32. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”
“I think…I am in love with
you,” comes the admission one evening, but slow in dragging off her tongue, like tree-sap. “’tis rather disconcerting,” she adds, lest she be accused of
Wide eyes watch her from
across the fire, and Morrigan takes some pride in knowing she’s finally caught
her off guard. The unflappable bard with her songbook of clever words for every
occasion, from sermons to comebacks, sharp and on point, like the nocking of an
arrow that never misses.
“Oh,” she says, breathes
the word with the purse of her mouth. “That is–”
“Not what you’d expected?”
And if her own words sound scathing, it’s because she can’t help it. Vulnerability
is not a mantle she wears well, and she bristles under the weight of it now.
But Leliana only laughs,
a tinkling trill like a lute’s sweet twang. “I think it’s more than I could have
hoped for,” she admits, for she wears her vulnerability openly, but like every
other garment she wraps herself in it with enviable ease.
Morrigan clears her
throat. “Just don’t…tell Alistair. ‘tis unlikely I would live to see the end of
Her eyes twinkle in the
firelight. “You speak as though the thought alone would not have him blushing
into his roots.”
“Ha,” she breathes. “A
Silence comes to settle
between them, a surprisingly comfortable weight at the heels of her confession.
But their silences have always been good things, as they are wont to argue if too many words are spoken.
That soft smile, softer than hers, but she knows they hide harder things. “I’m glad.”
She does not handle fear admirably, but she feels relieved of it now, like some knot has come loose behind her breast, black briars unfurling to make room for rosebuds.
And so, “I am – happy,” she admits, and finds surprise in the truth of her own words.