when your dreams have ended

It was nothing less that what he deserved. This torment was one of the many cons far outweighing the good it was supposed to do either of them in the long run. She looked so sad, like a part of her was missing (because it was); a part of her she never knew existed and she didn't know why she felt so empty. That was what he saw reflected on her face no matter how hard she might try to mask it under forced bravado and patchwork resolve. The punishment was that he would live the rest of his life knowing that he was the sole reason for her misery in either of these realities. 

No. It wasn't worth it. Not in the slightest and cursed himself for ever thinking it could. 

Three almost four. What was left of his nerve evaporated in that moment. A late edition. Yes. That was one way to explain that moment on the ramparts of Val Colline three almost four years ago. He could still hear her pleading moans as she shattered around him, spearing him towards his own paralyzing peak. If anything was worth it, it was that moment and the others they shared before he reverted to his own cowardly ways when it all became too real. It was easy to forget how ill suited he was for her, how far out of his league she was when he was buried inside of her deep enough to read her thoughts. Far, far too easy. 

His mouth turned cotton the longer she spoke, practically begging him to for ways to return the supposed favor. It was no favor, saving her and her family from encroaching blight, but pure, unmitigated obligation that would not be quieted until they were all safe within the walls of Soldier's Peak. No, she would never have to oblige him in that respect and if she insisted he'd only ask for her continued presence in his life. He was selfish enough to need that even when his instructions from Morrigan were emphatically the opposite. 

It begged the question if the witch saw this coming, knew they would find themselves in this very moment. But then maybe that was something anyone with basic comprehension could predict. Either way he was tired of fighting it. He didn't want to deprive himself of her any longer. Selfish. Selfish. Selfish. 

Greedy. Possessive. Voracious.

He was all of that and more for her. 

Ragnar shook his head, tamping down all he wanted to say in response and instead settling for something simpler. You don't owe me anything, Your Grace He'd called her that before both in deference and in wicked tease (usually when his face slotted neatly between her thighs). Clearing his throat for the umpteenth, he readjusted the squirmy toddler. His daughter He now new as sure as he knew that her mother was the love of his life. It's our job A lie wrapped in a blanket of truth. Yes. It was his job to protect against darkspawn, but it had never once been his motivation in saving them. No, that he owed to his voidless fear of truly losing her in a way he couldn't fix without a phial. 

He could feel the tips of his ears heat at her last comment. How he managed the stilted shrug of his shoulders he would never know. She seems agreeable enough- yes that's a horsie. He guided her sweaty hand to brush softly down the mare's snout while his chin rested inadvertently (though instinctively) atop her iced curls, a gentle waft of her scent gripping his heart in a vice. Her name is Lizzy, what's yours? His own blue eyes cast over to her mother in question, lips hidden partially in banded curls.