He loves her, his mayfly lady, he thinks he might despair of it, if he allows himself to ruminate on it often, beyond how he thinks himself unlikely to have the full span of years—Thedas will kill him, one day, but could he abide a Thedas without her in it for much more than a few centuries?
No, he thinks, no, and then—savor this, drink in every detail, preserve it in the amber of elven memory. He can glut himself on her; there will simply not be enough of her for him to feel full, and she will shine from the attention.
They found one another. All it took was a Rift and Corypheus’ weak hand.
“I want,” he says, “you astride, and in my robe.”
The one he had been wearing, subdued, considering the occasion, and shorter than his usual fare, but enough to fall to her thighs. Maybe also some of her jewels? Yes. That is a good idea. It is a simple idea, but the politics are ornament enough. And 'want' is not 'like', but he tries.
no subject
No, he thinks, no, and then—savor this, drink in every detail, preserve it in the amber of elven memory. He can glut himself on her; there will simply not be enough of her for him to feel full, and she will shine from the attention.
They found one another. All it took was a Rift and Corypheus’ weak hand.
“I want,” he says, “you astride, and in my robe.”
The one he had been wearing, subdued, considering the occasion, and shorter than his usual fare, but enough to fall to her thighs. Maybe also some of her jewels? Yes. That is a good idea. It is a simple idea, but the politics are ornament enough. And 'want' is not 'like', but he tries.