Okay, this one's a bit kinky, even for me. Written as a favor to someone, for the following kink!meme prompt:

"Cailan did not pass away, he and Alistair both have eyes for the new Warden. She takes on both of them as one night stands and dominates them in bed, but they gang up on her for blissful revenge, because she's small. Bonus points if they refer to her only as "Lady Aeducan" the entire time."

Warnings: Mild dub-con, bondage, group sex, rimming. Faked m/m and incest.

Reviews are love. :-)

~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~

"And then…who was next? Oh, right. That girl I met in Rainesfere," Cailan said with a self-satisfied chuckle. The last word disappeared into the bottom of his mug. The light of torches and oil lamps flickered on his face as he stretched his arms above his head, then propped his stockinged feet up on the low table. "Now she was something! Wavy red hair, a lovely face, in a green velvet dress, breasts pushed up to her chin! I asked her to dance after dinner. I could see Eamon staring daggers at me as I led her to the ballroom floor…"

Alistair sighed contentedly and settled back into his thickly padded chair. Like all the furniture in Cailan's chambers, it was upholstered in linen and embroidered with the red mabari of Ferelden's coat of arms. He peered into his gray ceramic mug and swirled the ale around, watching foamy little bubbles slosh up against the sides. His vision went a bit blurry as he stared at them and realized he knew what it felt like to be one of those bubbles: a tiny bit of effervescence on a churning amber ocean.

He took a deep draught of ale and turned his attention back to Cailan.

The Chantry bells had begun to ring, interrupting Cailain's story. The King frowned and tossed his head as he waited for them to finish. Alistair did some quick mental arithmetic. Cailan had been going on about his past lovers for what, almost an hour now? Alistair felt himself growing slack-jawed and sleepy.

He was back at Flemeth's hut. He'd woken groggy and confused, sitting on a bed in some unknown place. Cailan had been his first visitor…

"You could have left me for dead, you know."

Alistair squinted up at his half-brother. What a relief it was that the King still lived, despite Loghain's treachery. The way the sun lit Cailan's blonde hair from behind, he looked like one of those icons from the monastery walls.

Alistair made a show of inspecting the long, bright-red scar on his forearm. "Why would I have done that?"

"Any number of reasons," Cailan said. "To save your own skin…to attempt to claim the throne for yourself…" His voice softened. "Because you knew I'd never given a damn about you…"

Alistair shrugged and looked at the floor. "It just…it never would have crossed my mind to do that to you."

Cailain reached down and clapped him on the shoulder. Alistair looked up again. "I know that I owe you my life, Alistair. I'm very grateful. And I won't forget it."

"What about you, Alistair?" Cailan's voice startled him from his daydream. "Surely you've allowed some girl to disabuse you of your Chantry indoctrination by now!"

Alistair felt color rise in his cheeks. Were they really going to have this conversation? Not six weeks ago, he would have sworn he'd go to his grave having spoken three sentences to this man.

"Actually…" He ducked his head and laughed self-consciously. The sudden motion made him feel woozy. "Look, you don't really want to hear this, do you? Here I am, getting drunk with the king, and he's asking me about losing my virginity. It all feels a bit…strange."

"I certainly do want to hear it. Details!" Cailan cried with a grin. He gestured to his steward for another round.

Alistair gave Cailan an appraising look. The King was in high spirits; his cheeks were rosy and his words were beginning to slur a bit. Refusing him was probably futile.

"Oh, all right." Alistair sighed and crossed his arms. "A few weeks ago I was in some tavern, making a solid attempt at drowning my sorrows. This lovely girl came along and spent a couple of hours cheering me up. In the end, I suppose she, um…took pity on me."

"Took pity on you? I'm sure." Cailan winked and gave his brother a knowing grin. "And just how much lighter was your purse for this 'pity'?"

"Oh, ha, ha," Alistair retorted. A smile came over his face as he saw a chance to get under Cailan's skin. "I don't have to pay anyone, actually. I might have half your blood, but I'm twice as handsome. Everyone says so." She actually had said that last bit…

"My arse they do," Cailan said with a laugh. "Come on, now. Details!" He twisted in his seat and looked around for his steward.

Alistair relaxed and settled deeper into his chair. A far-away smile came over his face as he let his long legs slide out and apart. "She was this incredible little dwarven girl," he sighed. "Smart, beautiful, curvaceous…adorable…" He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering her enthusiastic kisses and the feel of his hands on her pert breasts and her firm, round little bottom.

"And?"

"And she knew what she wanted. Did she ever! No half measures there. That worked out quite well though, considering…"

"Aaaaaand?"

"She…she…um…" Blast it! He faltered as he felt blood sluice to his groin. His face grew even hotter, and he shifted his weight to resist the sudden urge to cross his legs. He knew that would be a dead giveaway. After so many years of institutional living, it should be easier to suffer this in someone else's presence…

"Come now, Alistair. Out with it!" Cailan chortled, greedily accepting a fresh draught from his stocky, red-haired steward. The man leaned over beside Alistair and placed a second mug on the table.

"Uh…she…" Alistair looked away and reached around to rub the back of his neck.

"Okay, let me help you out," Cailan ventured. "What happened first?"

"She…" Alistair stammered, "…she used her mouth on me."

"Well, that's always a nice start, isn't it? Wha'd you think?" Cailan steadied his shaking hands as he raised his cup, trying to watch Alistair's face without spilling ale down the front of his doublet.

"I don't know. What can one say about that?" Alistair countered. He shifted his weight again. Why did Cailan have to be so damned nosy?

Cailain's knit brows showed he was clearly displeased with this lack of information. "A thousand things! How about…it was beyond imagining? It was the best thing that had ever happened to you? Here, you need another drink," he added, and gestured to the mug on the table. "Come on, bottoms up! Then what?"

"She asked me to, ah…to return the favor."

"Ah, there's an assertive woman for you! And? Did you?"

"Yes."

"And how was it?"

Alistair wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. He wondered if it were possible for his ears to catch fire. "Well, let's just say that she was, um…she was very nice about it."

Cailan threw his head back and cackled. "Yes, yes. That will come, in time. And then?"

Oh, Maker, how to say it? Alistair reached for his mug, slugged its contents in one go, and set it back down on the table. The lack of oxygen to his brain made his head spin. He could feel the ale's effects spreading in waves through his body, loosening him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Loosening him up enough to tell the truth…

"She rode me," he blurted out. He'd meant to make light of it, but he found he couldn't wipe the dreamy smile off his face. His eyes closed and his grin grew even wider. "She rode me like a horsemaster breaking a stallion."

Cailan's face lit up. "Now that's more like it!" he said with satisfaction. "I must admit, I do like it that way. Let her sit up and do all the work! And your hands are free to do whatever they please! Well, congratulations, Alistair. It's high time."

Alistair exhaled with relief, glad that he'd finally gotten it out. "Uh…thank you. I think."

"Actually, I had a dwarven woman too, once. Similar in temperament to yours, it seems. My title didn't cow her one bit!" Cailan took another sip of beer. "I wonder if they're all like that? Sweet Andraste. No wonder the dwarves keep them hidden away!"

"Oh, I doubt it," Alistair replied. "I mean, it isn't a part of their culture or anything, right? Those dwarves look like manly men."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." Cailan seemed to smile at something known only to him. "Yes, her spirit was the thing. And she had the most interesting tattoo on her left breast. A little dagger. It suited her perfectly!"

Alistair sat up suddenly, sputtering and choking on his beer. Cailan watched the blood drain from his face. "Are you all right, Alistair?" he asked in alarm. "My! You look as if you've seen a ghost."

Alistair coughed and tried to clear the last of the liquid from his windpipe. There was a wary look in his eyes. "A little dagger, you said?"

"Yes."

"Was it a tattoo? Or a birthmark?"

Cailain rubbed his forehead as he to tried to remember. Then he shrugged. "I suppose it could have been a tattoo. I don't know. It was quite dark, and…"

Alistair put his hands over his ears, and only removed them when he was sure Cailan had stopped talking. "Cailan," he said evenly. "Surely you didn't mean…you weren't talking about…Sereda?"

Cailan paused, cocked his head, and squinted at his half-brother. "Surely you don't mean Sereda?" he asked, astonished. "I thought you said it was some tavern wench!"

"I did not!" Alistair replied hotly. "I said I was in a tavern. Not the same thing! I was trying to be discreet!"

Cailan threw up his hands. "Well, so was I!"

"Oh. Oh, no." Alistair recalled something, and his face twisted in disgust. "Was she the one I heard in your tent that night at Ostagar? Maker, Cailan! Of all the women in Thedas…"

Cailan suddenly looked guilty. "Yes. Yes, that was her," he admitted. A look of bemused annoyance crossed his face. "Say, what's she up to, anyway? I just had a letter from her two weeks ago."

"Two weeks?"

Alistair wasn't sure what to feel. If he hadn't been so drunk that night, they'd still only be holding hands, and this wouldn't be any of his business yet. But he had been, and they…had done, and he'd been thinking of her day in and day out. Losing sleep over her, even. What was she doing writing letters to Cailan?

Something—maybe the ale, maybe a weak little spot in his soul—issued a dark whisper:

If you want to keep her, it might be time to put the Princess in her place.

"Cailan," Alistair said pensively. "Might I ask a favor of you?"

Cailan's expression had grown calm again. "Anything for you, brother. What is it?"

Alistair had to stop for water three times on the journey from Cailan's chambers to the palace's guest wing. He tried to blame his parched mouth on the drink. But drink didn't explain the hammering in his chest or the sweat that beaded on his callus-covered palms as he stumbled down the forbidding halls with his half-brother in tow. What in the world was he doing? He didn't even know. He only knew he had to see her reaction when they walked in together.

Of course, she hadn't done anything wrong. She hadn't known— and it was his own damned fault for not having told her. They hadn't really discussed what had happened, either. He'd been too drunk that night to remember how things had gone, and too embarrassed to ask about it later. But the fact that she hadn't brought it up—hadn't tried to sneak into his tent or pull him aside while the others walked ahead, and no longer even teased him or tried to ruffle his hair when they sat by the fire—that couldn't be good, could it?

And what about the letters?

Alistair stopped abruptly and whirled to face Cailan. "Let me do all the talking, remember." His face was somber. "I'm…I'm not sure how I feel about her right now. And I'm not sure how she feels about me. But I don't want to do something that will ruin things forever."

Cailan patted Alistair's shoulder. "Of course!" he agreed, a bit too loudly. "Obviously, I can have no claim to her. She's yours. I'll keep my mouth shut until you signal me to open it."

"All right." Alistair nodded and turned back down the hall. If he remembered correctly, Sereda's room was the last door on the right, across from his own. He quickly thanked the Maker that the rest of their band was housed off a different hallway. He walked up and knocked gently on the heavy oaken door, hoping against hope that he was correct. It was almost midnight, after all, and no time for waking random strangers.

"Come in," said a confident voice. It was only faintly audible through the thick wood, but he could tell it was girlish, the accent reminiscent of Orzammar. Definitely Sereda's. He calmed himself and took a deep breath before pressing his thumb to the latch.

He swung the door wide and looked to his left, where he found Sereda lounging on a red-canopied, four-poster bed, wearing a green tunic and cream-colored leggings. The plaits of her braided red pageboy hung in her face as she read a book she'd no doubt plucked from the shelves flanking the stone fireplace opposite. She finished the last of the page, set the book aside, and let out a contented sigh as she wriggled her toes and stretched her arms over her head.

He entered slowly, casually, and hoped she couldn't hear the pounding of his heart.

"Hello, Alistair! What brings you here at this hour?" Her voice was warm, but her ever-wary rogue's eyes darted to the door, which still stood ajar. She finished her stretch and returned her hands primly to her lap.

"Good evening, Lady Aeducan."

"Lady Aeducan?" she asked, puzzled. "What did I do to deserve that? What's going on, Alistair?"

She wondered what he could possibly want. Maybe to talk about what had happened, finally? To tell her it shouldn't have happened, that it had been too much too soon? To confirm that he regretted it? The more she thought about it, the more unsettled she felt. On the other hand, it would be a relief to have the air cleared, no matter the consequences.

He gazed momentarily at the floor, and seemed to study the rectangular patterns of the rough-hewn stone. Then looked back up at her with a genial smile. "I wanted you to meet a good friend of mine. I thought we all might have a drink together," he said, hefting a wineskin in his left hand. "Are you game?"

Well, this was certainly odd. "Meet a good friend? At midnight?" she asked, squinting at him in the lamplight. "Don't you meet with the King tomorrow to discuss the state of the war? Can't this wait until morning?"

"No," he said stiffly. "No, it can't."

She felt mystified by the shifting tones in his voice.

He gestured toward the door. "King Cailan Theirin, you remember Lady Sereda Aeducan, from Ostagar?" Alistair watched Sereda's eyes intently as Cailan strode into the room. He could see her thoughts, plain as day: Just how well does he know the King? What in blazes are they doing here together? And then, Oh, no—does he know what happened? Do they both know what happened?

She clenched her fists. "Alistair! You might have warned me," she growled. "I'm not even properly dressed!" As Cailan entered the room she leaped from the side of the bed nearest the door and curtsied as best she could in her tunic and leggings. "Your Majesty. An honor to see you again," she said breathlessly.

"Please, Lady Aeducan. Call me Cailan," he said breezily. She searched his clear blue eyes, looking for some hint as to what was going on, but they revealed nothing. "All of Thedas knows you might have been my equal, had…well, had events unfolded differently in Orzammar."

"Yes, we did discuss that before, didn't we? Thank you, Ki—Cailan."

"So, care to help us drink this wine?" Alistair offered, interrupting their formalities.

She looked from him to Cailan and back again. It seemed there was no getting out of this. "That might be nice," she lied. "Please," she said, and gestured to a small, round wooden table and chairs near the fireplace.

As they took their seats, Alistair couldn't help but notice that tiny beads of sweat had already broken out on Sereda's brow. One particularly large one threatened to trickle down her faintly freckled, fetchingly upturned, lightly tattooed nose. He fought the urge to reach over and brush it away.

"So you two are…old friends?" she asked tentatively.

"In a manner of speaking," Cailan replied. He smiled, then glanced absently around the room. He seemed wholly uninterested in answering her question.

"Good book?" Alistair asked casually. He opened the wineskin and poured what looked to be an Antivan red into a fresh mug, then placed in front of her.

She grabbed the cup and took a hasty gulp. "Yes, it's…quite interesting." Her mind raced as she tried to remember how she'd lain the book aside. Is the spine visible from here? That's just what they need to see me reading right now… She squirmed a bit in her chair. How she detested human chairs—the way her legs always dangled and the edges cut deeply into the backs of her thighs. It wasn't just the loss of her title that conspired to make her feel small in Ferelden.

"Is it very…hard reading?" Alistair continued. He glancing surreptitiously at Cailan as he poured wine for the two of them.

"Pardon? Oh, no, nothing serious." She chose the first topic that sprang to mind. "Just a book on ale-making."

"Oh, wonderful!" Cailan chirped. He gave Alistair a quick glance before proceeding. "I always wanted to know more about that. For example, how brewers fill those enormous casks. Tell me, how do they manage to pump such a vast amount of fluid through such a tiny hole?" He gave her a cocksure grin and ran his index finger lazily around the rim of his mug.

Sereda's brow furrowed. "I believe there's a long hose from the main vat," she explained haltingly, "with a special type of…nozzle on the end. That's inserted into the opening of the cask."

Cailan smiled to himself. "And does someone have to, say, guide the hose to keep it from flopping around and slipping out?"

Alistair tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a snicker.

Sereda felt her cheeks redden again. "Yes, someone holds the hose," she replied. "When he's ready he gives the signal, and the floodgates of the main vat are opened, so to speak."

"Fascinating!" said Cailan. "And is anything used around the opening to prevent leakage and ensure that the hose can be easily inserted and removed, that sort of thing?"

"Some sort of oil or grease, perhaps?" Alistair prompted.

Oh, Caradin's balls! They've seen it, both of them, she told herself with an inward groan. She glared at Alistair. "The book didn't go into that level of detail," she said flatly.

"Pity," Cailan said said with a chuckle.

"I myself would like to learn more about how butter is made." Alistair rubbed two broad fingertips against the scruff on his chin as he pondered this new topic. "Do you know anything about it, Sereda?"

He paused, then laughed at himself. "Oh, of course you don't! There are no cows in Orzammar!" He turned to Cailan. "It just seems like such an awful lot of effort, don't you think? Working that stick in and out for hours, all to turn a bit of cream into something more substantial…?"

"That's it! Stop it right now, you two!" Sereda's brown eyes blazed as she brought her hands down on the table. "What are you up to? If you're trying to shame me into some tearful confession, well—it isn't going to happen."

Alistair raised his hands. "We aren't trying to shame you into anything, Lady Aeducan," he said innocently. "What's the matter?"

For the first time, after all these weeks on the road together, she honestly couldn't read his expression. Was he telling the truth or playing her for a fool?

Just then, Cailan burst out laughing.

"Fine, have it your way," she snapped. "Alistair, I have something to tell you." She glanced defiantly at Cailan, who merely looked amused, then looked back at Alistair. "I suppose you know this already. I slept with Cailan. At Ostagar."

"So I've heard," Alistair acknowledged airily. "But that isn't surprising. Everyone knows Cailan gets around. Don't you, Cailan?"

"Mmm," Cailan said, cupping his chin in his hand.

Sereda lifted her mug to her lips and emptied it. "Yes, he's a charming bastard, isn't he?" She turned to Cailan. "And I suppose you know that Alistair and I have…"

"Yes, he told me, just a little while ago." Cailan's eyes twinkled. "Obviously, I told him he's welcome to you, my being married and all."

"Welcome to me?" she asked indignantly. "Welcome to me?"

"But I'll share. For tonight," Alistair said. He turned to Cailan, who murmured his approval.

"Share me?" Sereda sputtered. She looking from one man to the other. Her face was red as a tomato now, and almost as round. "You'll do no su—"

Alistair cut her off. "And now I have something to tell you." He leaned toward Sereda and looked deep into her eyes while gesturing slowly between himself and Cailan. He spoke in an exaggerated whisper. "We're half brothers."

Sereda gasped. "No. You are NOT!" She glared at each of them in turn. "What a poor joke!" This was utterly ridiculous, she thought. This was impossible. This was…

"Oh, by the stone," she said softly, as she noticed just how close the resemblance was. Their hair was different, of course, and their clothing, and their diction. But their faces…she'd always thought they looked a bit alike, and had even joked about it with Alistair that night at the inn. But how could she have guessed that they were actually related?

"I didn't know," she said quickly. "Not that it necessarily would have changed anything, but…" She looked to Alistair. "I didn't. And why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm sorry," he said, with a sudden, guilty laugh. "I meant to tell you in Redcliffe. I just never got up the nerve, I guess." He paused, and the smile slowly left his face. "There is, however," he added darkly, "the matter of the letters."

"Letters? What letters?"

"Those letters you've been sending me. Don't deny it," Cailan chided gently.

"But I haven't sent you any letters!"

Cailan shook his head. "Why start lying now? Things were going so swimmingly…"

"You've been very naughty," Alistair said, with a resigned shrug. "I'm afraid we're going to have to punish you."

It was becoming clear to Sereda that they were both beginning to crack under the pressure. Clearly, fighting both a civil war and a Blight was more than any man could handle. "Are…are you both mad? Leave now. Get out of my room!" she yelled.

"That isn't how it works, my dear." Alistair rose and walked over to the bed, then slowly removed a silken coverlet from one of the pillows. Sereda watched the muscles in his forearms work as he tore it into long strips.

"Here, Cailan," he said, tossing some of the fabric to the King. "Help me get her on the bed. Then bind her feet together."

"Damned surfacers. You're all insane!" she cried, and bolted for the door. In a flash, Cailan reached out with one long arm and grabbed the collar of her tunic.

"Tsk, tsk! Not so fast, little rogue," Alistair said impishly. He walked back to the table, scooped her into his arms, and dumped her on the bed. Cailan immediately grabbed her flailing legs and used the cloth to bind her feet together, gently but securely.

"What…are…you…doing?" she shrieked, as she writhed in a futile effort to get away. "Don't touch me!"

"What do you think we're doing? We're going to torture you," Alistair responded matter-of-factly. He easily caught both her wrists in one hand and began tying them together. When he finished, he tied them to a rung in the headboard.

Talk about a dream gone wrong! Sereda thought to herself. Under different circumstances… She tried to push the unwelcome notion from her mind.

"Oops!" Alistair said when he'd finished. He smacked his forehead. "Forgot to remove your clothes first." He knelt beside her on the bed, reached down, and ripped her green linen tunic from top to bottom, right down the middle. He flung the tattered material to the floor.

"Alistair!"

"Mmm," he said, as he gazed at her heaving bosom. He reached down and carefully tore each legging down its seam, exposing her shapely little legs. "Such a pity you've forbidden us to touch you!"

"This is ridiculous!" she sputtered. "I know you, Alistair. You aren't going to hurt me, or force yourself on me, or do anything of the sort. So what's the point of tying me up?"

He chuckled to himself. "I maintain that we will torture you, plain and simple," he said.

"Did you hear what I just said? Jig's up!" Earlier she'd been far too warm, but now she was getting goosebumps, lying on her back in nothing but her smallclothes. "Untie me and let me go. And you can fight this blasted Blight by yourself, as far as I'm concerned!"

"Cailan, a bit of assistance here, for the common good?" Alistair asked. He stood and motioned to his brother, who joined him next to the edge of the bed. "Say," Alistair drawled to Cailan. He cocked his head and wiped his brow. "Does it feel a bit…stuffy in here to you?"

"It certainly does. You look uncomfortable, Alistair. Here. Let me help you." Cailan reached for the laces on Alistair's tunic.

"Poor Cailan! Always overdressed. You look like you could use some relief yourself." Alistair grinned archly at Sereda as he placed one hand on Cailan's waist while the fingers of his other hand began working lazily at the top button of Cailan's doublet.

Cailan made short work of the laces, and Alistair stopped his fumbling and raised his arms so Cailan could pull his tunic over his head.

Sereda's breath caught as Alistair's broad trunk was revealed in the flickering light. She'd caught glimpses of him shirtless in camp, but the lone candle in the room at the cheap inn where they'd spent the night had burned out before they'd gotten their clothes off. She had no idea how…

"Wow," Cailan said, interrupting her thoughts, as he eyed Alistair's strapping chest. "Between the templars and the Wardens, you've become a real warrior. Bravo!"

"I couldn't let you be the only dashing man in the family." Alistair finished unfastening the buttons on Cailan's tunic and undershirt, and slipped the garments slowly from the King's pale, muscular shoulders.

Alistair edged closer to Cailan until their hip bones were almost touching. He slowly traced his index finger from the blond's ear all the way down to his belly button. "She's forbidden us to touch her, but all this drink has left me wanting," he murmured, and cast a sidelong glance at Sereda. He leaned his head to the left and took Cailan's earlobe gently between his teeth. "What do you think we should do?"

"I suppose she's left us no choice," Cailan said breathily. His blond hair fell down his back as he raised his chin to expose his taut, corded neck.