I'm not here to say I'm sorry; Leliana

[leliana]

They are intrinsically bound, and it would be impossible for them to know to what extent. She does not know that he has, or will, harbor hate for the one stallion who has both grown and ripped apart her heart. She does not know that he has come to love the little filly who thinks Leliana, in one way or another, has ruined her life. They have no idea how the threads of their lives have brought them so close to each other, how they still stand apart and yet remain tied, their destinies leading to the same point in time and space.

So she just laughs and shakes her pretty head, the crimson of her mane framing the curve of her jaw. “I somehow doubt that very much,” because he did not seem like the type to not have things of importance to say. Still, she quiets at his offer and just nods her head once, because hearing his story somehow felt vital—and she could not imagine anything more worthwhile than listening to whatever he had to share.  

She remained quiet as he spoke, as the story spilled forth, and despite the fact that her heart clenched in her chest—despite the fact that anguish twisted her gut—she didn’t move. Not until he was done, not until silence reigned between them again. A single tear fell down her cheek, unbidden, as the only way of knowing that she had heard the story at all. She couldn’t imagine everything that he had felt.

She could not possibly imagine everything that he had experienced.

So she did the only thing that she could imagine, the only thing that made sense, and she stepped forward, closing the limited distance between them and touching the velvet of her nose to his cheek. She lingered there for a moment, knowing that he harbored terrible power there in his chest but also trusting that he was good underneath it all. “I am so sorry, Rhonen,” she finally murmured into his skin before pulling away and finding his gaze, the hazel of her eyes wide. “No one should have to experience what you did.”