I know what it is but I'm hoping that all is well
no harvest of green but it's still my heart to sell

 

Days did not last for long. 

Or maybe they lasted too long.

It was hard to tell anymore. 

The days all blended together, one bleeding into the next. She slept, but it was thin and fitful, his image haunting her most every night. She woke with the appendages wrapping around her, the leather and ivory a sharp, painful reminder that she quickly shifted, moving them back to the softer, more familiar down. It was enough to ease the ache in her heart, but not enough to stop her dreading sleep, the mahogany and crimson mare walking further and farther each night, hoping someone that she could avoid it entirely. 

Tonight was no different, although her path took her outside of Tephra and to the meadow. The reminders here were no less painful than those in the forest, but they were at least kinder. The memory of her sleeping with him wrapped around him. The bittersweet memory of finding him that day. It was all that she had to sate her hunger, all that she had to ease the bruises that blossomed, the wounds that weeped. 

Still, not enough to ease the fidgets beneath her flesh. The ripples as she shivered. 

When she saw him, her wings shifted unknowingly, taking on the form they had the last time she saw him. They turned copper by her side, the silver light of the moon reflecting off of them. The edges were sharp but tucked into her sides, defensive but not threatening. She remembered the last time that she saw him; the last time when he had charged her, when Dovev had been just barely able to slam him away.

When he took Dovev away.

She remained calm at the sight of him, but her pulse hammered in her throat. Her eyes held onto his gaze, steady, but it would be impossible to miss the bruised depths, haunted edges, the pain. She swallowed for a moment and shifted, but didn’t run away, didn’t call for help. She just waited for him. She just mourned.

I put everything I had into something that didn't grow
like going on a wild hunt, shooting arrows without a bow

I know what it is but I'm hoping that all is well
no harvest of green but it's still my heart to sell

Seeing him brings it all rushing back.

It is like the world is moving in fast forward and she is standing still, everything rushing in around her. She does not move—she is not even certain that she could if she tried. Everything warps, her pulse thudding violently, her hazel eyes holding onto him, her crimson lips pressed together into a flat line. She remans still, save for the feel of the copper wings at her side, the weight of them sturdy, reassuring. She is not a violent creature, but it is good to know that she had some level of defense; some protection.

Whatever fight she may have had though, whatever fury may have boiled in her veins, rushes out at what he says. A child. Dovev—he had a child. Not only did he have another mare, but he had given her a child to carry and to raise and to love. The image sears into her mind and she closes her eyes for a moment, feeling her knees lock. How could she have been so dumb? How could she have been so utterly foolish?

His touch brings her back, causing a flinch, the edges of her flesh rippling without her consent underneath the warmth of his breath. So similar to the possessive way Dovev had touched her, but so wrong—all wrong. Where the touches of Dovev had always been tempered with something else, this was just ugly.

This was all wrong.

Warning bells sound in her head, but she is rooted to the spot, mind still reeling from the revelation.

It isn’t until he bites her that she moves, that she reacts at all.

She sidesteps quickly, neck stinging from the pressure of his teeth, but the pain nothing when compared to the agony that thrashes within her. She lifts her gaze to find his, and although the pain is unmistakable, the crippling ache, there is steel there too—a strength. “Do not touch me,” is all she says quietly, because she is not anyone’s pet to own, and certainly not this stallion’s. She belongs to the stars. Not mortal claim.

That does not stop the fear that ripples beneath the surface though. That does not stop the uncertainty the causes her belly to clench, red flags thrown as she holds his gaze. This was more than just a way to throw it in her face. This was not just a sadistic game. Her wings shift and the metallic clink is unmistakable but she doesn’t move. She just lifts her chin defiantly, staring at him silently with her bruised eyes.

She would not run.

She would not cry.

She would not give him these things that he craves so easily.

I put everything I had into something that didn't grow
like going on a wild hunt, shooting arrows without a bow

I know what it is but I'm hoping that all is well
no harvest of green but it's still my heart to sell

She was not feisty. She was not strong—not in the way she needed to be for this interaction. She had no thirst to engage in battle with him and she knew that the metallic wings at her side were more warning than actual threat. Leliana had spent her entire life, short as it was, devoting herself to healing. She poured herself wholeheartedly into the task, giving herself over to the power of her healing, the purpose of it.

To reverse on that? To inflict pain instead of soothe it?

She couldn’t do it.

Not even now. Not even when her very self was at risk.

Still, she was strong in her own right. Strong in the quiet ways. In the way she held his gaze, even when her insides screamed at her to turn away her gaze. (No, she would watch him.) She was strong in the way that she remained silent, even when she could feel the moan, the sobs burning in her throat. (No, she would not give him the satisfaction.) She was strong in the way she refused to tremble, despite the fact that each time he touched her,  her very flesh revolted. (No, she would not, could not, break.)

He asked her questions and she felt her knees weakening at them, but she pulled herself away from the moment. She protected herself. That bright light that was Leliana was shielded as she stored it in the back of her mind, safeguarding it against this pain. She did not answer him—could not, even if she wanted to. There were no words to describe the agony that was missing Dovev, the crushing reality that was finding out what meant so much to her meant so little to him. She could not describe it, explain it. She couldn’t.

So she didn’t try. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes to center herself, to fight the tears as they formed. When she opened them again, he was moving again, his nose near her tail and she was dizzy from delirium. This couldn’t be happening. But he moved on, and although she should feel relief, she only felt pain—and fought to control her pulse, the only signal of her internal war. Her amber eyes found him and they hold his gaze, not understanding the predator that lay beneath the surface, the pleasure that he found in tearing her apart, laying her bare beneath the constellations—salt rubbed into her wounds.

When he finally lashed out, she closed her eyes again, although even she could not stop the soft cry that left her lips as her own flesh ripped, her blood beginning to drip down her haunches. He whirled away, but she didn’t retaliate—not even when he came back and ripped a chunk from her shoulder, the flesh peeling away, the blood flowing more freely there. She didn’t fight back, locked herself internally, a single tear beginning to fall down her cheek.

She ignored his question, ignored the pain flowing through her body. She did not lift her own healing powers to staunch the wounds or close the flesh; she didn’t deserve it. If she was honest with herself, all of this was brought upon by herself. She had been foolish, she had been childish. She deserved all of this.

So she stood, bled freely, and lifted her gaze to his.

“I do not deserve to be saved.”

A pause.

“But maybe you do.”

I put everything I had into something that didn't grow
like going on a wild hunt, shooting arrows without a bow