Alistair
He sat in his quarters that evening, waiting for Ashe to arrive. He'd made sure that the setting was perfect - flowers everywhere, a fire burning in the fireplace casting a golden glow over his living room along with the hundreds of lit candles. He'd outfitted himself in his usual casual clothes, which were undeniably fancy for 'casual', but he was king after all. He didn't even own anything less dressy than the white shirt and the golden vest with silver and blue embroidery he had on. He'd made sure his hair looked good, standing almost straight up, a bit messier now in private than how he wore it officially with his crown. He liked it more like this.
As he sat there staring into the fire, pondering how many days it would take to win over Ashe completely and how to propose to her, his mind inevitably drifted to Mahariel. He remembered when there was a time in his life he would have done anything to make her his wife, before it had all gone to shit. He'd adored her when he first met her – she'd been such a mystery of a woman, he'd been fascinated with her. But ever since she'd found out that he was Maric's bastard, she'd grown more and more distant, all the while pushing for him to be king, even though he begged her not to. He didn't want it, he only wanted her. He pleaded with her over and over to marry him and put someone else on the throne, because he knew exactly what would happen if he became Ferelden's ruler – he'd be forced to marry someone else. Mahariel would never be accepted by the people, she was an elf. Still, she insisted.
He came to resent her for it. His last, desperate attempt to make her stay was to start sleeping around with other women, hoping that one of them would get pregnant, and then he could just claim the child as his heir without any need to marry the mother. It would be frowned upon, he knew, but he was a bastard himself and he'd been accepted as king readily enough.
At least, that was how it had started. She grew colder and colder and he was tired of shouting at her with no response except for her staring at him like he was a child and then leaving, always leaving. He found warmth and comfort in the arms of others, even though it was only temporary. When she finally left for good, he felt more relieved than heartbroken, like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
And now that she was back in his life, after believing that she had been dead... He hadn't known what to to, or how to act. That night on the road, when they were traveling together from Skyhold to Denerim, she'd acted friendly, talking and even flirting with him with familiar ease. It had made him nervous at first, but when he went to his tent that night, he'd almost felt angry instead. She'd blamed him for their failed relationship, while he would never forgive her for pushing his rulership on him and thereby making it impossible for them to be together. And now she was here, more than a decade later, acting like this?
He wouldn't have it. He absolutely hated that he'd gotten nervous around her at all, and that she still treated him like a child. He was not the boy he once were, and from the next morning on, there was no more stuttering or blushing around her. He held himself up with far more dignity than the day before, letting nothing she said get to him. There was no point in being cold or impolite however, he figured it was better to stay civil until he knew if she was after something and what that was, or if she truly just wanted to be friends again, or worse – just screw with his emotions. He wouldn't put it past her. But there was no more uncertainty from him about what to say. He could tell she noticed the difference immediately, and she spoke to him with more respect, but still always friendly. As a few more days passed, he concluded that she probably still cared for him, in some way at least, if not romantically. And he'd been right, otherwise he could never have pulled off what he did with talking her into marrying Cullen.
If it lead to being able to get Ashe to marry him, any amount of deception was acceptable. His heart fluttered just thinking her name. When he'd first laid eyes on her in Skyhold, he'd felt something awaken in him that had been dead for ten years. Such excitement, and such a strong connection - he'd felt it in every nerve in his body. Her face was so interesting, with sharp angles but soft lips and piercing, blue eyes, almost at odds with her deep red hair, but it all drew him in so fast he could barely take his eyes off her. And she'd looked at him much the same way.
That was just the start. She was delightful – smart, witty, powerful, commanding, skilled beyond measure in combat – everything about her was perfect, except the competition. Of course, a young woman such as herself was not without other suitors. He just wished he'd gotten to visit her earlier, perhaps that would have spared him a lot of trouble. But he'd made sure and would continue to make sure that he was the only one for her. Not only because he was in love with her, but because he knew he was the best man for her. He could understand her position better than anyone, he would protect her and do anything she needed or wanted, love and support her for as long as she wanted him. And she would understand him. He wanted that desperately. Not to mention the fact that their chemistry was bordering on electric. They'd never once managed to be in a room alone together without some form of heated exchange.
Hopefully nothing would interrupt them this time. He didn't have it all planned out yet, though. He had no idea how upset she would be over what had happened with Cullen, he would have to figure out how to proceed once she got there. He would probably have to take things slowly at first.
There was a knock on the door and a guard pushed it open moments later.
"Lady Trevelyan for you, Your Majesty."
The guard stepped aside and let her in, closing the door behind him.
She took a few steps into the room and then Alistair's mouth dropped open.
Shit. Shit, fuck, shit.
His plan to take things slowly would be very hard to proceed with now. His eyes darkened and he had to brace himself against the back of the chair in front of him. Who was he kidding? The plan would not only be hard to maintain, it had gone flying out through the fucking window.