad? will asher soon become another name on the long list of people lost due to finn’s failures? surely; surely he learned better after the war. surely he can do something to save someone.

but what does he do? is there some sort of magic that can ease anxiety, or let asher have a restful slumber, if only for one night? maybe his sister would know, but she is in noyillai, and he doubts lotus academy would be pleased with him stopping by and waking her, if he can even manage to get asher that far.

he isn’t entirely sure how much etlia has changed in his time away, but hopefully, some things stayed the same. he knows some other people that might know–– mages, priests. he heard from his sister that one of the lucinier priests that saved him from the battlefield set up her own small infirmary following the fall of their country. maybe she’d be angry to see him again, considering the way he ran from her help, but she is a kind woman. surely she won’t turn asher away, at least, even if finn would fully deserve her ire.

i don’t want it to hurt again. god, finn is so sad. he doesn’t want to see asher like this. it hurts just to see; he can’t imagine the amount of pain asher must be in living like this.

“i’m not going to let anyone hurt you again. or…i’m going to do everything i can.” finn knows better than to make lofty promises. he tries to recall…when he was a child and had many nightmares, didn’t one of the priests told him a way to know if he was dreaming or not? he forgot it back then and he forgets it now.

“i have an idea,” he begins regardless, voice still gentle. “i’m going to bring you to someone that may be able to help. right now, if you think you can come with me. i don’t know what i’ve done to you in your dreams, and i know it must be scary, but,” he holds his hands out to asher, palms still open and upturned. “trust me just one more time, okay? we’re going to find a way to fix this.”

how many times must finn promise his safety before asher will believe it? it’s easier to trust in the daylight, when the sun burns his eyes and he’s so damn tired there’s no doubt that he’s forced himself awake. no matter how much it hurts in his dreams, at least he never feels exhaustion in them. it dawns on him how exhausted he is right now— is that a sign? is this truly the waking world? asher wishes he had a mirror; his reflection always seemed wrong somehow in his dreams.

“i don’t want to kill you,” he doesn’t move yet, doesn’t quite trust if this is the real finn or just another nightmarish figment of the mind. “it doesn’t always stop you anyway.” the dream world is something out of storybooks; the dead walk steadily on toward their mission, their cold, rotten hands dragging asher down to join their ranks. he grips his own forearms and huddles himself up just a little bit tighter, protecting himself from some unseen thing. he swears he still feels finn’s cold, dead hands dragging him to his demise.

the finn in front of him now swears that nothing will hurt him, promises to protect him from everything possible, and as much as asher wants nothing more than to believe him, he’s too scared. the real finn, if it’s the same as the man he’s facing, never did anything wrong. he’s always kept his word to asher, even if sometimes it felt begrudging. asher stares at the other man through the darkness, eyes straining as if to find something there, some kindness that’s too real to be fabricated or some twitch of a brow or tug of a lip that gives away his true intentions. he can barely make out finn’s features at all let alone read them so closely.

“what?” he’s slow to understand anything that’s not pain and violence, his over-exhausted mind working overtime just to keep his system functioning somewhat normally. someone can help? what could anyone do to prevent the tortures that have no source but asher’s own mind? but then again, what does he have to lose? “right now?” he echoes, thinking about how they’ll have to break camp and gather their things if they’re going anywhere. can he physically make it? the thought alone makes him realize he must be awake right now; he wouldn’t feel so terrible while still unscathed otherwise. “how far?” he wonders aloud; how far can he really make it? as much as he wants to trust this finn, he doesn’t want to let him drag him across etlia to some unknown place or person that might not even help. the journey alone could very well kill asher.