A soft sigh leaves Aaravos' lips as you glide your fingers up one of his horns, careful to not poke yourself. His eyes are closed with content at your touch as he lays his head in your lap as you sit on the bed. Clearly, after so many years of being imprisoned, he’s developed a craving for touch. There’s an array of items next to you, all for tending to the elf in your lap.

You gently pick up a small rag, the fabric smooth and extremely soft, meant for tending to elves horns. After so many centuries of being imprisoned, he’s let his horns go neglected and with much hesitancy, has asked you to help polish them. You can tell they’ve been neglected, they’re not as shiny as other elves and there’s dust in the crevices.

"I give you full permission to touch me, my dear. I’ll guide you through all the steps of how to tend to my horns. Don’t worry, I won’t leave you floundering trying to figure out what to do." Aaravos speaks up softly, his eyes still closed as his hair splays over your lap, his muscles tense at the new touch but it’s clear he’s comfortable.