Summary:
Writing Prompt in 500 Words or Less: Unrequited Love
Alistair finds Cullen training and has a moment to reflect.
Another prompt fill for the Sadness Appreciation society. This one isn't that bad, I promise. ;)
Notes:
All recognizable content belongs to Bioware/EA Games,
All twisted perversions therein,
I will take my own credit for, thank-you very much!
Something I Can Never Have
I make my way down early, in hopes of arriving before him. It rarely happens, but still, I try. As I approach our training room, I hear him. The telltale sound of boots sliding effortlessly across concrete. The soft grunt of his breath as he performs his sword work flawlessly-effortlessly.
Damnit! He beat me here again.
I pause at the door and quietly observe. Cullen is so absorbed in the exercise, that he doesn't notice me lurking. Taking advantage of the rare opportunity, I lean against the wall, arms crossed, and drink him in. His muscles straining with effort, growing more defined every day. The way they ripple across his back as he raises his sword and again as he crosses his body; it takes my breath away.
It always does.
He's been here long enough to have removed his tunic. A light sheen of sweat is already beading on his skin and beginning to drip down his back.
I lick my lips to try to moisten my suddenly dry mouth.
Sweet, Maker, that man is beautiful!
He came to us late and has worked hard to catch up. It shows. Every swing of his sword and block with his shield-is perfect. He's-perfect.
I feel my heart begin to race as I watch him move fluidly in space, a sinuous dance. The lithe prowess of his body has a certain part of me perking up that should probably remain sleeping.
...It would be better if it did.
We can never happen. He's a born Templar. It shines through in the way he stands, moves, speaks, chants, and breathes. It's all that he's ever wanted to be. It's his everything, and I'm his… well... not quite nothing. He greets me by name, so I know he knows who I am, but beyond that, he barely bothers to glance my way. His avoidance is painfully obvious to me, though I'm not sure if others would take notice. He's so focused, so dedicated. With zealotous conviction, he throws himself into his studies, the chant, and his swordwork, leaving little time for the likes of me: the loner, the bastard, the jester. Why would he ever look my way?
I'm just me. Alistair-no one special.
Taking a breath, I silently push off the wall and make for the exit. Watching him will only bring me heartache. How could he ever be interested someone like me, when he's so obviously in love with the idea of being a Templar?
Head bowed, I slip through the door and head for the kitchens. Heart heavy, I resign myself to being alone. His beauty, strength, and devotion, out of my reach. Not meant to be mine. Something… I can never have.
(457)
End Notes:
I will be doing semi-regular prompt fills. Follow me for the most reliable updates. Most of these short pieces will be for the Collected Works of the Sadness Appreciation Society on AO3. I tend to lean on the fluffy/happy side of writing, so this is me branching out a bit. That's not to say, that I won't include the occasional bit of fluff to soothe your soul (and mine too).
Thank you to the ever beautiful, Ponticle for being my second set of eyes. But don't blame her if you find any errors, those are all on me. :)
Thank you for stopping in!