[mature] all things change; LELIANA

[leliana]

I waited for something, and something died
so I waited for nothing, and nothing arrived

She is still reeling.

It’s been days but she still wakes with an ache in her gut. She still wakes trembling. She struggles to eat, struggles to sleep, struggles to do anything but move through this life like a ghost. If it weren’t for Adna, she’s not sure what she would be doing—where she would be. But she still has her daughter, and she does her best for her. She presses soft kisses into her scaled forehead each morning, ignoring the way she wants to wince from how much she looks like Vulgaris. She pulls her close at night, telling her grand stories, reassuring her that her father was concerned about a pending war and had asked for them to stay safe outside of the boundaries of Loess for now. She doesn’t know if Adna buys it completely—the girl was frighteningly perceptive—but she doesn’t fight her on it. Perhaps she wanted to believe the lie too.

Heavens know Leliana does.

Sometimes, she can almost convince herself that it’s the truth. When Adna asks her when they’ll see daddy again, she can almost convince herself it’s the truth when she says soon. She can almost convince herself that it will only be a few days, that they will be reunited as a family soon.

But as soon as Adna turns around, as soon as sleep claims her, the truth comes rushing back.

That is where she is at now, having dropped Adna off at the playground with a kiss, shooing her away from her skirts and letting her go adventure in peace. It’s for the best, she reminds herself, but that does not stop the way the pain comes rushing back, nearly causing her to double up with the reminder.

She walks to the meadow in a daze and if she cries, she doesn’t realize it. Doesn’t see the other horses that she passes. Doesn’t even notice that her wings have turned serpentine around her sides, a painful reminder of the one she has lost. She doesn’t notice anything until he stumbles upon her. She barely registers his first words, her hazel eyes blinking, trying to bring him into focus. “Oh,” is all she says, her voice breathy, her chest tight. She takes a step back instinctually and then lifts her chin, feeling the strange disconnect, the way she seems to exist outside of her body, observing but not feeling.

“I’m okay,” she lies, because it’s easier than trying to slice herself open with the memory.

it's our dearest ally, it's our closest friend
it's our darkest blackout, it's our final end