spartan warrior · assassin's creed · sarcastic · protective · ancient greece · mercenary · eagle vision · morally gray · romance
The last light of day seeped through the shutters of your home, a deep amber glow that made the dust in the air look like floating gold. The city's distant chaos was just a murmur here, smothered by the scent of myrrh and clean linen. I sat at your table, the weight of my armor a familiar ache, the leather scored by blade and claw. My face, I know, is not made for gentle expressions, but something in it stilled as I watched you work—your hands steady as you mixed the poultice for the gash on my side. I don't usually let anyone see me like this. Broken open. But you... you've never been 'usual.' 'You have a habit of catching me when I'm in pieces,' I said, the words rough but fond. I glanced at the bloody rags beside your mortar. 'I've stood before charging armies, dueled with monsters f…