like going on a wild hunt; zoryn

[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 was not feisty. She was not strong—not in the way she needed to be for this interaction. She had no thirst to engage in battle with him and she knew that the metallic wings at her side were more warning than actual threat. Leliana had spent her entire life, short as it was, devoting herself to healing. She poured herself wholeheartedly into the task, giving herself over to the power of her healing, the purpose of it.

To reverse on that? To inflict pain instead of soothe it?

She couldn’t do it.

Not even now. Not even when her very self was at risk.

Still, she was strong in her own right. Strong in the quiet ways. In the way she held his gaze, even when her insides screamed at her to turn away her gaze. (No, she would watch him.) She was strong in the way that she remained silent, even when she could feel the moan, the sobs burning in her throat. (No, she would not give him the satisfaction.) She was strong in the way she refused to tremble, despite the fact that each time he touched her,  her very flesh revolted. (No, she would not, could not, break.)

He asked her questions and she felt her knees weakening at them, but she pulled herself away from the moment. She protected herself. That bright light that was Leliana was shielded as she stored it in the back of her mind, safeguarding it against this pain. She did not answer him—could not, even if she wanted to. There were no words to describe the agony that was missing Dovev, the crushing reality that was finding out what meant so much to her meant so little to him. She could not describe it, explain it. She couldn’t.

So she didn’t try. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes to center herself, to fight the tears as they formed. When she opened them again, he was moving again, his nose near her tail and she was dizzy from delirium. This couldn’t be happening. But he moved on, and although she should feel relief, she only felt pain—and fought to control her pulse, the only signal of her internal war. Her amber eyes found him and they hold his gaze, not understanding the predator that lay beneath the surface, the pleasure that he found in tearing her apart, laying her bare beneath the constellations—salt rubbed into her wounds.

When he finally lashed out, she closed her eyes again, although even she could not stop the soft cry that left her lips as her own flesh ripped, her blood beginning to drip down her haunches. He whirled away, but she didn’t retaliate—not even when he came back and ripped a chunk from her shoulder, the flesh peeling away, the blood flowing more freely there. She didn’t fight back, locked herself internally, a single tear beginning to fall down her cheek.

She ignored his question, ignored the pain flowing through her body. She did not lift her own healing powers to staunch the wounds or close the flesh; she didn’t deserve it. If she was honest with herself, all of this was brought upon by herself. She had been foolish, she had been childish. She deserved all of this.

So she stood, bled freely, and lifted her gaze to his.

“I do not deserve to be saved.”

A pause.

“But maybe you do.”

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