Sunset Valley Tell it to my heart,

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— and let him come.
he would know the wrath of the north's true blood. he would know the wrath of the father who made blackfell into the vessel of him. who would carry on the blood of blackmarch and seed it across each expanse of which he traveled.
this; this is met with the crass, low, hungry chuckle of the titan. maðurinn þinn er fífl sem mun mæta endalokum mínum með tönnum mínum. and let it be known blackfell had regretted turning away when he did. he had done it for her; the woman he held now in his arms.
but it would be the last time he made such mistake. he would defy morwenna's word, again, again, if it meant keeping her safe. gjalla lifir. he loathe speak her name to morwenna. she did not deserve it. did not deserve to know. gjalla had near given her life for the woman—he burned with a grudge, but even then, it was not enough to sway him from her side now.
his jaw ticks. how he infuriates himself.
þú verður að hætta þessum gráti. roughly now, he grabs her by the face. his paw pressing red to her cheek as he grapples her, forcefully drawing her closer, fixing snout to snout and feeling her breath pour in heavy steams upon his. þú ert ekki þessi veika helvítis kona sem ég sé fyrir mér, morwenna. þú ert drottning, og þú verður að haga þér eins og einn núna.
he does not wish to see her cry. he does not wish to taste her tears, to see them fall upon her face any longer. his heart squeezes. and if he must be rough with her, then by the gods, he would.