Northstar Vale the tones of your flesh i tempered with pandyssian chalk

This;
she weakens beneath his chaste kiss; warms with the whiskey of his wonderment; a sorely-needed flush that eases the taut figure and then-tearful façade. A gauzy, sniffling smile that scarce shied above the corners of ruined mouth; unbidden. For only some heartbeats, she is whimsical and vague, her brow knits together absently as she considers those three, most strange words.  “With you, hulking about at such an hour?”  A reprieve, a salve, a remedy for now, for now, for now; Andraste sidles closer, breathes him into arid lungs gentle and deep, if only to do away with tears, with treachery, and fill herself up with the soothing of her woad
lover  (confidant, cradler)  —
lipping at the frostgathered breast of him, lulling herself into a domestic drowsiness that is without, for this eve, sensuality ... though the dawn that they had wended together is especially remembered.

Valitúrë though he be, she had not known that he had been vigilant along vale-premises, just as she perhaps would not ever know of past affiliations with the craban who wished to pluck the eyes of once-brood. The thought of his arriving upon the true ending of terms with the musiker, or some revelation of the blackbird of the dark wood  —  she might have quaked, quailed, entire. But ... such a thought never comes, and so Undómiel remains ignorant, blissful; hushed.

The remainder of her mind is exhausted, exhausted, and she would be wise to rest; to hold Melkor in wan and waxen arms and slumber dreamless. And yet she feels that sleep is paltry, in the wake of all that has been wreaked; must tell him; so it is with ardent adamance that she parts from the northron and gazes now into his own marred features with something faded—  “Ze leap of faith that I took in this Court's making ... it was ze faith for those who have deigned to follow me, and do not know what risk I took. But, I ... I would have you know.”