Sunbeam Lair ❝elyë lantanë melmessë sonen,❞

November 2nd. For @Mahler, ft. @Agana ♡ (Please let Aggie respond, first!)

Wakefulness is like the distant and fleshless touch of the lune;
It coaxes her from repose, almost an unwanted and unwelcome bed-guest. Whelp again, in a womb of soft light and agitated whispers; overdue at the very seams. It is necessary; so is the slumber, gumming at unshorn eyes. If there is a voice it is a melding of distant mother and desolate father and daring brother; gekking of harvest foxes; manticore's quartet; all, churning in many languages at once.

Lashes unveil; underworld, half-seen;
sprig of some green, lax upon tongue.

But the touch is a voice, yes; Agana;
and then there is the Lair, ever bursting; and it becomes viscreal in that agonizing way. Stone seem chilled this morning; lichens stripping them to their skin like maids to austere women of elegance. What little trees there are beneath the autumn skies hold fast, sentinel. Mayhaps she has dreamt of deer, in their handsome manner, fattening while the fleeting chance is there even as in realism, they are not. Young light holding motes; she wonders if she should follow them through the morning, if it is a statement or a longing. There had been the hunt, yes; a new bit of scarring, further, lower than where she had been struck, yes. Dagwood's holler; feathers and flesh between fang, yes—

Had the argent allowed the stricken to be sundered to sleep? Upon a forage? 
Rises to rabbitsoft paws; chords, sleepstrained.  "Forgive me,"  she cannot be enraged; not towards such an innocent slight. Her own hunt-hurts could be mended later, later; it was for the Court's youngest that she drew close to her companion in concern. Wisps to her littermate words that curdle and cloy upon her tongue,  "please, show me what you have gathered."

She must have exhumed some manner of property, if she had let the stricken rest in repose as she had.
( and could not do away with the shame that comes with an unbidden sleep! )

A petite body between large boulders; it felt like a soul trapped in between them. Golden gaze narrowed; a paw touching softly the green under her- It felt cold to her warm touch. She padded away, studying, searching.

Agana learned before of nautchiak, a strange word for a rather common herb, also known as mint. Her knowledge of herbs was scarce, if not present at all. She did not particualry focus on flora, but enjoyed collecting knowledge of it.

And so, narrow muzzle picked up the first herb she did not know and brought it to her counterpart; Andraste. Morning rays fell on her moving lean frame, covered in a soft cream glow; her eyes, golden as the sun. She breathed slowly, and approached.

“There is nothing to forgive,” a whisper, a nod. Perhaps, the silver did not rest properly, so the beige woman motioned softly, graceful movements emerging into the sun like shadows. “I have uncovered this,” the herb was placed in front of them, leaving space for her to speak properly. “I do not recognize this plant,” eyebrow rose in curiosity.

sickness had come to settle upon mahler.
it plagued his sleep like a black dog, poured bile from his throat, set his bones into a delicacy unbecoming for the general. nights spent sleepless, ravaging his dwindling stores of herbs for anything that might blot out the malady. the swine; yes, he knew, but he could not leave diaspora undefended.
and so he rose with the dawn, staggered forth to glean water and whatever meat could be found. his heavy limbs trembled with the impetus of the trek, but soon he found himself near to diaspora's first claim, and farther — the vale.
andraste.
hesitant that she should see him so, mahler neverthless found iron in his resolve and went down to meet the snow and ashmaids who had come into the vale, the sussuration of their voices all but escaping him as he stood upon a crumbled ridge and looked down upon them, as he had done liri months before.

Had the argent not eluded her finding forgiveness, Andraste, in the that laden-tongued insistence comes with wakefulness, would have surely pressed further how sorry she indeed was, how ridiculous she had been, aslumbering; that her littermate had no choice but to forgive her—!  "It is basil, mostly used in ze tendings of fevers,"  she wisps, and quiets at Agana's murmured intervals. In the meantime ... her ruff disheveles, rising with its own rousing before her soul and senses know he is there. Unawares— she turns—

The sight of him will always unsettle her; soothe her.

She remembers what he had whispered to her in the realm of the hydra  ( Ich werde zu dir zurückkehren )  but had not known its meaning, only the promise that might have been felt; knew it in the meeting of rumbled consonants and wistful vowels upon the tongue she had made mute—! He fashions her into something sidereal and soft and almost shy; shorn lips part to voice some manner of introduction, mouth only wishing to voice him nearer. Andraste knows that it is not only slumber that has strained her chords when she will speak.

She breathes and it is a devotional sough from airless lungs. And so—
hh!
—an inevitable a rouging as ivies in harvest does the stricken smolder beneath ruined cheeks. Rubied crown, fine and flustered, anchors o'ertop spire-shoulders; eyes gauzy with some sleep and yet she can look upon neither Agana nor musiker. Lashes listless as each bleat nestles beneath her breastbone:  "Oh-h— Th- hh!—this is— Mahh!— Mahler,"  lurching from the little leaps,  "Generhh!-General o-of Diaspor-hh!-a—"
The heavy hang of ashlar hide upon his diminished stature; the cloying pique of meager plague ... the faerie queene would come to notice in due time— nay, would have, had the sight of him not administered upon her an ailment of its own.

Any semblance of dignity was promptly shooed away as bleats turn to hushed hiccoughs that sprung so slyly through silence thereafter; bashful, unfortunate.

Golden gaze continued to stare at the plant, tilting her head to the side. “What other good use does it have?” Perhaps the pearl could teach her more about healing and herbs. And her thought went to her, what she could be doing now. Perhaps she awaited her return.
 
The presence of the ash wolf startled her; gaze turned immediately to the source, an almost dropped jaw, tail twitching, not from fear, but curiosity. And so, in front of them, Mahler of Diaspora; Agana had only heard stories from the silver about him, nothing was certain. Her only knowledge of 'Mahler' was associated with Diaspora, and only Diaspora.
 
As Andraste remained speechless, the sand female was worried of what happened to her; but as it seems, this Mahler has some sort of effect upon her. She was curious, what happened between the ash & the silver. She gave Mahler a questioning look, followed by a nod, greeting him. Perhaps it was better if she would remain silent, for now.

ooof sorry ill keep up with this better D:

it seemed she would choke upon his name, his title, his very visage. humour quirked mahler's mouth; he bowed low before the shying resplendent mond-braut and the loveliness of her watchful attendant. "andraste. it is good to see you again," the general purled formally, forcing himself to at last tear his eyes from her pale cowl and greet the other she-wolf with an answering nod.
"vhat brings you to the mountains?" he inquired, suddenly wary, worried of her motives, or perhaps the idea that she had followed him. he would not allow heart to meet heart in the form of cold regal takiyok; mahler could bear no more strife in that vein.
"i trust you are both vell?" the scent of woodland clung to her; he resisted all urges pitting him against duty and stood firm, quiet now.

ur good boo ♡

Prominent interest in clay beneath pearlmade claws;
breath scarce steadying only when the he swept himself low upon presentation. Then, enquiry; the stately chords of which had the shy eyes flitting the argent's way; an unspoken prudence which the stricken forbid herself to hide from he before them. Why would she ever? She could no more wage against the mirth upon that mouth than make diplomatic all the yearning that began to hum within soul. The cloying headiness of the musiker, nevermind in sickness or health; Andraste listed away from both littermate and longing, lest she fray before their very eyes.

"We would have thrived beneath ze shadow of ze Moonspire. I meant to ensure this. Yet they who have fallen into ze queen's favor had ... invited themselves into our previous midsts,"  words bitten, muted,  "as such, that spire nor its spies would be tolerated. Nor would ze starving."  Her voice remained hushed, never again harried; listless:  "They claimed to be Nightwalkers, did they not, Agana?"  Hydra may very well be relieved to be freed of the Court's unassuming presence; let her keep her vile vigilants.

Let her come to see the consequences of what ludicracy invited in, all for the name of supreme matriarchy.

Halting at that place where said argent had previously asked after about a fragrant green.  "It was a hope, General,"  kneading featherlight and absent at the fronds of asëa; stressed to keep stately her own tones,  "that our ... branch might be better tended towards those not entirely stranger. That my haven and your hold might come to an accord."  (Undertones of finally-ceasing hiccoughs nonwithstanding). She dared not look over the spire of a shoulder at either;
and if her littermate wished to give tell her own voice, then Andraste still fell quiet all the same. And yet ... she did not know how her own might be recieved. The murmurings of muscle beneath the furious tapestry threaded down spine was the only significance of patience, pensiveness; else.

messy reply.

Agana continued to watch Mahler, seemingly worried about whatever had bought them upon these mountains, whatever happened to them. She murmured a half-spoken “Yes,” still wary about him, yet not as she would with a plain stranger.
 
The talk about Nightwalkers made her fume, golden gaze shifting to her surroundings, as if they followed them here. She did not hate them, no; but their watch; their eyes on them, day and night, not once leaving. This infuriated her, a frown on her soft sand features. “They have,” silence, “These Nightwalkers.. threatened our safety.”
 
Yet, she questioned; would this alliance bring stability to their Court?  Golden gaze narrowed to Andraste, not once stuttering in her speech, suspicious about whatever that was before. She turned to Mahler; he was charming, and she liked to think it was just a sudden attraction.

But maybe it would be better to leave, to bring what they have gathered back to the vale. Agana picked the herbs up in her jaws, careful to not ingest one on the way. “I apologize, but I must leave now. I am needed elsewhere,” she got up, gaze settled upon Andraste then on Mahler, nodding. “Good day.” Agana padded away, the thought of going back to her pearl bought a feeling of joy into her wounded heart.

he was not sure all of what she spoke, the story muddled beneath the emotion of her accent, but mahler gleaned enough to know that andraste found his nearness more palatable.
under stigmata, mahler had been hard pressed to run newcomers from the vale, but in this moment he was only grateful that she had come.
takiyok — she would come to know of this. in time, the gargoyle decided.
her follower stalked off on lithe limbs; mahler followed her trajectory before returning her attention to andraste. "ve may have an accord," he agreed, "but it is not only my choice."

u get my 800th & now my 900th! wild

Halfsight leapt as the argent apostle excused herself from the reigning presence, prompt, polite. She might have ordered  (pleaded, really)  Agana in staying, to shoo this sudden shyness from her well and good. To please stay, so that she might anchor her own attentions to whatever corporeality now wished to fade underpaw as they again alit upon Mahler. Speaking, now; stolid as ever.  “Ohh-h—”
surprise! at the absence, and now with the general’s admission. Many standards must have shifted within the crowning flame thus passed from one turucáno to another.  “Yes, of course,”  not without the airs of paltry pleasantries that were now, perhaps, unneeded.  “It is one that lies with those whhho rule with you, live beneath you.”  And there was no telling what either might make of all this.

Eyes remain elusive; how long since last he stood before her? Two moons? Three?
For all that she scented sickness upon his hide, he was—
Hh! Sickness? 

She turns from what-ever properties she has pretending to sort out; looking towards Mahler with a half-hesitant docility that would infuriate her if she was in her own privacy.  (Was she not herbalist? Why could she not head to his side with all haste?)  As it were, the foam of fussing now burbled, edged in her thick chords:  “... You are unwell.”  Strides to him with wondering, wary steps; gray gaze assessing the mountaineer.

“Whhhat, then, would your own terms be for our accord?”  inquiry absent-minded, for she tries to discern what percisely ails him. Maybe forgets, as she oft is wont to do, that knowing such may very well be impossible, for neither have the input of his respective parties. Inexperience, herself; almost naive, in the goodwill she means to pass between them. The equality they had come into once, twice, and now, hopefully in this, thrice.

Cloying, he was.

<3

he turned aside at andraste's mention of his illness. "a little thing, no matter." for now he would not have her fussing about him; this was a meeting of diplomacy, not lovers, and he was determined to keep face before her followers. "have you young vones in this band?" the general inquired, ruff aplush with the full regalia of his station. "i vould expect any large kills to be shared between us, vith the children fed beforehand."
secretly mahler hoped that the urgency of the current period might sharpen andraste's own formality; for all their shared writhings and words, he must help diaspora to prevail at the cost of his own personal wants.

Shorn lips pursed; how she readied to chide him for such a brusque aversion! And yet she urged some settlement into the ivory of her that had been previously stressing; too-thin ears now flickering forth to hear that which he now wished to enquire after.  Young ones—
"I see no reason in depriving ze little lives of ze nourishment they need. Of course, too, we will share ze greater of ze kills with your own."  A pale cant of marred muzzle,  "But, no: we do not have young refugees to feed at ze present. ... Perhaps, if those looking for a place to whelp arrive upon our premises."  Not at all unlike how she  —  no, Aurëwen! —  had been, once upon a time.

Halfsight alights upon the standard that the golem presents with the dishevelment of his ruff; eyes having gone a smidgen listless in their treading of thought.  "It is a matter of trust, earned through our lands' loyalties to another, and yet, perhaps ..."  shorn lips a bit heavied; argents misted, as she soon lost herself within wishful inklings once more:  "Perhaps, should any Diasporan young wish to further their knowledge of this world, our Court would be open to such teachings."

—and perhaps too it was very much to ask! Formalities be damned; lessons of leadership once lost now stung those eyes with silliness; inexperience. It must be some invasive assumption upon Diaspora's intentions; though there might be no reason to balk before he who had held faith in her very yearning for aforementioned Court, she damned what-ever within her nerves made her frenzy so.

"General. Forgive my ... I do not mean to be so forward, so soon."  So versed did she believe him to be; and she, aquiver with longing to take flight!  "This sharing of quarry; it will be a communal gathering, yes?"  But, rooted; she must remain rooted— where had that uprightness of her in that Weald, on that Vale-ridge, gone to?— 

they were bonded, she and he, for what purpose and for what length of time he did not know. she brought to mind the gossamer of her daughter, the moonlit night of her son. to where had they gone? mother not, this fae before him, and yet she swept forth all beckoning and maternal, until mahler favored her attempts at formality with a warmer expression.
"if large beasts be felled, i see no reason not to share. vhy make savages of our neighbors? and the pursuit of knowledge is beyond the bond of pack." diasporans would be born to be raised in the shadow of their former peak. mahler had no such worries that their belief in their own family could become diluted by andraste's fanciful teachings, and became aware that he respected, truly, only the cool seeking hunger of a logical mind.
"vhat made you choose the vale?" the general inquired, turning away to glance o'er her claimed lands as a ripple of nausea knifed sharply into his failing gut.

"Somewhat a ... suggestion, of sorts, it was. Ze migrating,"  chords so quieted, so private. Lips sealed!; he must coax it from her. Even here, Andraste could not look without love, longing;
the heather of him turns and she is helpless in the press of her eyes against the line of broad shoulders, down to the lock of dark hips,
kiss there and bite that and mouth at and
"I was tasked with going there, once upon a day. You remember Liri?"  she wisps, amour withering from the waxen face — swiftly, swiftly! — whisking her own features aside should he choose to glimpse them.  "Though I do not remember ever voicing my wishes to her in our meet, I ... confessed to ze Stigmata that, were I in her position, I would use ze Vale to my advantage, and to ze advantage of my people. I told him that I would have guard posted along ze ... ze entirety of ze main ridge. I would like to have my sentinels moved, percisely an hour or so, from where-ever they originally set."  Halfsight bleary; shorn lips furling in the rarity of shy simper; ambition, at its most modest.  "And I should like to elict preparation in my wolves. Skirmishes in ze mists, to be held every two moons or so. Perhaps, then, three? I would rather not exert ze masses so much, you understand— invasion could surely happen upon us, and so—" and here the simper became smile; laden with luneglow delight. A lilting burble of unbidden ... laughter:  "O!— there is so much that must be found, and my people will become masterful of it, I am—"

— quivering! quivering! quivering! at intervals, in lulls, and
fairy indeed; ever-refigured by all that Mahler had molded her into thus their first making. Before; and she hushes, thin ears aflicker; argent eyes rested again to where his own sights lie with an almost timid adamance. Mondmädchen cannot look upon him, for fretful fear of how he might glean her other passion. He was, of course, the convict for all of this, really;
this inspiration; this unconcious leaning for him and the flitful stuttering between breaths; the ever-consuming urge to do away with words and take him into her arms and put her mouth on his as before—!

But Andraste had promised to remain rooted;
and so, she did as much; flushed from that fine frenzy.

mahler attended the glittering of her beautiful monologue. a fairy-queen for the armed and delicate troops she would lead here in the gem of these mountains.
she too was such, a bantling of gossamer and smoke. heir to the weald, to the ring of soft pastel hues she had somehow flung round him. their coaxing has been warm, provocative — he had attended them with a sense of the profane.
she a deified creature, he in worship of her sanctified aura; obsessive she had made him, yielding yielding until he was entrapped.
and it was a gentle thing, something that that had thawed him immeasurably until she was perhaps the only creature with which he could lie with mask removed and the stone of him in relief.
”a fae queen for her vood elves,” mahler intoned, dipping his muzzle toward her admiringly. she had brought to life so fanciful a nature in him he felt rather boyish. "i do recall liri, and i vould velcome your sentinels."
they were alone now, he supposed; if allowed, the general sought the feathering along her porcelain cheek, lips moving across the scars beneath her eye a tremulous moment.

Never queen, she wished to breathe;
had been readied entire to bandy further formality with her Hephaestus, for on this day again he has been mountainthrown; but dark lips find the marring she has not ever let known the touch of another  (tending-to notwithstanding)  and so it is that Aphrodite is fallen beneath the frieze of him. Lashes flurry; heart aflutter; he wends her into the reach of him and the fée has long since faltered from herself while damnable warbles now rise—!  "Ich hhhabe,"  hushed and hiccoughing hesitancy  "dich verhhmisst,"  and fairylight turns the blush of herself more surely to the doting of her golem; halfsight melted argents, misted with this gentled thing in which she has, unbeknownst to her, ever beckoned him into. This virtue of which he blest upon her, believed of her — does it not belong to one of more worth upon his own mind? She trembles and shivers and can scarce again find her breath; 
presses shorn brow into the bellowing breadth of his breast, for she is so minikin to the massive, fortuitous height of Mahler. She quiets, now, for she knows that there is no manner of speaking which would tell of how justly he enchanted her; nor words that might quiver from waxen throat of how she had awoken near each dawn with the dream of him in her head and the sighing kiss of him upon riddled lips. ... Not ever queen, nor ever mother;
and yet in the delicacy of her soul Stormcloak's wonders turn to whispers that only he has made her feel as if she might ascend to such.

Her own hungering whet of those three fated words upon lips weighed with cautious contentment;
pin-squeaks within muted chords upon the cushioned silence; through the stalmated warthrum of Gustav's heart beneath shy scarred temple. But she does not speak them —
for her faith murmurs that he must he must he must know  (if e'er errant Eros had blinded him to it before!)  for he holds her as home should.

she has come all undone, the frayed end of a ribbon rippling in a harsh breeze. with a low rumble he gathered her close, at once interred in a flower-grave by her trembling words in his mothertongue.
ponderous though his bulk, he found infinite grace within her presence, myriad chances to be himself and to say the words he had not uttered.
he had not spoken them for he had hoped she would be content with this always, that she would not press the oil of his wary proclamation from his shying olive-skin.
it was a wordless sort, but if he could not commit himself whole to takiyok, she who had loved him longest, then how could he betray her loyalty by granting himself elsewhere.
courtfall would be raised, and it its coming-up, the last requirement he must satisfy before the spring occurred. 
let them always linger here, courted by the vale and its thousand faces.
”aurëven,” her true title now, desperate to draw her down another path. ”perhaps it is time that ve consider a more lasting vay to ally our two nations.” 
she would surely take his meaning; mahler roved over her collarbone with a soft murmur, surrendering fully to her moonlit presence with his feet of clay.

That heartstopping name; this tendered supplication; his mouth is on her mute throat and he wears her down with a press of lips to the bloodpetal of quivering life and from it he would know the unravelment of fright; the stumble of anguish within veins. Andraste wilts, gauze upon solider's shoulder—
for how would she love those little lives if again the sire of it all would not love the dam?
—thus veils the molten argents from stoneflower eyes, blush made a balefire that she has become dazed and so faraway within. Fear, too, of forgetting herself, this; but still the words ached upon red mouth sore with his nicking. The doubting of him and the dreading of such supposed deserving now come to pass this hour; discontentment, at the inkling such a consummation would be only of contract, of circumstance, rather than of—
for how could she again birth those again for he who may not at all be there?
—his damning status within that forged and formidable hold and for the lapse of a heartbeat she wishes to seethe, to swear unto the grave of that basilisk for e'er binding he before her to such condemnation! To slather this soul with such strife, chamber'd—!

And yet through it all Stormcloak's scarlet features remained hollowed, heavy-lashed; near impassive, as he was previous wont so designed. For the serpent's schemings Mahler may not look again upon her to see her womb had gentled, fingertip'd with rose; would not either know the feel of those fluttering hare-kicks, nor hunch golem o'er her crown to kiss each bairn's brow—
yet therein those shying eyes, a leap of faith through fright, all. 

Quiet; gaze aglimmer;
shivers out from the promised entombment of Mahler; wisping fragile admission:  "...  Ich hoffe ich verdiene es."  Him, and this; them, and what would be theirs. Fairylight is breathless and she is fraying and she should flit from here and from the fascination of him before he reaches for her—!

for a long moment he let his eyelids fall to half-mast and merely dazzled himself with her supple touch. here was where home began, but he felt it built upon a weaving of dreams and of cloud-dust. she had spun hold of him; he gave freely of all that he was able. but in the end, she was the ethereal and he the solid, and he could not forever exist in her world to spurn his duties.
his blood rose hot; with an ache mahler drew away from andraste, content to press himself sidelong against her and regard the magickal nature of the vale. they were exposed here; he was still a careful sort, unwilling to press them both into the surprised and perhaps unwilling eye of any who might come to attend their leadership.
deserving. he thought of the children who he had professed to love, even as he stood upon the threshold of willingness to fruit the motherless once again. "it is not a question of deserving," the gargoyle rumbled lowly, caressing one trembling eartip with the lave of his tongue. "it is ... natural, i believe, that ve should bring forth new lives."
"vith courtfall so close, i vould be able to attend you as before. perhaps not so often, but enough to be involved. to be present," mahler went on, turning his lavender gaze upon her. "but there are things you must know before you agree."
he would not bear it well if the light of adoration replaced itself with one of hurt; shadowpriest blinked, followed, pursued, gathered shying moon-maid close between the tall columns of his forelegs.
"firstly, i vould vant them to come and live in diaspora soon after their veaning. i vould not force this of them, nor you, but as their father, i vish a hand in their rearing before they disperse from us both." searching her scarred features, mahler brought them to the bit that had aggrieved takiyok anew. "this year, i plan to give diaspora a foothold in many places. many children. it vould not, then, only be our brood to vich i vould be father."
surely the only kinder that would be born into the splendor that had wreathed them both in silken ribbons. she must be sure, now, in the cold glow of his honesty, that bearing his litter would not put her to death from within.

He retreats from her and she aches; but returns, then, with ribs pressed crescenting against her own as her shorn cheek lies upon stout shoulder. If only if only if only she had not taken such flight from his world;
to be unraveled, here; to be ravished where any and all might know. Undómiel be sinister willing, where the stately General was not, for  when the whites of eyes found the gathering of her, taken up in arms as bouquet ruined upon riotous battlefront. The knowing in such an instance; and the hum of lips at ear; and so Andraste may very well be rattling together their bones, with all the shivers of her own. Yet through his diminishing of her, there is a remaining snippet of sanity that lets her listen to that which he muses.

Assurances, accommodations;
the gazing upon him is inevitable, nonnegotiable, as Mahler crowds her, cradles her, and the fée is smothered with the spirescent of him, smitten of it; lungs made frail and shuddering. Shy still of stoneflower eyes seeking her own; but meets his gaze with a quivering manner of quiet as he speaks further —
weaning would allow her one moon to spend with their kinder; one moon a testament to whether she would rise to the trial of this; for the more surer climes of motherhood she had all but banished her own self from. And, now ... she now knew much better.

Reaching; lips press featherlight; part with a weakened breath of all Andraste has to say on the very proposition: "I suppose that it ... would be good practice,"
a shivering, slow sigh; whatever selfish sorrowing for now put aside:  "You must show me what you have learnt from it,"  and here lashes laden with loving and longing unveil halfsights once more; finally finally to rest upon his searchings. Yet that smile fades into insignificance as something impassioned gentles her desecrated features;
scythes soft the tips of fangs upon the mauve lower lip; daring at his devouring.

she was falling away, his andraste; he felt the low singe of her disappointment, and frustration raced in his soul. how could he convey the importance of his freedom in this matter? she held him as did no one else, but as with takiyok, it was not enough. mahler rebelled then against her clasping, against the edict of his winterwhite co-leader, but kept quiet and discerning as he sought to read the may queen's undertone.
"no, no," the gargoyle purled, "i must know your thoughts." he did not merely want her to feign satisfaction; he was not stigmata, who in the end had perhaps been dishonest. it was mahler's arrogance that drove him — i will do the same but i shall do it correctly — with openness, with honesty.
sarah, then, might after all be correct.
his lover sought to place him on a path easier for them both, and while his body shouted that he not resist the feathering of her lips nor the invitation of her gentled figure now welling with lust, mahler reined back.
he would not let takyiok see their meet,
and in this moment the general could not allow himself the sweet weakness of their pairing.

"My thoughts?"
She thought he might like to torment the both of them 'til that very fated and most favorable eve — yet estimated that it would be more prudent to whisper else. Professions, then, perhaps, personal:  "My thoughts are that such an undertaking is sound. My thoughts are that what you seek for ze good of your people is a sensible thing. My thoughts are that such things are perhaps very necessary, when wolves are spread so thin and their bellies endless and empty. My thoughts, Mahler,"  starlit eased from the faux kiss; peered again into the gemgaze,  "are selfish. No matter how I wish that it is not so—that I do not like this thing that must be done—"  peered again into the gemgaze, her own argents myriad sorrowful and tender,  "—my thoughts are that I wish also to give you my faith as you once gave unto me ... and so, I will support this choice, Mahler, with what grace yet remains with me."  No matter how she shivered to think of the bedding of others; the murmurings which she so believed had only been pressed to her temple, her cheek;
but, then, why ever envy? They had awakened another; refigured another time and time and time again. Shadowglim within halfsight; when put alongside his promise beneath those thundersoft tones, envious worry was promptly trivial ... was it not?

To speak so plain, so bold; taxing, for one such as she.

But within rabbitsoft eyes she has returned to herself, for this moment of all those they had since shared; longing now half-faded, and she has thus half-risen for his prompting;
waiting, now, for his own edict of her understandings. All that she longs to call him, to be near and for — he was within the soul of her. And if this be all she could offer and seem to the General within him ... then so it was. His mouth, his throat; the marred breast; the masonry of heart therein; her soul, crooning in hesitant contentment that it might be better for them to stave their yearnings until that making;
Andraste looks upon him all in listless thought, rousement quieted, as she.

mahler listened, and felt the sting of pure malicious selfishness in the face of andraste's soft utterances. it was as he had experienced with takiyok: why could he not be allowed to make his own way without the cloying of another? but he chastised himself immediately for so wicked a thought. look how very much she had sacrified, had suffered, had achieved. her adoration for him so transparent, her loving energies a thrumming encirclement of warmth and safe passage.
her eyes gone soft with velveteen haze — how beautiful she was. their children —
now the thought provoked hesitation, and it was for her first two that his mind leapt now. the boy and the girl, moonlight and darkness, who would be without a maternal pillar even as andraste quickened with the cubs seeded by mahler. could he do such a thing to them?
that was the reasoning he had given himself for gathering such a brood to diaspora after the fact.
unfair unfair, unfair to them both, now that they were out from the satin tendrils spun in moonspear and within the mortla realm and all its realities, all its demands.
"i know this is not easy for you," mahler intoned, expression grave as he looked down upon her. "and i admire your grace. but aureven, if you cannot, i vould never blame you."
i will do as he did, but i will complete it in a better way.
silent, humming, cleaving unto her, full of wanting but seeking control all the same.

His listing expression;
she knew it; knew for whom his heart beat for; and so welded her lashes shut upon shorn cheeks as Mahler began to gather her. The words of him plucked at the petals that remained of her mind's prudence; waxen breast swelling with the breathless cadency that had been only when the elusive fairylight had been held captive willing in forger's imprisoning arms. And though she ached archaic to let ihr geliebter refigure her and she him again and again and again—
"They are grown now within ze nest of their Moonspire motherqueen."
—she must tell the truth of it; of their raising with what she had for so long believed she was never meant to be. And surely this is a measure of reassurement?

Must unfurl from these arms, if only to find air for lungs that he has withered:  "If I cannot?"  helpless, endlessly helpless, Andraste's chords;
as raw as the love within her eyes and in the very hymnal of her soul that she no longer had the might to smuggle from stoneflower inquiries. Fraying again, again; the soft glimmering within her features made now devestation by the mere strife of speaking:  "If I cannot be ze mother that I could not first be? If I cannot have my womb again heavy of such a second chance? If I cannot have you as my own for but a night? If I cannot do this thing for you? If I cannot give to you? You fortify me and you ruin me. You defend me even as you desecrate me. And I—"  Her words were ardent accusations; condemning only for the way her had unraveled her this day. Faraway; fevered. His own understandings cleaved deep into her, of all her past sorrowing and that which only he had been privy to.  I love you with each and every breath I take— please do not doubt my doing this—
but it was not the doubting by way of belittlement, she thinks; moreso out of thorough care. Yet such confessions she would not allow to alight upon them; to again face the retaliation of it and yet Mahler is the ender of her, and so they tremble upon lips longing longing longing to give such.

Her General seeks control;
how could he? Undómiel is reaching and retreating and now rootless; agonized. Features brimming over with enamored abandon, staring. Yet she refrains from the feeling of him if only to entertain the lie that she is not as enchanted as she so evidently has become;
for he was not merely body; was not simple a statuesque helming of his station. No, no—
his Andraste  (Aurëwen?)  was falling away, again again again; cannot help the soft and smitten fluting from deep within breast. Retreats one step; another; 
ever mesmerized and muted.

moonspear was not their mother, but mahler brought this not to tongue. he watched stolidly as andraste plucked herself away from the quivering hearstring of them, her voice provoked, anger warranted and soprano. her fury righteous, and truly for the first time did the musiker catch sight of the warrior's heart in andraste. 
where had it been before all this? what wickedness had veiled such from his sight? mahler merely lifted his chin as she beat against the unyielding rock of his being with her words. a promise then, a keepsake upon which she had hung her dreams. was he mistaken, or had not this fae thing sketched out the farflung details of their future without thinking to consult him?
mahler could not allow this, would not allow it. and yet his soul fair broke to see the splintering of love into anguish upon andraste's scarred features, the scarlet of her countenance giving way to a bone-deep agony he had inspired. 
"listen!" came the hard crouch of his own tones beneath hers as andraste began to give way. "you hold me in a vay that no vone else vill, or can. and still it is not enough."
blind now, misreading; he did not know what to do, so new his tread upon the threshold of her ire. "vere ve too hasty?" he roiled in an agony of thought, putting more distance between he and the dove to pace the cold ridge. "this is natural, but is it right? aureven," her true title, known to his heart, "i do not vish to fight vith you. i vish only to be honest."
but honesty could not dismiss the misgivings in his soul; honesty could only spear her further with the bitter edge of his own reticence, untrustworthiness.