they all go into the dark; ALL

[leliana]

I've never loved a darker blue than the darkness I have known in you

She does not have the same reaction to the vision as others.

Her belly does not clench with hunger but fear. Her throat closes up as she sees him, his solemn face, his serious eyes, and she remembers the hours pressed together, tucked away from the rain, sharing secrets and easing the pain of the other. It had not been a romantic love, but it had been love that she had felt for him in those moments. He had soothed a wound that had spread wide and deep below the surface, had been a quiet in the storm of her life, and she would always love him for it, always carry it with her.

She feels wild with the fear now, although it does not show on her face, never breaches the calmness of her eyes. She turns to Adna, her daughter growing so rapidly now, who looks at her with confusion, her brows drawing together and mouth pinched in thought. “You need to stay here, Adna.” Her voice is steady and she thanks the heavens for it because she feels anything but inside. “I need you to promise me.” Adna considers protesting, even opens her mouth to do so, but she closes it just as quickly and nods.

“That’s my girl,” Leliana whispers, drawing her daughter to her chest and pressing a kiss to her scaled forehead. “Stay here and stay safe. If you need help, call for Magnus. I love you.”

And then she turns, heart pounding in her chest.

Her wings unfurl by her side, switching from the serpentine form she favors these days to the crimson dragon and she begins to run, her body launching forward. The wings beat powerfully, once, twice, and then she is lifted into the air, the dirt beneath her dispelled and swirling in her absence.

She flies faster than she ever has in the past, urged forward by the fear and the echo of her memory. She can see him right before her eyes and the terror is caught in her throat. She continues to tease even more speed out of her wings until her body, still weakened by her battle to keep Warrick’s disease at bay, protests from the exertion. But she can’t be weak now. She can’t afford to think of it.

She can only surge forward through the currents of air as they swirl around her.

She is soaked when she finally lands on the outskirts of Pangea, the horses already beginning to make their way in, answering the call of some dark god. She lifts her hazel eyes to the sky, swallowing back the panic that swells in her, praying that her daughter listens and stays within the boundaries of Loess.

Without further hesitation, she makes her way further into the kingdom, doing her best to avoid the others, sticking to whatever shelter she can find. When she sees Rhonen, already under attack, she cries out, lurching forward and catching herself against a thin, brittle tree. Without thinking, she grasps for whatever power she has within her, letting it pool in her palms before she sends it shooting forward toward him.

It is a fool’s errand.

It is an impossible task.

But she cannot do anything but what she does. The golden light of her healing reaches for the red stallion, working its way through his body, knitting together whatever flays apart, staunching whatever wounds open up. Her knees threaten to buckle, the onslaught of it more than she can keep up with, and sweat beads her forehead, but she clings with white-knuckles to consciousness, fighting to keep him alive.

like fire weeping from a cedar tree, know that my love would burn with me