Northstar Vale ein leerer raum

the other male at his borders — once were borders! — gives no name and an ambiguous response ( if it could be considered that ) to melkor's inquiry. he asks after andraste and rusted knife twists sickeningly where it remains lodged in his beating heart. melkor supposes, though, until they move, until they become something else this is a question he must face. where is the fey queen? resting where she will rest forever more: in the bowels of the earth where she will only nurture flora.

melkor, grief hitching in his throat as he tries to answer, takes a few extra moments. he is grieving widow but he is also the warlord. he has duty and responsibility to others before himself. ❝she has passed on. in her sleep.❞ to wake beside a corpse; cold and stiff in rigor mortis was not how melkor had wished to ever wake up. they were no easier to get out than it was to force his feet to carry him to relmyna's grave. his not-yet healed wedmark stings upon his ribcage as if expressing sorrow itself. ❝i'm sorry.❞ follows after a few moments, unsure how close this stranger had been with his fey wife.