Northstar Vale – did it forge a love that you might have never found? (chl.)

whispers hung in the bowels of the vale, reaching the ears of the winterborne warlord; of andraste. of her newfound plight to excessively dominate her wolves. part of him wonders if the culprit was the season; a possibility. part of him wonders if he was the culprit. if his commandeering of rank that was not his own at the borders when she was half asleep and not asking the things he thought she should've been; another possibility. perhaps, he ponders ...it is both. a coupling of him and the season. though he sets out from their stonebed — a glimpse at it and something nurturing within him tells him he should soon line it with softfurs — it does not take long for their paths to cross which gives melkor the impression that she, too, was looking for him.

❝andraste,❞ he rumbles her name in greeting; would close the distance to draw her into his embrace but they stand facing one another with an imagined table between them; business. ❝what are you doing, tonttu?❞ melkor asks then without preamble, without explanation; assuming that she's finally come to excessively assert her dominance over him; he who, above all others, deserves it the most, admittedly — upon the assumption that she would understand what exactly he was asking.

he, who had designs to save her from whatever thing that is proving itself far too powerful for her to hold on her own — despite insistence! — so that she might once more become the fey queen that courtfall all deigned to follow.