Northstar Vale in silence i watch on from the bastion

@Andraste & @Melkor

Up, up, up! Until she is gazing down. A shrouded vale of dusted slopes and scents given life. She is fae not fool — ! Not built of brazen sticks but lighthearted dust. Halt upon their borders and waited.

Perhaps she is made of foolishness and naviety to think silence shall be rewarded with her desires. Narrow crown tilted back as her feverish plume dusted her ankles. Release. A soft, trilling sound to alert an arrival — her arrival !

a call rises upon the borders and the ever vigilant tundrian is quick to make answer of the stranger's summons with his physical appearance. shrugging thru the thick tangle of evergreen branches and trudging thru snow; deepened by the seemingly neverending snowfall. he is built for this: this harsh cold. he emerges, careful to avoid jabbing needles and sticky sap in his still healing wedlock-wounds upon his ribcage. ❝aiya, stranger —❞ he calls to the stranger in slowly learnt valerian; though he takes great pride in conjuring that simple word and not tangling it with the tundrian and common in his mind.

❝this is courtfall. what purpose brings you to our borders?❞ equal parts war-king and vigilant guardian.

cameo for now

Pride;
it roosts as a glimmer in halfsight and alights by way of a faint upflick upon the corners of a ruined mouth. To hear her valerian birthstongue curled in the frostbound consonants of his own does little to temper an early, answering flush; and neither does the traitorous, tempted roaming of argent eyes that sketch themselves over the forged, fine figure of mate and male and  –  mine;
the warmth of it all flourishes into desecrated cheeks with a haste that is nigh embarrassing, now, and though Andraste lingers within shadow, a moment's distraction from the sight before her is found in another; a cardinal, pealing within wreath-boughs;
but the quivering ache remains ever loyal within loins.

Infuriating.

Of course, this drapery of demurity would be dismantled from pale shoulders, then, if she were beckoned forth  —  and blanches at the perhaps of it.

For now, Undómiel bites her marred lips beneath shadowpine; mindful, mute.

A brute of stone and ice, winter raised from the earth and painted by the heaven's reach. She was a speck on a dandelion to his presence. Still — she mustn't falter under the stoney gaze. Not now !

Bowed to the earth, it was a delicate display of submissive tendancies. ' a lodging to settleth. a home to provideth for. ' Unbridled truth as her chest and withers dared to press into the earth.

unaware of his wife's lingering in the background out of sight; melkor's attention wholly fixes upon the stranger at their doorstep. upon first impressions she appears healthy. beyond that she shows him proper respect with her submissive posture; acknowledged by melkor with a small dip of his head ...like the tip of a gentleman's hat. her purpose stated in an accent that he is unfamiliar with; the tundrian nevertheless understands. a place to call home. something that courtfall could provide her with.

❝both things courtfall could be for you,❞ melkor gives voice to his thoughts, whiskey smoke tone contemplative. ❝i am melkor, arórëlen of courtfall,❞ he offers in introduction; a common thing he must remind himself to give. ❝who might you be, stranger? and what skills could you bring to strengthen our ranks?❞

still cameo but i need to lmao

Maybe it was stupid of her, to feel this pride;
to preside  (in some manner)  over the initiation of a wanderer on his terms, as well as to hear her tongue upon his, to wish it were instead on her pulse so he might know the wanting that ever thrummed for him within her blood. The traveler herself seemed well enough  —  nameless, but kowtowing as expected. She enquired after a home, and spoke with a diction that was not unlike Undómiel's own. And yet it was not she who wished to garner some knowing of a potential joiner;
male mate mine
it was her husband. Of course it was.  Of course he is, came the silly thought that thread along her hurt mouth, eliciting some dopey smile; glad that neither could see the near redness in-gloom beneath the translucent moon-pale fur.

And so to find settlement in some damned way, Andraste bid herself to sit back upon her haunches and watch the proceedings  –  rather, her watching the cardinal watching the wanderess watch ... him. 

Heavens!

Like a schoolgirl hiding behind a tree, watching a very-much-so elite of her year scrutinize the newest of their class. She was getting to know how he worked; how the clockworks turned in his head and it was
infuriating, infuriating.