the good ol' days may not return || exist & leliana

[Canaan]

well, the good ol' days may not return,
and the rocks might melt, and the sea may burn.

  The solace is suddenly stripped away from him, tendrils of deafening quiet caressing the firing neurons within his mind as he is drawn away from the suffocating depths of his peripatetic reverie. The startling impact of her chest against his own rouses him, pulling him back into the moment and away from the greedy, unsated clutches of his own memory. The hardened line of his jaw tightens as his hazel eyes, rimmed with a thick line of gold, focus on the visual warmth of mahogany and deep, opulent crimson (soon, a rich cedar, like his own feathery appendages) cradled against him, and his heart grows rapid and eager within the rigid confines of his chest. A breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding is exhaled in his moment of recognition, of realization, and the length of his neck drapes over her own – embracing her.

   The stillness of the moment surpasses the restriction of time, and he is captured within the moment, savoring the way she presses against him – a fragile fragment of the Leliana he had always known, of the Leliana he had always held near to his heart. He does not question her, nor does he delve or dig beneath the surface of the uneasy, stirring storm of emotion brewing within the terse, tightened crease of her eyes as they meet his own. There is a part of him that knows, a part of him that perceives the anguish lining the pulsating tendons that piece together her pounding, aching heart – words are not needed to see, to feel her pain.

   ”Leli,” he breathes, an old memory emerging to the front of his mind of her and of Exist, painted by silvery moonlight, his own youthful voice calling out for her as he struggled to catch their slender, leaping forms in the gentle embrace of a rising tide. His eyes observe the tangled tendrils of cerise that line her shy gaze, and the flattened surface of his nose presses firmly against the rounded curve of her cheek, the warmth of his breath washing over her delicate skin. The familiarity of her is as easy and as soothing as any long swig of twice distilled whiskey would be to a tired, weary man, and her words are just as such. ”I have missed you. I have missed you both, more than you know. You look –“ he pauses, the ridge of his brow line furrowed as his whiskered lips reach out, brushing against the healing scar. ”- what is this, Leli? What is this from?”

   But the moment is interrupted, and his heart seizes within his chest, sinking to the very pit of his stomach as if it were bore down with the weight of a thousand boulders. His gaze searches past her now, roving the outline of russet against waning light on the horizon – the leathery texture of her broad wings are hardly a distraction from the broad swell of her belly, weighed down and swaying along with the golden stems of dried brush. Her once wild, tempestuous eyes meet his own, and she is wary, uncertain – everything he has never known her to be, and it stirs something inside of him.

   His hazel eyes trace the curve of her figure, darkened now with something undiscernible (heartbreak – the uneven seams of his heart splaying open, unstitched as the world around him becomes still). His chest is heavy, and his throat is swollen – speechless, every word he has ever longed to say caught in the middle of it, swallowed down as if it were bitter bile. Her voice is soft, a burning desire and yearning lingering in each syllable, and the faintest of smiles is drawn to the surface, pulling at the corner of his darkened mouth. His lips press against Leliana’s temple again, before a step is taken, the distance between he and Exist is closed, his mouth innocently pressed against the curve of her jaw before the broad length of his neck is draped over her own, drawing her near to him.

   Though his chest is heavy, wrought with an agony he has never known, his heart is light,  quivering against its cage as he becomes enveloped in the embrace of his two closest friends.

   ”Exist. I’ve missed you both,” he murmurs again, emotion rising to the surface, his voice suddenly hazy and rough – but the smile that remains is true, and unwavering. ”it has been too long.”

   Too long.

Canaan