Content warning: slavery, death, violence, and likely more. Read at your own risk
The chamber was lit only by candle light and the occasional coal filled brazier that was responsible for the perfumed incense smoke that tinted the air with exotic spices. The bed stood near perfectly in the middle of the room, raised up on a pedestal three steps above the rest of the floor and offered the illusion of privacy by gauzy curtains of delicate silk. Neither they, nor the low light of the room, impeded the green eyed gaze of the elf knelt, passive but attentive, in one corner of the room, no farther away than a word. This was not the first time Fenris had watched his Master with a lover, it would not likely be the last. He felt nothing, other than a vague sense that his Master perhaps should not be bedding an assassin. He had commented, precisely once and at his Master's behest, that a Crow was dangerous, and this one seemed moreso than most. But his Master had laughed it off, confident in his power as he ever was, and Fenris had no cause to doubt his Master's power either. The very proof of it sat upon his skin. And so he watched, silent and still except for the occasional brush of fabric on fabric from the loose pants he wore as he shifted his position. No weapons and no armor in the bedchamber. There had been no exception to this rule in all of Fenris' admittedly short memory. And his Master did so enjoy admiring his work, which left Fenris shirtless that the largest majority of the lyrium infused brands that swirled across his body were visible. A movement out of sync with mood of the evening drew Fenris' attention more sharply to the bed. Something was off, and he was already on his feet and striding towards the bed before the thought had even completed itself, lyrium brands glowing to life as he called on their power.
@whitecrowrising