[mature] Heartfire;

[Dovev]

dovev

html by Toli, overall design and quote style based on "Dovev" by Laura

It was Leliana’s face before him, soft and hazy in that familiar way. How many times had he seen her this way? Delirious from lack of sleep, his bloodshot eyes would conjure her, the very reason he couldn’t sleep anymore. Or had been the reason. How long ago..? Could remember clearly the two women he’d fought, needed the fight, killed them. Had finally been able to slip into that wonderful black of unconsciousness in a pool of their blood. Finally found rest. Fought a bear, too. Could remember so clearly. And as always she’d been there. Really there.

Wasn’t here now, though. Never here anymore. His fault, as always. Couldn’t touch a damn thing without it breaking. Always grasping so tightly, too tightly, to what he wanted. Clutch til it shattered in his fist.

Her face changed, her head of crimson hair turning dark as he watched with a blank expression. The rise and fall of his chest felt heavy, slower, and his black eyes stared back as she looked down on him - down, he was on the ground. Oh, but he knew that face too. His lips twitched, and his breath of a silent laugh rippled across the blanket of blood he rest in, plenty cold by now and pushing shivers through his body. Of all people to show in this strange dream.

”My Dagger,” he thought he might have said, barely a whisper as he smiled through the blood in his teeth. His eyes focused on her as he became more lucid, blinking up and waiting for her to disappear like the others. Still there, though, and he tried shifting with a grunt, his muscles aching and burning. His skin was mangled and raw, torn in the usual places, shredded in new ones where bone had pierced through at her command. Violence.

So, she’d finally gotten bored of him.
Had her fun first, though.

And he woke from the haze a little more.

His head fell back down with a soft squelch, the drenched grasses beneath his face slowly soaking in the pool of his blood. He sighed, not even meaning to, the weight of his armor pressing down on him, shoved uncomfortably beneath him too. Forming thoughts was still a struggle, trying to catch up to where he was and what had been happening to him and for how long. And what had been happening before. Needed that information before he could think of where he was supposed to be next.

His black eyes slid to her again from behind the mask of bone over his face. Still there. Why was she here? But he only stared, still trying to process.

You've only got 10 more paces to live
Enjoy your last moments. They're my gift to give

[Heartfire]

show them the joy and the pain and the ending

She would be lying if she said he had not intrigued her from the moment they had first met. Whether that intrigue is a good or bad thing is yet to be decided, but it could certainly be said that attracting Heartfire’s attention should, by and large, be avoided. Unless, of course, one wanted her turning up in their lives at the oddest of moments. And perhaps the most inopportune times (though, to be fair, it had been rather fortunate a time or two. For others, of course). This is not because she is a particularly frightening creature, nor even particularly cruel. No, her agenda is her own. And that, unfortunately, is where the problem lies.

She does not always hold your best interests at heart. Rather, she does what she must for herself, and for her family.

In Dovev’s case, it seems to be a chronic case of in the wrong place at the wrong time. While she cannot say he is her favorite horse ever (certainly she has a few bones to pick with him), he is not truly what had drawn her here. Or rather, not the entire reason. It is true she had taken to keeping tabs on him. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer they say. And while they may not be enemies in the classic sense, certainly she would not consider them friends.

No, Violence had brought her. Or rather, the fact that Violence had deigned to take him captive. While that normally would cause her no loss of sleep, in this case, she has a rather vested interest. After all, the crafty woman had taken something else very near and dear to her. And though she might have him back now, she still has a score to settle.

And frankly, in this instance, it seems she can kill two birds with one stone.

With a soft sigh, she gazes dispassionately down at the bloodied figure lying at her feet. His words (My Dagger, as though he could claim such familiarity) had served to bring out the soft exhalation, drawing her from her musings. She had been staring at him in silence for a rather lengthy time, but then, she had also believed him insensate. Apparently however, the time had come.

“Excellent. You’re awake,” she replies crisply, shifting sideways so that she can better examine him. “Unfortunately hauling your heavy ass out of here is beyond my abilities, or I would have done so already,” she continues, a faint smirk edging onto her dark lips as one hoof lifts to prod him with a surprisingly gentle nudge. “So… time to get up, sleeping beauty.”

i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts

Apparently he has managed to unlock a new level of sass :| :| :|

[Dovev]

dovev

html by Toli, overall design and quote style based on "Dovev" by Laura

She sighed and his smile grew, his cracked lip splitting open a little more. Already so used to the taste of blood at this point, though, and he didn’t notice more pooling against his tongue.

”Excellent. You’re awake.” Oh, so short and clipped. Dagger was in a mood again. Oops, more blood in his mouth as he grinned a little more, turning his head to choke up more of the dark fluid through a raspy laugh. If this really was a dream, it was a good one. Except for all the pain, of course, but he was plenty used to that too. Trained to accept it, ignore it, work through it. Another chill shivered through his body as she continued, and he tried again to shift himself into sitting up.

”Unfortunately hauling your heavy ass out of here is beyond my abilities, or I would have done so already.” He laughed again, probably not even aware that he was doing it or even why he was doing it, pausing to spit more blood and saliva on the ground before him. She nudged at him, barely pushing at a naked spot on his shoulder between plates of shielding bone. The familiar sensations of pleasure coursed through him, his skin so sensitive and nerves so eager for that touch. He grunted again, would have leaned away but she moved away first. Had he ever told this one not to touch him? Can never remember anything anymore. Maybe his memory was permanently damaged.

”So… time to get up, sleeping beauty.”

”Mh,” he responded back, a quiet, noncommittal noise as he stared a little dizzily at the ground. He must’ve managed to sit up though. He seemed to be sitting up.

With a slow breath, he folded a stiff foreleg beneath him, shifting his hip to get his feet under his weight. Tried to give a heave, but it didn’t seem to work and he rocked back down again with a tired sigh. Up, though. Had to get up… Why, again? Didn’t seem to matter, his mind still not fully aware of everything going on, and he gave it another shot. His muscles screamed in protest and his face contorted in a grimace as he let the pain jolt his heart beat. finally rising to his feet with a groan.

Didn’t last long, and he lurched forward, stumbling into her and so generously sharing the lather of blood that painted him. Didn’t much care, though, really. She wanted him up, and now he was. Even if he was leaning a good deal of his weight on her as he caught his breath. He wasn’t too unfocused to catch her scent though, and damn why did she always have to smell so good? Maybe that was in his mind too, but he still buried his muzzle into her hair and let her fragrance, something that was real and not a dream, steady him.

This had been so much easier when Violence could just possess him and move his body for him.

”Up,” he confirmed obviously, a bit bleary and trying to reclaim his own weight from her. Didn’t work out so well, so he stayed leaning against her shoulder, relieving at least some of the pressure on her.

What had he been doing before? Only fragments seemed to come through. Could remember standing protectively in front of Aurora as Zoryn charged him. Could remember Magnus, and his vow against the man that the next time he set foot in Tephra it would be a fucking bloody massacre. Could remember a cave he used to sleep in, his young daughter at his side. Other faces passed through, but he pushed them away for now. It was all giving him the worst fucking headache.

”Dagger.” Why did he say that? Shrugged it off inwardly.

You've only got 10 more paces to live
Enjoy your last moments. They're my gift to give

[Heartfire]

show them the joy and the pain and the ending

She would like to say it was like taking candy from a baby, but that analogy is far from accurate (no, that had been Canaan, too trusting, too easy to lure into her false trap). This is most definitely not easy. In fact, if pressed, she might say perhaps she had not fully thought this one through. Just how is one small mare supposed to transport a hulking beast like Dovev? Ok, perhaps not so hulking, but even if he is a bag of bones, he is certainly no lightweight. And perhaps she is tall enough, but her slim frame and lithe build were not made with strength in mind. Athletic she might be, but certainly no body builder.

Fortunately, Dovev seems willing enough to help solve the problem for her. Though, considering his current state, it really is only half the battle. She might be able to lead him easily enough (he is rather out of his mind, half delirious, half dead), but she is not entirely certain he possesses the strength to make it ten feet, much less make it where she needs him to go. She is not entirely certain Violence is done with him, so they cannot stay here. While she might relish a confrontation with the woman, this is neither the time nor place.

Besides, she doesn’t actually wish Dovev dead. He might be annoying and arrogant and a womanizer, but she had officially made him her problem. And she takes care of what is hers. (She is also certain there are number of others who will not be too pleased with her actions, but she has her reasons. Even if they may not fully understand them.)

Fortunately, by some miracle, Dovev actually manages to make to his feet. By his monosyllabic answers, she hadn’t been entirely certain he would. Less fortunately, with his unsteady limbs and battered body, he struggles to remain upright and, as a result, ends up all but crashing into her. She resists the urge to recoil from his rather grisly form, instead bracing herself to take his weight. He is slick with blood, both fresh and old clotting and matting in his dark hair, coloring the white of his bone bold red. His weight presses against, staining her own mottled skin with rust and vibrant crimson.

It would would wash, she reminds herself. He, however, needs rescuing now. The thought nearly makes her laugh aloud. Never had she thought she might place herself in the position of playing knight in shining armor to his damsel in distress. Just goes to show how truly fickle a mistress life can be.

A faint shiver traces along her spine as he repeats the moniker (almost an admission, as though he cannot quite control his words or thoughts in his battered state). She should admonish him, tell him not to call her anything but her given name, but she doesn’t. Even if she would only admit it to herself, she rather likes the way he addresses her.

She can feel his armor biting into her flesh, the press of bone against soft skin, but she does not withdraw. Instead she pushes closer, using her weight to bolster him. Bruises might form, but she would heal. For the moment, she only wishes to ensure that he would as well. “Good,” she finally continues, her voice still slightly sharp. A drill sergeant giving commands. “Now walk. We can’t stay here.”

And she would have him walking, even if she had to push him step by step.

i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts

[Dovev]

dovev

html by Toli, overall design and quote style based on "Dovev" by Laura

He was sitting up, at least. Oh, no wait. He’d already done that. Yes, standing now. Right. Standing and leaning on Violence.

What..?

His face pulled into a weary frown and he looked at her. Yeah, see? That wasn’t Violence. Vi had no reason to have him leaning on her when she could just puppet him wherever the hell she wanted him to go. Damn, and that would be so handy right about now, to just be able to sit back and get lost in the recesses of his mind and not have to feel all of this shit. So, no. Certainly wasn’t Vi. Couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing just then.

Oh, but he did know that face. His dear, deadly Dagger come to finally kill him. Hmm, hadn’t she nearly done that before? Couldn’t remember. Probably, though. Hell, at least it would beat walking.

”Good. Now walk. We can’t stay here.”
Fuck, see? He knew she was trying to kill him.
Goddamn walking.

She seemed to hold his weight well enough, though progress was dreadfully slow. Didn’t bother him one bit, she was the one in the hurry. To get where, again? She’d probably said so. Hm, forgotten again, maybe. Remembered that they couldn’t stay here though, and he glanced away, his eyes squinting against the sunlight. Somehow everything had been much darker when he’d been on the ground. Why was he looking..? Oh, yes. Where was here. Here was… the Meadow. Okay, cool.

...Why’d he want to know that again?

”Vi - ?” he turned back to her. Oh, right. Not Violence. ”Dagger,” he sighed with a smile, losing his nose in her hair again. Must have stopped walking to peek around, so he began again, carefully placing the tip of his hoof before easing his weight on it to take another step, blood only very slowly spilling down his legs now. Had trouble keeping his thoughts together, but her scent seemed to help, so he didn’t even watch where they were going, just let her support some of his weight as he walked with her.

Hadn’t she tried to kill him before? Well, she wasn’t now, not unless this damn walking really was her medium for murder in which case she’d be sadly disappointed when his fragmented mind came back to him and his body worked through some of this damage. Trained to accept it, after all, and was pretty successful at ignoring it just then. Besides, nothing ever fucking killed him. It was only a bit irritating that his muscles wouldn’t cooperate as quickly as he wanted them to, and his legs trembled threateningly under his weight.

His thoughts were clearing just a little more, and her scent registered in a different way, brought up a long ago memory. She’d taken his sight and he’d reached for her, gently brushed his lips along her neck like he was doing now. Mmm, he hummed. That had been a good memory, hadn’t it? He stopped doing that though, returning his nose to her hair and reclaiming a little more of his weight as his strength so slowly came back to him.

”Heartfire,” he whispered, not even realizing that he’d said it aloud. At least he remembered her name. Had forgotten so many of them. And why was he still smiling? Something about this was terribly amusing, but he couldn’t quite put the joke together in his mind. They were enemies, after all, weren’t they? So strange that he was enjoying her here. Must be a joke somewhere. He’d figure it out later.

”Water.” He was fucking parched. If she was going to play babysitter, she may as well do it right. She could thank him later.

I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

[Heartfire]

show them the joy and the pain and the ending

Despite his confusion, he seems willing enough to trust her. To follow where she leads. Unexpected, but something of a blessing. While she is not opposed to tricking him into doing her bidding, she suspects he would be much more difficult about such things than certain other horses might be. And, frankly, he would likely be difficult enough once he actually comes to his senses. She certainly would not wish to compound the problem. And what is it they say about looking a gift horse in the mouth? Right, don't do it.

It's advice she is quite happy to follow.

And so, somehow, when she commands he walk, he walks. Perhaps he is leaning heavily against her. Perhaps their progress is slow, almost painful, but they are going in the right direction, and he is accompanying her willingly. A feat in and of itself. She might be sticky with his blood, the press of his weight and ridges of bone biting into her skin, but if this is the price she must pay, she would gladly do so.

Besides, she could hold this over his head for the rest of his days. And that is definitely worth such a price.

She does her best to ignore the way he presses his muzzle against her neck, the fall of her dark mane shrouding his features (is he… sniffing her? Oh hell. Granted, she probably does smell better than whatever hole Violence had been keeping him in, but still...). Does her best to ignore the warmth, the familiarity of that gesture. He doesn't make it easy, not with the way he keeps murmuring nonsense into her skin, but she has sheer stubbornness on her side. Whatever might have once passed between them, she would not be made a fool. And certainly not by him.

Slowly, slowly, he seems to regain some of his faculties. Though she still supports him with silent stoicism, he has relieved some of his weight from her. He has even progressed so far as to finally be able to recall her name. The sound of it upon his lips, softly, almost absently spoken, draws her attention. Her pale gaze shifts to him only to find him with a smile upon his lips, something almost resembling amusement in his expression. Unfortunately she could make no claim to any ability to read minds, and his odd reaction brings a faint frown to her lips.

Shaking it off, she quips a faintly sarcastic “Congratulations, you've remembered my name,” before turning her attention back to the task at hand.

Only to be interrupted once more by his abrupt demand for water. Naturally. With a soft sigh, she glances briefly back at him before shifting course to make way for the nearest water source (a direction easily enough discerned with her particular abilities). “Goddamn,” she grumbles half-heartedly, though the words are softer (kinder) than she had intended. “You're needier than a child.”

i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts