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 hadn't realized it was possible to feel this cold.

She could feel it like a cold wind sweeping through her, rushing through the edges of her so that she felt nothing but the bitter bite of it, the regrets of her actions. Why had she stopped him? Why hadn't she been able to release that final control? She turned her head to the side to compose herself, to try and dry the tears that made soft paths down her cheeks.

She took a steadying breath and righted her shoulders. She had no reason to make demands of him; no right to ask for him to give more than he was willing. He was fire and light, all edges and power and she was, well, she was just Leliana. The quiet one, the soft-spoken one. She should feel lucky that he even noticed her and yet, here she was, asking for him to give more.

She nodded as he spoke, but she could feel that he had pulled away from her, locking away some vital piece, some important piece, away from her reach. The hurt rattled in her chest, but she refused to give into it. She wouldn't make the mistake again; she wouldn't place demands on him or push him away. She was glad for whatever he gave her, whatever this was.

She would be grateful for it.

It didn't take her long to follow him, to fold to the floor next to him, her down wings finding their familiar spot along the length of his back. She pressed hesitant lips to him, tasting the coolness of his flesh and aching for the fire he had shown, stupidly longing for the way it had almost scorched her. She should have let it. She should have pressed her palms into the heat of it and felt the burns race up her flesh. She should have let her fingers crumble into ash at the touch of him, sacrificed herself upon that altar of want. Instead, she had hesitated. Listened to her fear instead of her instincts. She had cooled him, and she would have the bear the weight of the loss.

"I want you," she admitted, although even that wasn't quite accurate. She needed him. As she needed the air in her lungs, the companionship of her sister, the wind pushing her along the curve and tide of the ocean. He was now a part of her. He had given her a taste of something she had never thought could be hers, and she starved in its absence. But she didn't put that pressure on him, she simply gave in to the exhaustion that could no longer be ignored. She nestled into his side, soaking in his warmth and protection, and began to drift to sleep. And just as she was on the edge of it, mind blurring, she whispered a single truth she had meant to keep to herself:

"I am yours."

And then drifted into the ocean of her dreams.

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