Northstar Vale das gericht

"You have so much on your shoulders, of course,"  the fée intoned quietly, thawing features inscrutable yet not at all unkind.  "So much to prepare for."  He was anything but diminished in her regard; her words without the harbored fury. No — there was only the musing of delicate and mothwing care:  "I would not condemn you if you chose to stay away, to tend to your own. Accord, or no."  Andraste rose, then, as if she might step to where he sat; thought better of it; rooted herself with a crease in shorn brow.  "Mahler,"  his word a slow sigh from riddled lips,  "it was never my intention to overwhelm you, and yet—"
and yet, through the shroud of them and the mutedness of their meet, somewhere, the stricken still simmered for him in the manner that only he knew. But the rubied crown hung; the plainness of this present tongue as taxing as ever; and so there was a flush of some frustration to be had, never for him but for her and it settled within the silver as silence. She seemed to melt to ivory; gaze glimmering with the guilt of such a sweet existence for all that her vessel felt for his own and more. Until:
"You hold me. How ... how could I not worry for your wellness?"

She cannot resist turning from him; the shying;
eyes veiled and figure soothed now into something vanquished.