Northstar Vale the path to paradise begins in hell

Had she known the esteemed assumption of his thoughts of namegiving, the impling might have been flattered; for though there is now a considering cant to the fine frostglim sculpture of her head, she ... does not yet have a name in mind for the hexed male before her. There were tales that must be told, if she is to make such an endeavor her own, is it not? He is storm and stress and she, sunknived; and that which breathes wiltingly to the shameful Star; scouring the arid throat:
"Belay such nonsense,"  admonishing featherlight; chords softer still; thin ear swiveling away and shaken with awaiting for what her matron so wished to deliver; nearing Wintersbane, regardless.  "What is of import, Mavroimë?"

Preying eyes remained studious of the unsettled gladiator; relishing in the drawn brow writ deep of vexation; the ever-irked, eddying heft of musculature beneath royal hide. Perhaps the preening of her cobwebbed lips at his breast would ease the suffering of such a stalemate — and perhaps it might only prime the precious places of him more. However, her insufferable, inconspicuous simper could be felt there, with all the doting daubbing;
and those insatiate eyes did not farewell from his embittered guise; or the recent remembrance of how he had entreated that he would plea for her; Andraste shivers,
and prays that her Mavroimë's message would be what would thwart what-ever ludicracy has laden itself upon her.