Sunbeam Lair ❝elyë lantanë melmessë sonen,❞

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.