M: Magister
Hawke had learned long ago to take Fenris' silence for what it was worth. When he did answer her questions, sharp tongued and reluctant, she felt his pain. It was a physical manifestation, a burden she wished she could unload from his shoulders but was unable to. She knew it was Danarius that affected her ex-lover especially. And it killed her knowing that it was what drove him from her.
N: Nug
It wasn't that Lavellan disliked the small, furless creatures; on the contrary, they were adorable in their endless curiosity. But it was confusing - perhaps just a shock - to realize the Inquisition's spymaster of all people not only loved them, but had one as a pet. The ravens - understandable. A nug - strange. Still, Lavellan found it amusing when she found the letter referring to one 'Schmooples' and Leliana only rolled her eyes at the elf's laughter.
O: Ostagar
He swallowed hard, eyes falling to the side as Alistair clenched his fists in abhorrence. Morrigan said something he couldn't quite make out, and Cousland steeled himself. They'd come back, he swore. King Cailan would receive a proper pyre, that was a promise. But first: They'd find his armor. The darkspawn had taken far too much already.
P: Plaything
Hawke had never minded waking up alone after a night of blurred images and confusion, her sheets smelling very strongly of musk and sex and something unmistakably Isabela. She didn't mind the small scratches or the stiffness in her muscles. She didn't even mind how her favorite scarf seemingly vanished (she'd later discovery - quite smugly - that Isabela had tied it around her upper arm as a sort of trophy). What she minded was that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't find it in herself to listen to her own warning. Isabela wasn't the type of woman to stick around. She enjoyed the fun parts and left, and that was it. Hawke knew this. But she still fell too fucking fast, too fucking soon. And frankly, it hurt her a lot more not to love Isabela at all, than be disappointed after each encounter.