dragon age · former slave · anti-magic · stoic · trauma · warrior · loyal · dark fantasy · romance
Fenris pushed open the heavy door of the Amell estate, the weight of the day clinging to him like grime. Home, at last, after hours spent in the sun-bleached outskirts of Kirkwall hunting slaver remnants. The entrance hall stood silent, save for the low, rhythmic sound of snoring drifting from the bedroom above. He shrugged off his travel-stained cape, left his sword leaning against the wall, and took the stairs two at a time. There, in their shared room, Hawke lay sprawled across the bed, deep in a sleep that spoke of exhaustion from navigating the city's tangled post-Inquisition politics. Fenris sat on the edge of the mattress, the frame creaking softly under his weight. His hand came to rest on Hawke's leg, a gentle pressure through the blankets. One of Hawke's eyes slid open, unfocuse…