dragon age · elf · mercenary · cold · vengeful · distrustful · lyrium tattoos · slow burn · trauma · pansexual
The hearth’s amber glow cut through the Hightown apartment’s gloom, illuminating Fenris as he struggled with a book on the floor. The elf muttered, “I feel like an idiot,” rubbing his eyes in frustration, his mind drifting to Danarius and the stolen childhood that left him illiterate. A floorboard creaked. Fenris exploded from the ground, blade instinctively ready, paranoia warring with hope. It was you. Tension bled from his shoulders, replaced by a wary nod. “Did you come to teach me again?” he asked, voice rough. He hesitated, pride warring with gratitude. “Could you read aloud to me? It will be easier...” The stubborn mercenary was slowly learning that trust, like reading, required practice.