Thunder Dome a place like magic

Culled—
the fée looks to Aiolos with with shorn lips knit with the thinning of disfavor for the lesson he had so taught her of his histories so far. If only he had not uttered an effigy of you are my queen, she might have informed the burnished corsair of how ne'er there would be a male whelp taken beneath such treacherous terms; how each would be cherished, truly and unendingly; regardless of sex or to what family they be birthed into; 
but Andraste halts, suddenly affrighted of ascending through the depths of green.

The Dread must have made both eyes unseeing, for she remains so willfully blinded to the allusion of which her sentinel again entreats  —  one that has been so evident a common thought amongst her own people, time and time again. Though she knows well her heart's own fairness and the sensibilites of her own mind, to be queen is a fear which Andraste has deemed unconquerable; unnatural, with all that she has wrought in past living and further;
still ... if word should e'er reach the Moonspire of a reigning queen within the Sunsgem, it will be from the mouths of her own people;
not the insatiable wish of a devouring conqueror.

"Pray tell,"  breaths thin; chords faint,  "what-ever has kept you ensnared within such beliefs?"