Hushed Willows And we would both lose our jobs

he startles her, evident in the way she bristles as he watches her turn to face him. would melkor not have felt incredibly guilty about it later and if he'd have known her better ( or at all, rather ) he might've laughed. there was something almost comical in the way she puffs up but he doesn't; keeping an impassive look on his face as she greets him. ❝hello,❞ the tundrian warlord rumbles in return. ❝it may be our home,❞ melkor replies sincerely as response to her question of the willows being his ( their ) home. in truth, andraste's death has left him unsettled and second guessing this place and the idea of the remnants of courtfall's attempt to rebuild on their own. this time as he deals with his grief, he must also think of the numerous others that look to him for guidance and it is not as easy. his grief clouds his decisions, his judgement far too fresh as it is. he only knows he and courtfall cannot hope to survive in the vale where they laid their fey queen to rest.

❝you may pass thru,❞ the tundrian decides with a firm nod of his head. ❝i will escort you.❞ he tells in the next breath. while he doesn't think that any of the courtfall members that follow him are violate by nature he cannot say for sure that they would take kindly to her seeing herself through their maybe-home all the same. ❝i am ...melkor.❞ he introduces, surprised that he even remembered to offer his name ( given his habit to entirely omit it most days ). even now, days past, it doesn't sound like his anymore. the name, given to him by andraste, has far too much of her in it. perhaps, he considers, he will go back to 'wintersbane' to help keep the wound from festering; he suspects that his late wife might despise him for it but just like making something new from what remains of courtfall he feels like 'melkor' no longer belongs to him and should be laid to rest with her, too.