A: Archdemon
An Old God, they once called him.
Before this corruption twisted all it seeped into. Before this grotesque army of vicious monsters clawed their way through the Deep Roads in answer to his call…
He thinks he may have been beautiful then.
Not this torn, raging thing he is now.
Not this malicious energy of relentless hatred and despair, Hell bent on destroying everything above the heavy stone walls of his prison...
But it no longer matters anymore; the Old God has long since abandoned what's left of this body. He has a new image now, a new name…
Archdemon.
B: Bickering
Wynne can't help notice that they fight like siblings.
An endless barrage of silly little arguments that range from nothing to everything whenever the two were within mere feet of each other; the current disagreement having to do with expensive cheese wheels, unhygienic moron Templars and gluttonous lunatic apostates. The other members of camp had long since hidden themselves in their tents.
But Wynne has also noticed that the female Warden seems rather amused by the constant bickering; fond even. She always manages to take the two of them on small errands with her, a hidden smile on her lips.
C: Candle
She'd never slept with another person before; a life lived in The Wilds taught little in the ways of social interaction, after all. And for the first time to be done with someone such as him, a complete moron and only slightly more experienced than herself… it was rare for her to admit fear of something.
But she would grit her teeth and wear her mask of indifference, determined to act as if she did this sort of thing all the time; the uncertainty spreading across Alistair's face lending confidence to hers.
She was still blowing out that candle, though.
D: Dress
Growing up alongside nature as Dalish, she'd often run about in her small clothes. Once training began, her leather armor had become a second skin. Everything had provided a freedom for movement, unlike her current outfit.
Long, fluttery fabric tangled about her legs with every step, the bodice tight and constricting forcing her already small waist smaller still. Breathing was almost a challenge. Coronation ball be damned, she was putting her leather back on.
Turning, she caught Alistair gazing upon her like he'd never seen anything more entrancing. Her stomach fluttered.
Maybe she'd suffer through the dress a while longer.