Alistair

To claim that Alistair was uncomfortable was an understatement. He had been riding next to Mahariel all day in silence. She glanced over at him from time to time, but he had no clue what to say.

Because what did one say to a woman whose broken, dead body you'd held in your arms, cried over, cursed yourself for being an ass to – just to yell at her when you found out that she was alive?

He was just too damned ashamed to say anything now.

Later that night, sitting in front of the fire of their campsite, Mahariel was the one to break the silence.

"Are you going to tell me what's eating away at you, Alistair? I swear, if I could have gotten you to shut up like this during the Blight, I would have been one happy girl. Now it just unnerves me."

His head snapped up and he looked at her watching him with her head cocked to the side. She looked just like Ashe when she did that, but thankfully that was where the similarities between the two women ended. Ashe was young, passionate, could even be cruel sometimes if what he'd heard about her work in the Inquisition was true. Mahariel was a little older, more calculating, lethal but still adored by everyone around her. But Alistair knew – oh, he knew, that she could be cruel as well. Maybe they weren't so different after all, she and Ashe. Both beautiful, strong, dangerous women. So, so beautiful. Ashe with her wild, crimson waves of hair, her proud warrior's posture. Mahariel with cascading blonde curls, her slight frame, elegant features...

Alistair laughed, suddenly nervous like a chantry boy in Mahariel's presence.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mahariel. Nothing's eating away at me, except perhaps these pesky mosquitoes," he said and waved his hand in front of his face.

"It's freezing, Alistair. There are no insects here now," she stated flatly.

Maker, he wished she would stop looking at him like that. Like she could see straight through him. He cleared his throat. "Anyways. What do you think of..."

"Did you go to my funeral?" Mahariel interrupted. "Did you make a grand speech? Oh, I can't wait to see my tomb. Is it glorious? I would be very disappointed if it weren't."

"I think you'll find it to your liking. A tomb befitting the Hero of Ferelden. Speaking of, how are we going to spin this? That you're alive? People have been flocking to your grave, crying and mourning. We have to do it in a respectful way, we can't afford anyone thinking that this was all some cruel joke."

"Oh my. Right down to business, aren't we? How very regal of you. No 'How are you doing after all this, Mahariel?' 'What did it feel like to wake up from the dead, Mahariel?' No, no, that's none of your concern, is it, Your Majesty?"

Alistair couldn't tell if she was serious or not. He never could.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so callous about it, I... uhm..." He trailed off when she rose from where she was sitting and walked up to him and bent down in front of him, her hands on her legs and her eyes at his level.

"You're cute when you're confused," she said and pinched his cheek, like he was three years old. "I can almost remember why I used to like you so much."

He swallowed hard when her hand drifted down and brushed over his crotch. "Oh right, now I really remember why," she said before she turned around and walked away, laughing to herself all the way to her tent before she disappeared into it, leaving Alistair by the fire, his cheeks burning like a teenager's.

Ashe

There was so much work to be done. She had been away from the Inquisition for far too long, as had Cullen. There had been absolutely no time to spend with him since that night he'd fucked her, and she was going crazy. Work was boring and she was... well, she was horny. She couldn't help it and blamed it on the fact that she was young and filled with adrenaline from sparring but not killing anyone, from being surrounded by gorgeous men but denied every one of them. Cullen was perhaps even more busy than she was, and Hawke spent all of his time interrogating and watching Anders. Anders, who made her want to spit every time she thought of his name. She gladly left the interrogations to Hawke for now, she knew she would be of no use there, if the goal wasn't to smash Anders to pieces – which she secretly hoped Hawke was doing every now and then anyway.

After a few weeks, she heard the news of the King of Ferelden returning to the capital with – to the great joy of his people – the Hero of Ferelden. They'd spun some story about how the King had been tricked by enemies of the Crown that Mahariel was dead, when she'd in fact just been kidnapped, and that he'd personally come to her rescue as soon as he'd heard even a rumor that she might still be alive. Songs and poems about the King and the Hero's undying love for each other had already started to circulate. No one seemed to care that she was an elf anymore, at least not for the moment.

Of course, Ashe was more than a little annoyed by it all. Fucking poems. She scoffed at crap like that. Unless, just maybe, there were going to be poems about her and the King. Or maybe her and the Lion, the Inquisitor and her general. Or perhaps about Lady Trevelyan and legendary Greyer Hawke...

Ashe sighed and mentally berated herself for getting lost in such foolish daydreams.

"Your Worship?"

She was sitting in her throne, one leg lazily thrown over the other.

"Mhm. Execute him. He's a murderer." She was holding judgement over some idiot who'd poisoned his neighbor for sleeping with his wife, and then he'd killed his wife as well. She understood passion, jealousy, but she would never condone such violence, especially not after Anders and his crazy antics. If anything, it made her want to fuck around more, just because it was her Maker given right to do whatever she wanted. As was the right of this man's wife. Of course, there were consequences to every action, and she was prepared to live with that. She didn't know if the wife had felt the same, but murder was more than anyone deserved. Maybe the woman had loved the neighbor and planned to run away with him. Maybe the murderous husband was a piece of shit who didn't deserve better. She mused on all this as the man she'd just sentenced to death was being dragged away.

Later that day, she met Hawke as she passed him coming out of the dungeons.

"Greyer!" she called to him and waved him over to her. She noted with delight that his knuckles were bloody. His face was a little sweaty and she couldn't help noticing how his shirt clung tightly to his chest. "Constructive day?" she asked, one eyebrow raised and a small smile playing on her lips.

"I don't know. I guess I'll see when that fiend wakes up later. I may or may not have knocked him unconscious a few moments ago," Hawke said and dragged his hand through his hair.

Ashe had to bite her lip to restrain herself. He looked so sexy with his tousled hair, a little sweat and dirt on his face, a moderate amount of blood spattered on him. She didn't care how weird it was of her, but all those things made her want to drag him with her to a corner of the keep and let him fuck her until she couldn't walk straight.

She spotted Cullen walking up on the battlements behind them, before her mind drifted off to Alistair, remembering the morning when he'd thrown their breakfast on the floor and kissed her until she couldn't breathe before slipping his fingers into her, one after another until he filled her up and...

"Princess, you hearing me or are you too busy biting your lip off?"

She snapped out of her daydream and looked up at Hawke, who was smiling knowingly at her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck but she wanted all three of them. Preferably at the same time. She could just see it now. Alistair kissing her while she was sitting on top of Cullen, who would be fucking her slowly before Hawke eased himself into her ass, and Alistair letting his hard cock slip into her eager, willing mouth...

"I, uhm, I'm sorry Hawke, I'll catch up with you later. I'm feeling a bit... light headed."

He just snickered as she fled, and she knew she had to either kill something, douse herself in freezing water or fuck someone. She couldn't decide what was best.