Sunbeam Lair ❝elyë lantanë melmessë sonen,❞

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.