this is all of me for all the world to see; leliana

[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

The gold and white stallion had left as quickly as he had arrived. She hadn’t moved for several moments, but when she was certain that he had left, when she couldn’t smell him, feel him, she had begun to shake. Her entire body trembled with the fear—with the terror that racked inside of her—but she didn’t cry. Not now. She gasped for air as it finally expelled her body, the sound whooshing out of her as she struggled to find her balance, to right herself. The entire thing had been so surreal, so out-of-body.

Even though he was gone, she could swear she felt his breath on her skin.

How she got home, she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t search for Exist; she couldn't bear to show her sister the scars of her shame. She didn’t even extend her own healing powers toward it. She deserved to wear these; she deserved to feel the sting and the ache. She left the wound on her cheek, the flap of skin from her shoulder, gaping and open and ugly. She could have stitched, could have done away, but she didn’t.

She stood like that for hours, amber eyes looking out into the distance but not actually seeing anything at all. She didn’t hear him the first time he said her name or the second. She barely registered how close he had come to touching her. It wasn’t until she heard his command that her illusion of control shattered and she turned to him, dove into his side without thinking, her motion wordless. She buried her battered face into the curve of his powerful neck, the tears that she had held back finally flowing, racking her body.

“Dovev,” she moaned between sobs, closing her eyes and willing herself to not feel Zoryn’s body against hers, his mouth laying claim to her curves, his voice ripping apart her realities. She willed herself to not think about the hot roll of his breath against her jaw, the pressure of his teeth closing on her flesh, the sound her skin made when it tore apart. She shuddered and pressed closer to him, drinking in his warmth, ignoring the fury that rolled off him—that which made him so dangerous and so volatile.

Eventually—eventually—the sobs subsided. The earthquakes that rattled through her bones turned into minor tremors and then stillness, her silent tears slipping out the corner of her eyes and then drying. She took deep gulps of air, pressing her forehead into him, stealing the safety of his nearness. When she was certain that she had control of her breath, of her emotions, she whispered something quietly.

“You mean ‘Heal please.’”

It was enough of a memory that she dragged herself backward out of the fear, forcing herself to find her inner calm. For a moment, a second longer, she remained there, curled into his side, breathing him in, before she peeled away, loathing the distance even as it opened up. But she couldn’t be so selfish—not knowingly. When there was a foot or so between them, she took another steadying breath, and then found his gaze with her own, holding it, however shaky it might. “And I won’t. I can’t. I don’t deserve to heal.”

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