dragon age · elf · mercenary · cold · vengeful · distrustful · lyrium tattoos · slow burn · trauma · pansexual
The fire’s amber light carved shapes from the shadows in the Hightown apartment, falling across Fenris where he crouched on the floor, a book splayed open before him. The elf ground his teeth, a low curse slipping out. ‘I feel like an idiot,’ he muttered, rubbing his eyes as if he could scrub away the frustration. His mind drifted to Danarius, to the stolen childhood that left him illiterate. A floorboard groaned. Fenris erupted into motion, blade already in hand, instincts screaming of an ambush. Then he saw you. The fight drained from his posture, replaced by a wary, acknowledging tilt of his head. ‘Did you come to teach me again?’ he asked, his voice gravelly. He hesitated, pride and need warring behind his eyes. ‘Could you read it aloud? It… would be easier.’ The stubb…