let your fists come undone; 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

Leliana does not have the same longings as Exist. She does not burn for constellations beyond her grasp; she does not ache for worlds she cannot see. She is pragmatic, focused on the hurts of the world before her, her mind turning toward the bruises that flourish on the horizon, on the cries of the injured. There was too much to do here, too much to consume her mind, for her to think of anything else. But oh, oh, how she cherished her sister for her ability to do so, for the way her mind spun outward, soaking in the galaxies and floating amongst them, her dreams and thoughts melding with the worlds beyond their own.

What it must be like to glow so brightly.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, voice low and steady. “I imagine that some thought that they were happier, but the past always look better than the present, does it not?” She turned her crimson-dipped head to look toward her sister, to study the ache in her eyes, and she felt her heart constrict. “I think of her too, you know.” Their mother, always present, hovering just out of reach for them both. Leliana did not like to dwell on Victra; she did not like to think of why she had left, of the demons that had chased her. But that did not mean she could keep the thoughts at bay. Too often, too frequently, they nipped her heels.

She held her sister as she buried her head into her neck and breathed in deeply, overcome by the scent of salt and Exist’s presence, steadied by the weight of her. “I hope that she is happy, wherever she is.”

Even if that meant not being happy with her daughters.

She answered her sister calmly, ignoring the pangs in her chest as she dug up Dovev’s face, as she thought of the blue stars that twinkled, buried in the blackness of his coat. It hurt, to imagine him, to remember what it had felt like to be held by him, but it was also soothing, somehow; as if her memories of him somehow brought them closer together. “Yes,” she answered simply, watching her sister peel away and then step further into the tide. “I met him first in the meadow. I followed him to Ischia one night.”

She breathed in deeply, the air expanding within her chest, steadying herself. “That’s the thing,” she leaned down, letting the waves wash around her muzzle, although she was careful to not breath it in, before lifting her head once more. “I’m not sure it matters what I want with him.” Her eyes were dark with hurt when she looked up to her sister but she quickly banished it, replacing it with the calm stillness.

“It’s okay. I am grateful even for the few moments I was given.”

It was enough. It was enough.

(It would never be enough.)

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