it's still my heart to sell; dovev

[leliana]

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 could live a hundred nights and not feel the way she did now.

Life thrilled through her, raced through her veins, and she focused on steadying her breath, on the feel of him beneath her lips, the curve of a body both powerful and thin, warped and wicked. He was unlike any she had ever met before, anyone she would ever meet again. The torment that flashed behind his eyes fascinated her, but it was the control he shakily held that made her stay; the way he battled his demons, brought them to heel. She could tell it took effort, strain, could feel the way that he practically shook with the exhaustion of trying, but he did it. He fought them.

He beckoned and she followed, not altogether a lamb to the slaughter, but wordlessly, looking up at him through her lashes. She was wading into water deeper than she knew, riptides looming. Soon, she would be pulled into the undertow; soon, she would be gasping for air. But for now, all she could think about was the calming waters of him as they rose around her, as she sank her body into his embrace. In over her head, but she didn't care. He was too much for her, but she didn't think of it.

Instead, she handed herself over to the incessant pounding of her heart, her pulse thrumming in her throat as the darkness enveloped them, as she felt the quickening of his breath. She reached over, burying her face into the thickness of his mane, letting it engulf her senses, the scent of him thick and tangible, taking a hold of her and rooting in her belly. She would think of this and think of it often; she would carry this with her, long for it, ache for the feeling that now spread through her.

At his name, her smile grew softly, curling the edges of her lips, and she laughed, the sound low and easy and kind. Playfully, she nipped at her neck, finding a spot between the curves of the armor. But it died as she let the name cement in her memory. "Dovev," she repeated slowly, tasting the syllables for the first time, finding them to her liking. "Dovev," a second time for good measure. She let her mouth linger on his flesh, breath rolling softly over it. "I like your name very much."

Innocence radiated off of her as the silence grew between them momentarily, and she busied herself with the sweep of his body before her, the closeness of them, the isolation.

"Why did you find me that day?"

Not accusatory, but curious--the answer all of a sudden crushingly important.

Because she had to know. She had to know why they met.

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