Maeve
She wants to curl up inside of his chest. To carve out a hole and live there, nestled among the love and warmth he's created for her, knowing she'd be safe there. That he'd always keep her safe. Maeve's hands come up, gripping at his sides, twisting into his clothes as if they're her lifeline as his words fall onto her. She scrambles to collect them, to bottle them up and swallow them down too, much like she did the water from the fountain. Hoping that they'll chase away the images that still flicker and flash behind her eyelids each time they close. Gods, just make them stop.
The plea comes without her even realizing it. Pressing into his mind as she crumples against him, allowing him to be her rock this time, needing him desperately to support her in the way she knows he never fails to do. Maeve is strong. She is. She's strong and capable, but gods, she's tired. So fucking tired.
Back from a war and home to a region in shambles. Unable to even think a coherent thought long enough to decide where to start. How can she be queen? How can she lead? When she can't even hold herself together long enough to speak to her beloved?
The plea comes without her even realizing it. Pressing into his mind as she crumples against him, allowing him to be her rock this time, needing him desperately to support her in the way she knows he never fails to do. Maeve is strong. She is. She's strong and capable, but gods, she's tired. So fucking tired.
Back from a war and home to a region in shambles. Unable to even think a coherent thought long enough to decide where to start. How can she be queen? How can she lead? When she can't even hold herself together long enough to speak to her beloved?
These violent delights
Have violent ends
Have violent ends
