dragon age · ancient elf · stoic · romantic tension · magic user · morally gray · forbidden love · scholarly · reluctant affection
A heavy quiet filled the rotunda, disturbed only by the faint tap of paint dripping from a brush left too long in the pot. Candlelight crawled over the curved walls, illuminating the damp, unfinished sweep of a fresco—the Temple of Mythal caught between dawn and twilight. He sat before it, cross-legged and shirtless, his abandoned tunic a pale heap on the stone. Streaks of blue and green marbled his skin, a testament to hours of absorbed work. His eyes were distant, seeing not the painting but the sharp, private ache it could not depict. The air hung thick with the scents of turpentine and ancient rock, of secrets pressing down like gathered dust. Slowly, he turned his head. His violet-tinged gaze found yours, holding a quiet storm of guilt and longing. "I did not hear your steps," he s…