U: Unwelcome
A white hot flash of pain seeped through her, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from yelping. The man that caused that pain - a wimpy human with shaggy hair and dirty clothes - lowered his arm, smirking. "We don't want your kind here, elf." He spit the word at her as if it were the most vulgar of offences. Like simply breathing the term left a sour taste along the tongue. Lavellan lowered her gaze but straightened, anger and indignation threatening to break her resolve. But no, she would not crumble because of this pathetic excuse for a life. Still, she willing turned and left the tavern before anyone else dared to say anything.
V: Valuables
It wasn't that Aeducan hoarded things. She just... really liked pretty, sparkly items. Jewels and gemstones, things that caught the light and shone. It was almost impossible to part with some of those things. She gave necklaces and bracelets to Morrigan to keep her happy, even handed over a mirror the mage woman claimed reminded her of one she'd lost to her mother years before. The gems she gave to Shale for his... upgrades... had her even more upset. But when Alistair handed over that rose, small and seemingly insignificant, Aeducan realized two things. One, the surface wasn't such an awful place, if things like that grew here. And two, Alistair's love was far more valuable to her than anything else she could possibly find.
W: Window
For the first fortnight after her lover left, Hawke refused to leave the mansion. She kept a dagger at her hip and threatened the messengers Varric regularly sent. Whenever Bohdan was attempt to speak to her she would warn him that she neither wanted nor needed a butler, and unless he and Sandal wanted to live on the streets he would leave her alone. It was pathetic. But what was even more pathetic was that when Hawke finally took a breath and accepted one of Varric's letter, she snapped. Isabela was back in town without a word to her. Hawke had to replace her bedroom window after she threw her desk chair out of it.
X: Xenophobia
Adaar knew exactly what it was like to be isolated, mistrusted. Perhaps that was what drew her to the fast talking, flirtatious Tevinter mage. She saw how he received almost as many uneasy glances as she, discomfort drawn from the belief that surely he was no better than the rumors suggested. A blood mage. Adaar could honestly say she didn't care in the slightest. As long as he was okay with her and her Tal-Vashoth upbringing, she was completely fine with whatever land he haled from.