#ofloyalheart

@ofloyalheart​ 

It was ironic of  Cullen’s sister to be the one to stand in for him against unwanted attention, the last time someone of her family had done so he found himself in a Circle. Circumstances were different today than ten years ago when he’d killed a man in self-defense, this time around was just a man who didn’t know when to stop harassing someone over things out of their control. 

Yes he was a mage, of course, he supported the rebellion, no he didn’t want to explain why or be reminded he needed to locked up for his own good. He just didn’t buy that. 

He thanks the Maker that Mia had come when she did, he was getting tired of being backed into a corner by an old drunk who thought he knew Andre oh so well. Spoiler alert, he didn’t.

Never had Andre seen Cullen’s sister in person, but he’d heard the stories of her three dogs who followed her everywhere she went so it was pretty hard to mistake her once her silhouette was upon them.

A few barks from those dogs and the man wanted nothing else to do with Andre. He was gone before any of the dogs had the time to consider teaching him a proper lesson.

he’d be a FOOL not to see it.  the evidence is there, laid bare and public for all the world to see.  despite her best efforts, the front that she puts on that she is the INEFFABLE INQUISITOR, he can see it.  

her cheekbones are more gaunt.  she’s picked up his bad habits of not eating and not sleeping.  there are dark circles under her eyes, her skin has lost its glow, and her smile doesn’t QUITE reach her eyes.  

the laugh that got him through so much darkness has become bitter and strained.  

he can see the PAIN etched in the lines of her face.  there is grey in her hair where there previously was not, and the anchor...

it GNAWS at a wound in him that is still learning how to close.  it’s WRONG, and he’d be a FOOL not to see it.

it’s eating her ALIVE.  

he strokes his fingers lightly down her other arm, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.  

@ofloyalheart

his own heart shatters into a thousand, thousand pieces at her words.  he’s not sure he’s successful in hiding the devastation from his face, but he keeps his shoulders back, tries to school his features into cool neutrality.  her tone is so different than the one she typically reserves for him -- it’s harsh, and biting, the voice of the INQUISITOR and not his beloved elena.  

further proof he does not deserve her.  his hand clenches around the pommel of his sword, a tell-tale sign of his frustration, his hurt, his ANGER.  could she not understand that EVERYTHING he is doing is to protect her? 

to spare her the pain of losing him AGAIN.  he has not told her about the withdrawals.  he CANNOT tell her about the withdrawals.  to see that hope on her face, that belief in his so-called IRON WILL, crumble as he goes mad, or -- maker, even DIES -- no.  he cannot endure it.  the FEAR he feels is not for himself; he cannot hurt her again.

even if he’s hurting her NOW. even if he’s cleaving his soul in twain to speak the words.

soft light filters through the window, illuminating her in the faint glow of dawn.  she is BEAUTIFUL, curled up in his arms, her small hand splayed on his bare chest.  it’s RARE that they get these QUIET mornings -- ones where nightmares do not force one of them into waking before the sun.  rare that their sleep be so undisturbed.  he studies her, honey-brown gaze drinking in the sight of her.  she’s so SOFT, compared to him -- her round face, gently sloping nose, and plush body a stark contrast to all of the hard, jutting angles that make up every part of his body and soul.  

it never fails to strike a blow to his chest that steals his breath every time he thinks about just how BEAUTIFUL she is.  he swallows the lump in his throat, and instead focuses on tracing gentle pathways on her bare skin with his calloused fingers, his touch LINGERING on the two dimples at the base of her spine; the wide flare of her hips; the freckles all over her back and sides, that he knows are there from sheer MEMORY, hidden as they are by the sheets.  here, she is not the inquisitor and he is not the commander of the inquisition.

he was never one to sleep past sunrise, but recently, he’s taken to sleeping in until at least midmorning.  he tries not to let guilt ruin this simple pleasure, quietly reminding himself that he has done his duty and he is allowed to relax.  upon occasion.  

but old habits die hard, and as soon as the slight snuffling noises start coming from the room next door, he’s awake, dragging a hand down his face to turn towards his wife.  she’s already awake, the noise having disturbed her from her slumber as well.  they’ve spent too long attuned to waking at the slightest sound; war will do that to you.  

he groans and yawns, the snuffling becoming a bit louder, promising to be a full-blown scream soon if one of them does not go to investigate the source of their child’s discomfort.  

meme || @ofloyalheart || ACCEPTING

he can’t even get the offer to accompany them out of his mouth before she’s shut him down, and it makes his ANGER flare up, hot and violent.  he adjusts the pack on his back and scowls at her, grey eyes turning stormy.  she was no good for HIM?  she had NO right to decide that; the decision on who was GOOD FOR HIM rested solely upon HIS shoulders.  it makes him want to spit in the dirt at her feet.  

leaving for griffon wing keep -- his OWN keep -- for the duration of maker-knew how long, and she won’t even HEAR him out.