Northstar Vale a grin as sharp as a knife (mtr.)

you are no knight.

this, he knows. this he accepts and speaks as such. he wasn't cut from such a noble cloth. not with a cunning father and a mother whose main profession was to twist words into fanciful song and ignite the imagination. to call me such would be an insult to knights everywhere. he murmurs in stilted agreement. he feels the warmwater lap against him anew as she moves, the soft rippling of it as it's unsettled with her motions.

and then there is the press of her chest against his flank — a warmth different but equally as pleasing as the warmth of the water — and the feel of a kiss placed against his underarm. a rumble springs forth of his chest, trapping itself within scarred throat. i could always call you andraste, it was her name after all ...but for some reason melkor doesn't want to call her by her name same as everyone else. he wants something special. something that is theirs; from him to her alone. but i'm personally partial to kuuhaltija. he turns his head then, lips passing over her ear with the temptation to nip and then remembers his promise of 'not biting'. instead, his lips dwell there; lingering against velvet eartip. do you like it?