and you say that i hurt you in a voice like a prayer, leliana

[leliana]

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

She sinks into him, drinks in the moment, feeling the warmth of him seep through her.

She can feel the tendrils of fear from Shiya still rooted in her, constant seeds in the back of her mind, but she doesn’t think on it—not yet. Not now. She wouldn’t ruin this moment; she wouldn’t let her. Instead, she focuses her energy on him, on the feel of his lips on her skin, on the thudding of his pulse. All of these things that feel like home, that feel like sanctuary, that feel like everything she had known that it would.

“I will go with you.” Of course she would follow him. She would follow him to the ends of the earth. She would walk barefoot through the fire to trail in his wake. “You’re my home,” she whispers into the sensitive skin behind his ear, reminding him of the time where they pressed into one another, where they pressed the secrets of their hearts into each other’s palms and trusted the other to care for it.

She pulls back ever so slightly when he mentions their daughter, gaze going to the horizon.

“I sent my friend, Chaol, to send her a message that I was safe—to let her know that I will be gone for a while.” Concern etches onto her features when she finds his gaze. “I’m scared to extract her from Tephra, to expose her to whatever is growing in me, but I trust you, Vulgaris. I know you’ll do what’s right for us.” She pauses again, thinking of her purple companion. “I’d like to invite Chaol to come with us, when he returns. He’s been a good friend to me. I’d like to know that he’s safe in the coming days.”

Her thoughts turn once more, weakened and feverish as they are, to the months of anguish, to Pangea, to the chaos, to Dovev. Her heart twists in her chest when she thinks of him charging into the flames. Of the way they had been separated in the chaos. “And I need to find, Dovev.” She is almost hesitant to say his name, but she refuses to apologize for it now. She presses into him, ignoring the pang in her stomach. “He protected me in Pangea, but I lost him. I need to know that he’s safe. I need to know he’s okay.”

She wants to elaborate but she’s suddenly gripped with a contraction, and she winces.

No. It was too early.

“Vulgaris—” her voice is cut off with a sudden sharp intake and she closes her eyes as the wave of it moves through her. No, it was still winter. She was still sick. She groans as the next contraction hits her and she falls to her knees, forgetting her requests to protect those dear to her, forgetting everything except the pain moving through her bruised and beaten body. She glances up, sweat matting her forelock.

“Our baby,” she winces. “She’s coming.”

Her wings turn serpentine and protective as she focuses on steadying her breath, drawing in air deep into her lungs. This isn’t how she wanted it to be. This isn’t the serene perfection of how she brought Adna into the world. This was painful and ugly and although she pulled on the tendrils of her gift to make it as easy as she could, she was too weak to do much. So she did what she could to shield their daughter from it, keeping it as calm as she could despite how her heart hammered in her throat.

It was too cold. She was too weak. They weren’t safe.

Her eyes are wide when she finds Vulgaris and she is glad he is here. That he can protect them. But she can’t focus on him for long. Everything within her floods toward the task at hand and she brings her fears to heel, locking up her emotions. Her face washes clean of the tension, her breathing steadies, and the rhythms become steadier. She had to be calm for their daughter. She couldn’t afford anything else.

She isn’t sure how much time passes, but soon, she can feel their child slip from her.

A soft cry leaves her as she turns around, caring for their daughter, everything falling away in this moment. It doesn’t matter that it’s too early. It doesn’t matter that she’s sick. The only thing that matters is their precious baby girl. Leliana heaves herself upward and then standing over their daughter. She immediately gets to work cleaning her, smoothing the fluff of her fur. “She’s beautiful, Vulgaris,” she breathes, looking up from the tangle of legs and scales. “She’s so perfect.”

And none of the rest mattered.

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

@[vulgaris]