"I don't think I can take much more of this." Clarissa Hawke murmured as she closed the bedroom door behind her and leaned against the adjacent wall. The ever-persistent chill within the polished granite had a calming effect on her, as the sheen of sweat she had acquired for the last couple of hours made her feel stuffy, clammy and generally uncomfortable. Silently, she thanked the Maker she had doused herself with a touch of perfume before the occasion – the red-and-black evening gown and the corset beneath it was effectively plastered to her body, and she was sure she would have smelled something horrible had she not tried out the newly-purchased Orlesian fragrance.

She approached the full-height dressing mirror beside her wardrobe and made a small sound of dismay as she gazed at her reflection. Her auburn hair, dazzling and hypnotic in its flowing, fiery tresses, sported sporadic but eminent strands of rebellious curls, hampering her overall hairstyle;

Her violet-blue eyes, referred to by most as 'good-natured' and 'jovial' with 'enigmatic' coming up as a close third, had acquired a pitch-black oval around them as the violet mascara she had so carefully applied mingled with the highlighter lines around the eyelids;

Her smooth yet tanned skin, perceived as somewhat of a miracle by the various highborn ladies she had come to acquaint herself with, was matted with sweat, with what makeup she had applied as an afterthought becoming smears and blotches on her otherwise flawless features;

Her long, elegant neck gave way to a low-cut, finely-tailored evening gown that sported a tantalisingly low neckline and an extraordinarily narrow waist, highlighting her athletic, curvaceous figure with a deep, dark red offset by streaks of midnight black that ran diagonally across the dress, enhancing her silhouette but never taking the spotlight for itself.

It's alright! A little touching up here and there, and I'll be back out there.

"Oh, Maker, I have to be back out there, don't I?" she sighed to no one in particular.

The bedroom door opened, and Clarissa's breath hitched and her heartbeat sped up immeasurably. No matter how many times she laid eyes upon her, she still managed to make her flustered just at the sight of her.

"They're starting to wonder where you are, Clare…" Bethany Hawke said with amusement in her voice, worry on her tone and a reassuring smile on her lips, which were painted a vivid red.

Andraste's flaming knickers, you're such a tease. Clarissa thought, running her eyes up and down Bethany, as if she could not get enough of her.

Unlike her, Bethany had a full, composed head of jet-black tresses that seemed to be perfectly groomed and arranged, framing her honey-brown eyes, tapered nose, round cheeks and pointed jaws in a delicate display of what would be the beauty of an angel in Clarissa's eyes. Similarly, however, Bethany chose a red-and-black evening gown as her choice of raiment for the evening, although the blackness on her dress was much more striking and prominent. The dress hugged her voluptuous body like a second skin, exaggerating all the right places and highlighting a sense of physical strength and mental hardiness that bested most of the guests they had been entertaining. To her, it didn't take as much effort as it did for Clarissa. After hours of mingling with the residents of Hightown and acquaintances of the Viscount, Bethany was still calm, composed and more beautiful than she had a right to be.

"Mother's holding down the fort down there. She won't be lasting long." Bethany said, stopping beside Clarissa as she massaged her temples.

"If I see, one more time, those prissy old women smirking and chuckling behind their fancy little gloved hands while they ask me to tell them stories about farming back home, I swear to Maker on high…" Clarissa gesticulated ecstatically, as if her erratic actions would bring about divine judgment upon the pretentious, evil noblemen and women she had invited into her estate.

"They're using that again? We've been in Hightown for, what, five years now!" Bethany grinned, running a hand down Clarissa's back to smoothen out her breathing. It worked like a charm, just as she thought.

"And the DeLauncets! Those Maker-damned tricksters actually tried to slip me something in the drink!" Clarissa practically shouted. Bethany contemplated casting a spell to contain her voice in the room.

"How'd you know?" she asked, more out of amusement than genuine concern. Clarissa could handle herself, all right. She just never was that patient.

"I cast a spell! Showed me all I needed to know." Clarissa said while she tried, with furious anger, to smoothen out the rebellious curls nestled within her hair.

"Here," Bethany took her hand and replaced it with her own, carefully and delicately placing each errant curl back where they belonged. She dabbed at her cheeks softly, spreading the congealed makeup across the entire cheek to lessen its visual impact, producing a kerchief to remove the mascara around her eyes. She saw Clarissa's eyelids flutter – she was enjoying it.

"You're getting good at that, you know." Bethany remarked, her analytical eyes running up, down and every which way, looking for flaws in her older sister's appearance. She was pleased to find none.

She was just about to retract her hands when Clarissa grabbed her by the wrist.

"Don't… don't stop…" Clarissa moaned out the words.

A mischievous glint came into Bethany's eyes, and she brushed aside Clarissa's defences and pressed her lips onto hers. She suckled on her lower lip, making her moan with delight at the delicious tension replacing the anxiety in her system. She enveloped her lips with her mouth, tickling her teeth with her tongue. She felt Clarissa's hand wrap around the back of her neck, pressing her further in. She felt the sudden heat that flared between her thighs, making them clench in need. She took a deep breath.

Then she pulled away, leaving Clarissa momentarily disoriented and disappointed.

"Wha-?" Clarissa muttered.

"Come on, big baby. We have to wrap this party up." Bethany said, finding it hard-pressed to keep herself from grinning ear to ear.

"Then what was that- you…" Clarissa stammered. She looked so adorable when she's flustered.

"Oh, you little vixen," Clarissa shot accusing daggers at her, making her die laughing, "do you even know how that feels?"

"Oh, I do, Clare. I do," Bethany sidled closer, letting her breath tickle Clarissa's face, "makes you feel hot and bothered, doesn't it."

"Just what I needed, that's what." Clarissa huffed, edging away from her and straightening out the frills on her dress, trying to recover from the searing heat that had set her ablaze not moments ago.

"You do know you're going to get what's coming for you after we're done with this fiasco, " Clarissa whispered throatily, winking at her, "don't you?"

"Is that a challenge I hear in your voice, Clarissa Hawke?" Bethany raised an eyebrow at her, biting her lower lip in anticipation, "we'll see who gets who first."

"We most certainly will, Bethany Hawke." Clarissa affirmed. They slipped out of the bedroom, Clarissa leading the way with her hand in Bethany's. The ball was still in full blast. Orlesian minstrels played, with lutes and lyres, lively and flowing melodies that brought a few couples swaying and stepping to the tune. The smell of mellow champagne and wine filled the air, enhanced by no less than a dozen faces flushed cherry-red with alcohol. The sisters split up, busying themselves with making small talk with the nobles, some of which had wondered at their whereabouts. Out of the corner of her eye, Clarissa spied Bethany being surrounded by a group of noblemen and women, assaulting her with endless questions. Any lesser woman, such as herself, would have folded under the immense pressure. She saw, however, that her sister was utterly at ease, darting from question to question and smiling courteously when they complimented her appearance.

"She's beautiful, your sister." Clarissa heard a female voice, richly and elegantly accented, pipe up at her side. She turned round to find a young noblewoman attired in a Orlesian silk dress of midnight black, her alabaster skin, high cheekbones and pursed lips offset by her cobalt eyes which was utterly fixated on her, "you're a very lucky woman."

"Lady DeLauncet, what a pleasant surprise. I thought you were still outside with your husband. I do hope he's feeling better," Clarissa said, forcing joviality into her voice. Marion Delauncet was the sort of person she hated the most: Resourceful, manipulative and cunning, all wrapped in a figurine of stately elegance. Her heart leapt in triumph as Marion's eyes darkened. That stuff in the drink packed a punch.

"He's just had too much, to be sure. He always was a poor judge of his own caliber, especially his own capabilities at drink."

"Well, I guess it's safe to say he's lucky, as well, that he has you," Clarissa said, smiling.

"You're too kind, Lady Hawke. I'm just a common woman."

Coming from a noblewoman whose family had connections with every individual of influence in Kirkwall, her words couldn't have sounded hollower to Clarissa. With the viscount's daughter being a close friend of hers, her own son a lieutenant in the City Guard and whispered acquaintances with the Carta and half a dozen small-time cartels dwelling in Darktown, Marion Delauncet was a wealthy, well-connected and powerful woman in Kirkwall. As a result, the rapid rise of the Hawke name among the social elite of the city has caught no small amount of her attentions, and she has since made herself a silent rival of Clarissa. They were polar opposites: Farm girl against highborn lady; Warrior against diplomat; One had brought about the rise of her nobility by championing the poor and helping the powerless in the lower, more down-and-out reaches of the city, while the other conspired with the ruthless and the power-hungry to further her own standing. It was as if they were doomed to be mortal enemies.

It was that, and the devious woman and her uncovering of Bethany's identity as an apostate mage.

She had exploited the information without remorse or regret, bringing the Templars upon them when they least expected it. It was only the revelation of Bethany's identity as the de-facto Warden-Commander of the Grey Wardens in the Free Marches, coupled with the considerable amount of goodwill they had garnered over the past year that Bethany was saved from a hauling off to the Gallows.

She sensed it now, the murderous fury that had built up with the passing of each second with Marion Delauncet at her side, seemingly taking pleasure in seeing Clarissa feigning joviality. They both saw through it, of course. Both violet-blue and dark cobalt saw through the meaningless facades of appearances and beheld the disdain and hatred beneath.

The delightful, fleeting tune came to a full stop as some of the minstrels swapped up on their instruments, opting for Orlesian violons and their larger cousins, the Violocelles. As the first of the slow, haunting yet indescribably beautiful melody filled the air, Clarissa spotted Bethany walking towards her, an air of regality that only served to perpetuate her unearthly beauty.

"Lady Delauncet." Bethany said.

"Lady Hawke." Marion inclined her head in return.

Turning towards Clarissa, Bethany smiled. It was a pure smile, untouched by their earlier decadence and untainted by the pretention that seemed to pervade the ballroom.

"May I?" Bethany asked, raising a hand in courtly askance. Clarissa's heart bounced around in her chest. She took her hand.

She led her to the center of the floor then, their hands clasped, fingers entwined, steps in perfect harmony, eyes locked with one another. The surrounding couples stopped in their movements and watched them glide across the floor with apparent ease, but Clarissa and Bethany paid them no heed.

They were in the fields with wind in their hair, swaying shadows of leaves on their bodies and moonlight awash on their closed eyes, dancing under the stars.

/I couldn't resist.

This scene, and the story in general, takes place five years after Clarissa and Bethany have reclaimed the estate and each other and, although the Qunari is still a threat, the AU-ness from so long ago will be present. And this time it will be wilder than ever.

If you haven't read the prequel, Echoes of the Heart, I strongly urge you to do so. I wouldn't be able to make sense of this either if I haven't read the whole thing over once. Then again, it's your call, as it always has been.

Dareth Shiral./