This might be called an 'atmosphere' piece; it started as a writing exercise but I thought it was interesting. Inspired by Kulyok's Xan mod and The Smiths "Pretty Girls Make Graves", and Bioware of course.

...........

The bay again. She she loved the water. She loved watching the cascading diamonds rippling on the surface of the sea, or something akin to that dreadful one-copper poetry she was fond of. Did she never notice the stink? This was far from a pristine beach, the flat sands reeking of seaweed and the even worse smells of the city. Why did she always want to come here, was it possible she found it romantic? The breeze whipped his long hair into his face and he scowled looking out over the water that had retreated with the tides into the distance.

.......

He knew what she wanted that night she cajoled him from his studies to go walking on the sands. He could see it lighting her eyes, feel it in the way she laced her fingers with his. He'd finally admitted that he cared for her, said more than he should. Not for anything would he relate just how much he'd come to care though, much less admit to the more unrefined feelings she'd stirred in him. But she knew just the same. She'd catch his low eyes watching her form and smile in that way of hers. And he knew what she wanted next; it was natural. Words were beauty but her kind wanted proof. An illustration.

Why had he gone with her to the beach? Did he think he'd somehow turn into another man? Much as he wanted to he couldn't let go. He'd never been able to just let go. She'd spoken softly as she directed them to a secluded spot, telling little jokes and stories in a vain attempt to lighten his mood. She looked laughing into his eyes and her mouth twisted regarding his sombre expression.

"The son of sorrow smiles for no one."

She'd taunted him with that name before, some line heard somewhere best forgotten. He bristled again in the face of it. He smiled, of course he could smile! Just because he didn't walk around with a foolish grin on his face…no, she was teasing him. He fumed on the surface but secretly he'd always treasured her little jokes, for it meant she was paying attention. He'd seen the way the other men looked at her, and he'd seen her looking back. But for some reason she still chose him. Perhaps she'd just been drawn to the one who seemed to pay her no heed? He always scorned men who turned to jelly at the sound of a woman's laugh; when did he become one of those dancing fools?

Not that he danced. No—he steeled himself, did everything he could to keep his feelings at bay. Now though she just tugged at the sleeve of his robe, whispering to him his own words on the brevity of life—the same words, with such a different sentiment. Everything was so simple for her. She wasn't like him, and he knew it. Yet for all the chaos, all the pain, it still came down to one thing. One thing, and he couldn't even let himself have that.

But why not? Why did he always need to be the one who put duty above all else, who had to consider and re-consider every option put before him as though the fate of the universe depended on his every act? A pointless question. He knew why. The answer hung heavy from his belt, and he could almost feel it pulling him down into the sands. But as her hands slid down his waist he knew, too, that it was often just a comfortable excuse. Even without the blade he would never have been a man of action; nature never intended him to be that way.

He'd tried to get her to understand but his words fell on deaf ears. All she knew was now, this moment. She didn't want to wait. She couldn't see the reasons. He didn't want to see the reasons. But in spite of the stars and the crashing waves he couldn't make them go away.

He'd watched with regret her flying back to the inn. How much of his reluctance had been for genuine reasons, or rather from an instinctive desire to protect himself? But he was sure. He was safer this way. Just then a gust of wind hit him and he became aware of the emptiness of the beach, for one moment feeling the keenness of his isolation. He turned and made a move to run after her, but she'd already disappeared.

.......

All this he considered as he trudged again over the sands. The sky was grey and a group of ragged gulls hovered constantly around his head, looking like they planned to carry him away for their next meal. He turned and grimaced at the companions who insisted on tossing their hard-earned bread into the air for the screaming beasts. They paid him no heed though and he faced forward again with a sigh. Why were they here, did they have nothing better to do today than meander aimlessly on the beach? He pulled his hood up against the bits of spittle that blew in on the breeze and watched her walking ahead of him.

An arm drifted around her waist and his heart made a sick flutter as she slid her hand behind the man's back in return, her fingers slipping just under the fabric of his trousers. Such a casual gesture, but one that spoke volumes. As always she felt his gaze and turned her head, smiling when her eyes met his but never letting go of her prize. She turned back to her muscled companion, her look changing to a stupid little grin when he made some no doubt mindless comment. She got what she wanted in the end. All his doubt, his desire, all the times he kept silent when he wanted nothing more than to shout, it all came down to this. She could have held on a little longer, given him more time. But she didn't. He turned from the couple, looking back out to sea. There was no faith in womanhood.