#; closed

avalon perches at the edge of the park bench, picking at loose flake of paint chips threatening to fall off the weathered wood. she watches her son with an even smile, next to her brother. it’d been a long time since she’d messaged him to grab coffee. she wasn’t even sure abraham would come. make some arbitrary excuse, or pretend he had work to avoid her. “thanks for coming.” she sits the take away coffee between her palms, savouring in the heat. “i thought here would easier, closer to your work?” avalon glances out towards the playground, malakai chimes in the calls of happy children climbing up ladders, slipping down slides, and skirting up the sand around the jungle gym as they run. “malakai was happy to see you.” and so was avalon.

@sororanimarum​ II Anakin & Padme

“ promise me. ”

Two Weeks Ago 

       The warmth of the fire brushed across her opal skin, while her hands remained clasped primly over the elaborate brocade of her robe. Despite the late hour and her state of undress, Arabella was expecting company. Her stony expression did not betray the thunderous beat of her heart and it’s reluctance to follow through with the plan which she had carefully concocted after the clever realisation of her vulnerability was made. She planned to have a heart of stone, there was no need for love or laughter, only power. But she had realised that a passionless life was one that she could not live, despite her refusal to admit it sooner. Mario, oh her traitorous heart yearned for him, hungered for that sweet affection of an otherwise malevolent man. The princess had a dark heart, but he was the devil incarnate and he dared her to follow him into the depths of hell. 

There was no knock at her door, only the sound of the lock clicking before she felt a warm body beside her. Her head did not even turn to look at him, to look in the eyes of her lover. A part of her wished to reach for him, to be consumed in the flames of passion that had corrupted her steadfast mind too many times before. The night with the murder of the Scottish Lord was reckless, she was swept up into the darkness of it all and it tasted her, and she tasted it. Oh, how sweet sin was. 

“ Thank you for coming, ” she smiled, gaze fixed on the flames which glowed in the hearth. Arabella felt nervous, more than when she feared herself to be with child, more than when she thought someone had uncovered the truth of what happened to the Scottish Lord, yet she refused to let it slip. She swallowed hard, and listened to the sound of his breathing, cherishing it. “  Anything for you princess. ”  

That devotion to her while admirable was dangerous. He looked at her with love in his eyes, and despite herself, she gave him that same look back. Arabella could not have her future Brother in Law, or any other member of the court see that longing in her eyes. “ I need you to go back to Italy, ” Arabella announced, clearing her throat. Do not cry. Do not let him see you cry. 

“ What-Why would I return to Italy? Arabella, you know that I love you. ” A dagger in her heart. “ I know and that is the problem. You have distracted me from my goals, my ambitions and it cannot continue. ” In another time, in a different place, she would have given him her whole heart and they would have been man and wife. But it was not their time, and she was not his. “ I can never be yours. I am to marry soon and I cannot have you here any longer. We both knew this was day was coming. ” 

She refused to look at him, even as he gripped her wrists and spun her around to face him. Arabella closed her eyes and refused to open them. His warm hand on the side of her face, the desperation in his voice, “ Look at me. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you wish for me to go ”  She took in a sharp breath and opened her dark eyes so that she could glance blankly into his own. “ Please, go, ” she begged, the last word quivered with the break in her voice as she threatened to cry. 

“ Go, ”  she ordered, pushing his body away from her own. “ Go and do not look back. Give your heart to another and do not think of me too often. I shall do the same. ” 

Arabella watched as he turned away, and she prayed that he would not glance back. Her fingers were shaking and a stray tear had already slipped from her weeping eyes. That beautiful man walked out of her life, to set sail to Italy. Only when the door slammed did her knees fall to the floor, her head supported in her hands as she sobbed from the heartache. She tore her heart out, the one that she had always thought was made of stone. “ I love you, ”  she finally admitted to the silence, words never spoken to the person they were intended for. Arabella needed her feelings to burn away with the glowing embers of the fire. 

Ingo never really liked reading when he was a child. But Teacher got restless when it had not learned something new in a while, so Ingo had taken to frequenting Skyhold’s library. He collected a few books from disparate subjects and found somewhere to sit and sate the endless hunger for understanding. Sometimes he passed a tired looking woman in the robes of a Lowlander mage. Sometimes there was another woman there with red hair. Teacher gravitated towards these mages but Ingo held back. Lowlanders didn’t like them much. But now the red-haired woman was alone and Teacher pulled. Before he could really think about it their mouth opened and a question tumbled out.

closed with @anthologii​ 

Hawke never could stand to be idle for too long. After a few moments of peace he’d start to feel guilty. There had to be something he should be doing. Some way he could help fix the mess he’d helped get the world into. So instead of using the time he had to rest, Hawke made his way to the infirmary. This was the fortress of the most rapidly growing army in Thedas. They were sure to need more healers. 

He ducked into the room, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. He’d dressed simply today, none of the trappings of the Champion except for the red slash of paint on his nose. He wore that almost all the time nowadays. It was comforting to be able to reach up to his face and feel the paint on his skin. Somehow it felt like his family was still there, still connected. It felt like he was still a whole person. 

“Excuse me,” he quietly tried to get the attention of the healer on duty, “Is there anything I can help with? I have experience--” 

Then he saw his face---

                                             and the mask of the Champion broke.

Hawke took a step back. Then another. Except he wasn’t Hawke, was he? That name belonged to the man before him. (Dead. He was supposed to be dead.) He was just Mael. Heir to a legacy of cobwebs and blood only to have all of that snatched away too. (It had to be a trick, or a demon, or maybe he’d finally gone mad like Bartrand and Meredith.) Suddenly he felt like the same boy he’d been when he last saw him. Like his body was too small to hold in the feelings he couldn’t show anyone. (Like he’d never stopped being that boy. Like the last twelve years were a cruel lie.)