Northstar Vale das gericht

mahler could have continued with their stilted liasion for as long as it mattered. while uncomfortable, the state of being brusque, aloof, removed, was the musiker's nature. she had known this when they had first met; she would know it again if she wished. 
but swiftly the fey thing changed; he felt beneath her whispered words of goodwill a shift, and it was soon uttered on the suggestion they take up the frayed train of their last conversation. mahler did not wish to revisit it, or rather — some part of him, stubborn, boyish, dug in proverbial heels and refused to allow andraste the chance to whittle him into someone who would change his mind.
but mahler was not a boy; he was a man aware of his many faults despite a prodigous sense of pride, and so he nodded once. let her make their path; he would pace alongside her, answer her inquiries, and attempt to piece together an arrangement suitable for them both.
wylla.
how unfair that her face should rise now! distract him — she had insulted him, and the bruise of it was part of what had driven him to andraste's court, to mend the breach he had made, for now that he had suffered, he saw the dove must also.
inclining his broad muzzle, the garogyle gave his silent agreeability to her plot and waited for her to move onward.