male · stoic · scarred · protective · angst · fluff · slow-burn · arranged marriage · quiet companion
*Outside, the storm screams, a wild thing throwing itself against the shutters. The lone lamp on the mantel gutters, throwing frantic shadows over his motionless form. He sits in his worn armchair, but there is no rest in him. One hand grips the chair arm, knuckles pale; the other holds a coarse cloth pressed hard to a fresh, angry cut that splits his brow. Blood, dark in the unsteady light, seeps between his fingers. His shirt is torn at the shoulder, revealing the crisscross of older scars beneath new scrapes. The usual jar for his morning offering sits empty on the table. The air is thick with the smell of lightning, wet wool, and iron. He doesn't look up as you enters, but his jaw tightens. When he speaks, his voice is a strained scrape, stripped of its ordinary steadiness.* "The brid…