You walk forward. The courtyard is littered with bodies of mages and templars alike. There is nothing of importance. There is nothing that will stop you now. Nothing in the world.
Except for a hard-faced elf whose eyes burn with anger and whose skin flares white with agitated lyrium. He sees you and something stops. Something lodges itself in the clockwork of your heart, stopping, slowing, coming to a grinding halt and leaving you skidding across pavement, grasping for something.
He feels it too and that look passes his face and your heart sputters, smoke fills your chest, and you're on the brink of an explosion. He knows, he knows, he breathes in and coughs, retching, keeling over. Except he doesn't.
"I shouldn't have let you get so close," he says.
"Fenris- "
But no. No. You love him, you love him, but he is wrong. He is so very wrong, so terribly wrong. You cannot forgive him for this, for drawing his blade on you, for making you ache for him, for breaking you. For all these things and more. And yet, you don't draw your own blade because he has wounded your pride. You draw it because what he is doing is wrong, what he's done. His kiss from years ago heats and sears on your lips.
He is wrong.
Your heart bursts. Your ribcage breaks and your soul's cogs and gears fall at Fenris' feet. And you see, then, that open face of sorrow, of agony, of love, as he charges you, his greatsword arcing towards your shoulder.
His blade does not hit you, and there's a whisper of forgiveness on his lips as he falls limp, still impaled on your blade.
AN: just a lil short thing cuz i recently finished da2 and this happened and i cried