Moonstone Quarry gatekeeper of an endless war

Gauzy gaze alights upon the rougish quirk of dark lips;
were she Aurëwen, she might have — would have! — swept to him with silly salt in her eyes, put her mouth upon his and lamented, longingly, how severely she had missed his damnable presence ... But she is Andraste, and she had again given her heart to a male who could not be present. Still:
it is not the only reason she remains held back from him. As with many before the snitch, she does not know how he will react when presented with her fractured figure and plighted persona; she does not know how he will look upon her when, if, she should tell him all that she has told many others. All those she has gone from to shamelessly pursue a figment she is certain is selfless.

Then again, she supposes that she does not need to know. After all, he had been one of those very few who had truly understood her before her downfall.

The stricken is drawn nearer to who she knows with sureity is Wintersbane, and with an incoherent murmur of rememberence; deemed again to share in the flesh of him. And yet, this moment was other; the melding of her tattered hide against the harvestfull woad of his own was for acknowledgement, of amenity. Shorn cheek pressed now into broad, blue shoulder and lashes veiled faraway halfsight; quiet, save for the a trilling, tranquil croon of easement. Málo; @Guildenstern had been this, too.

Would this swindler still ken her soul?