A/N: this...thing...is the second Cheeky Monkey's challenge posted to me by my dear evil twin, Shakespira. I'm actually surprised I got it done this fast; I think I just wanted this out of they way before I headed to Minneapolis, so it is by far not my best work. *NSFW* Or anything else for that matter. Mind bleach not included, but highly recommended.

Shakespira: next time we get the crazy idea to throw each other under the bus, let's not and say we did. ;) It was a blast though...I think you and I gave each other lots of giggles (and some groans) the last couple of days.

The flaps of the tent rustled in the breeze, further intensifying the incessant pounding in Loghain Mac Tir's head. He had arrived at the ruins of Ostagar not long before, the majority of Ferelden's army with him. The Grey Wardens believed this was a Blight and that the horde would be making a stand here. Loghain had a hard time believing this was an actual Blight; perhaps it was a bit of denial that ran through his thoughts. He remembered the words the Witch of the Wilds had told Maric years before; just thinking on that time and the crone's cryptic proclamations made the pounding in Loghain's head intensify. Add that to the delusions of grandeur he had to suffer through with Calian in recent weeks and this promised to be a most painful, and vexing, evening.

Loghain sat slouched in his camp chair, his head resting briefly in his hand and armor placed fastidiously on the stand next to him. He could feel the eye on the right side of his face beginning to water, telling him that this headache would be with him for some time.

"Your Grace, are you unwell?"

Loghain looked up to meet the eyes of Rendon Howe, who had only hours before joined Loghain at the camp near the ruined Tower of Ishal. He had been speaking with Bryce Cousland in the past few days, gauging the Teyrn's reaction to the troubles in the south while waiting for his men from Amaranthine to arrive in Highever. Howe had arrived with only a few of his men, a point in which Loghain made a mental note to question Howe on. As soon as this bloody damned headache was gone, that was.

Waving a hand of dismissal at Howe, Loghain scoffed. "It is only a headache. Nothing of concern."

Howe stood from his chair, moving to the main flap of the spacious tent and barked out an order to the guard standing outside. "Find a healer and bring them here immediately."

Loghain closed his eyes, settling his head back into his hand, trying to will the pounding from his head. "That healer had better have a sleeping draught as well," Loghain mumbled to himself, rubbing the tender temple with his calloused fingers.

Several minutes later, Loghain heard the sound of footsteps on the dirt pathway just outside his tent. Low voices were heard outside before the flap of the tent opened and Howe entered with a healer from the Circle of Magi. Loghain opened his eyes and groaned when he saw the mage that was sent.

Wynne. The mage that turned down an offer to become First Enchanter of the Ferelden Circle was here, answering Cailan's call to the Circle to join him in glorious battle against the darkspawn. Loghain knew she was a gifted healer, but she was also a preachy stick in the mud, offering unneeded 'advice' to anyone who would listen, which she had been offering to everyone around her in copious amounts as Loghain and his men set up their camp. Of course she would come. It's bad enough that I have to deal with Cailan's delusions, but now this preachy windbag? Maker help me.

What galled Loghain all the more was the look on Howe's face as he watched the healer approach Loghain. Howe was actually leering at her, following the mage's movements with a greedy eye. Loghain scoffed to himself; Howe certainly needed to visit the whorehouses in Denerim more often if he found this ancient mage attractive.

With a rustle of robes, Wynne came to stand before Loghain, where he was still slouched in his chair with head in hand. "What can I help you with, Your Grace?" Wynne asked. "A headache? Let me see."

Wynne reached out with a gentle hand, pulling Loghain's hand away from his face so she could peer into his eye. She leaned over, closer to where Loghain sat as she peered into his reddened and teary blue eye, her gaze flitting from one to the other as she compared them. She then placed a gentle hand on Loghain's temple and he winced slightly before the warmth of healing magic began to ease the pain.

As Wynne leaned over, it afforded Howe a look at her slender backside. It may have been covered by a long mage's robe, but she still possessed a slender shape, even for her age. Loghain caught Howe's movement out of the corner of his eye, looking past the examining Wynne to see Howe licking his lips.

"My," Howe purred, his voice low, "I must say I am enjoying this lovely view."

Wynne quickly stood and whirled about to face Howe, abruptly stopping the healing magic; Loghain found the pain returning. "I find your insinuation offensive, ser."

"Rendon, stop being a bloody idiot," Loghain snarled, his eyes casting back and forth between the two. His brow shot upward as he watched Howe and Wynne glare at each other. Perhaps a little bit of dark humor would lighten his mood and the headache pounding once more at his temples. Should I? "You know damn well she wouldn't know what to do if a man expressed interest; her sanctimonious preaching about duty and magic won't allow her mouth to stop moving long enough for a man to speak to her, let alone touch it."

Howe chuckled, the sound low and ominous in his throat. "No spitfire, this one. Likely hasn't had the touch of a man in years, if at all."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Wynne turned an angry glare at both men. "I will have you both know that I have had plenty of men sharing my bed over the years. Not that it is any such business of yours."

Scoffing loudly, Loghain cast a glance at Howe, one brow raised in amusement. "In the early years of the Blessed Age, perhaps? Certainly not in this Age."

"I think it more like the Storm or Steel ages at the very latest," Howe smirked, taking a step closer to the increasingly incensed Wynne.

Casting a glance between Loghain and Howe, Wynne quickly closed the distance between her and Howe, grasping the front of his fine shirt and pulling his face to hers in a punishing, brutal kiss that took Howe completely by surprise. Loghain had to suppress a laugh at the look of utter shock that crossed Howe's face, his eyes wide as the mage's lips brutally moved over his. After a moment, Howe responded, opening his mouth to hers and grabbing the knot of hair at the back of Wynne's head, pressing her face to his. Loghain watched with both fascinated and nauseated interest.

After a moment, Wynne pushed a flustered Howe back, straightening her robes as she turned to glare at Loghain. "As you can see, Your Grace, I can still make a man weak in the knees." As Wynne's eyes narrowed, Loghain stood, an amused look crossing his features. "I'll even wager that neither you, Your Grace," she nodded to Loghain, "nor you, My Lord, " she nodded toward Howe, "in your prominent positions have had two people at once."

At the comment, Loghain's eyes narrowed, his eyes flicking back and forth between Wynne and Howe, whose look of surprise was now replaced with a look of wry amusement. For a split second, Loghain wished he could wipe the smirk off Howe's face, but instead turned to look at the mage. Loghain lifted his chin in haughty arrogance as he reached out and grasped the upper part of Wynne's arm, jerking her roughly to him. "Let it be said that I never turned down a challenge, not even one as depraved as this one."

Howe suddenly stammered on his feet, a look of discomfort crossing his face at what both Wynne and Loghain had suggested. "Perhaps now would be a good time for me to leave, Your Grace."

Loghain scoffed and pointed an accusatory finger at Howe, shaking his head in disbelief. "It was you who started us down this path with your idiot comment. You will bloody well finish what you started, Howe."

Casting a wary glance between Loghain and Wynne, Howe turned to flee the tent and the unnerving situation in which he found himself. Before he could take a step, however, a whispered word from the mage stopped Howe in his tracks, his feet held in place by the strange glowing glyph that appeared on the ground under his feet. "You won't be leaving until it's time for you to leave," Wynne said, reaching up to pull the clasp from her hair, letting the light locks fall to her shoulders. She turned back toward Loghain. "What do we do with him?"

With a shrug, Loghain began to untie the lacings of his breeches, his manhood already becoming stiff in anticipation. "For now, let him watch. And if he protests, paralyze his vocal cords."

"Your Grace, really, is that…" Howe's protest died on his lips and Wynne calmly reached out, brushing her fingers over the skin of his throat to paralyze his speech. "That should keep him quiet for some time, Your Grace," she said, reaching up to unfasten the buttons keeping her mage's robe in place.

"Good, " Loghain breathed, watching as the robe fell off Wynne's shoulders to lie on the floor in a pool at her feet. His eyes began to roam her body and he found himself disconcerted at the wrinkles of age on her skin. And the liver spots. And how the nipples of her breasts pointed in the wrong direction. Loghain was no prize specimen, he knew, but his body was still fit and toned from years of combat and heavy armor. Hers was simply old. He began to think that this challenge was a bad idea and considered backing away from the mage, but before he could move he found his length enveloped in its entirety by Wynne's mouth.

Her lips moved over his length, gently sucking and pulling at the flesh while her hands moved up his thighs and around to his backside, gentle pulses of energy flowing through her hands and into his flesh. It was a disconcerting feeling and he considered pushing the mage away, but since her mouth was enveloping that which Loghain wanted to keep in one piece, he endured her magical ministrations with eyes closed. Perhaps imagining that this was a younger woman from another time would help him through this strange exercise. After a moment, he found that the magical impulses were actually quite stimulating, causing ripples of intense pleasure to radiate out from his groin and threatening to make his knees buckle.

After a few moments of Wynne suckling Loghain's now pulsing cock, she removed her mouth from it, running her tongue up Loghain's abdomen and chest, flicking his hardened nipples with said tongue. Loghain still had his eyes closed, still feverishly imagining the woman doing such wonderful things with her mouth and hands was a dark haired beauty from years ago when he heard heavier breathing from his side. Opening his eyes—and pointedly not looking at the woman flicking his nipples with her tongue—Loghain saw that Howe was now watching with great interest, breeches in a pool at his feet while one hand was wrapped around his manhood and stroking it freely. The glyphs were still in place at Howe's feet and throat, though Loghain could see the man straining to break his invisible bonds.

"Perhaps now would be a good time to have Howe join in," Loghain breathed, his words part plea and part urgent gasp. Wynne removed her mouth from Loghain's chest, turning a gaze to Howe. When she saw Howe pleasuring himself, she chucked lightly, the sound driving chills down Loghain's spine.

"Yes, perhaps we should let the Arl come play with us," Wynne purred, waving her hand and breaking the glyphs holding Howe in place. Stepping out of the pool of his pants, he moved over to where Loghain and Wynne stood, pulling her to the ground on top of him. Wynne grinned lasciviously as Howe turned her around so she could lower herself onto him, her backside facing him. As she lowered herself onto Howe's pulsing cock, Howe grabbed her hips and bucked upwards, pushing himself even further into Wynne. As Wynne began to grind her hips with Howe, Loghain came forward, grasping handfuls of Wynne's hair and pulling her face to his own unsatisfied cock, thrusting into her mouth as she ground herself into Howe.

Wynne let one hand cup Loghain's balls while the other found Howe's, rolling them between her fingers as she sent magical pulses through them. Loghain heard Howe's groans of pleasure, matching the ones that escaped from his own lips. Wynne's lips sucked and pulled at Loghain's cock, her ministrations and magical impulses quickly causing the pleasure to coil within him. Loghain gripped Wynne's hair even tighter and roughly pulled her face against him, thrusting his cock even further into her mouth and causing her to moan, whether in pleasure or pain, Loghain was unsure. He thrust into her mouth faster until finally his seed exploded from his cock and he had to lock his knees to keep from falling to them. Wynne continued to suckle him, pulling the last of his seed as her hips continued to grind against Howe.

As Loghain stepped back, he watched as Wynne threw her head back, her unbound hair trailing down her back as she closed her eyes and began to rock on top of Howe faster, her sagging breasts moving in a manner that Loghain found not at all pleasing. No wonder he sat her that way. Howe's hands had come around to Wynne's front, where he flicked and pinched her nub with one hand while the other grasped the flesh of her hip. Howe bucked under Wynne, a sheen of sweat standing out on his forehead. Wynne gave a keening wail as Howe thrust deeply within her, his hips coming off the ground as release overtook him. Loghain watched Wynne shudder on top of Howe as her orgasm overtook her, her rapid breathing beginning to slow and a smile of contentment crossing her face.

After a moment composing herself, Wynne pulled herself off Howe's slackening member, gathering her robes from the floor nearby and slipping them on. She turned to look at both men, a sly grin on her face. "I hope that now you have both learned that you cannot judge a mage by the robes she wears." Fastening the last button on her robe, Wynne glided out of the tent, leaving the Teyrn and the Arl to watch her go with bemused expressions on their faces.

"What in the Maker's name just happened?" Howe asked, sitting up and running his hands through his hair, his now flaccid manhood resting between his legs.

"Put your damned pants on," Loghain growled, quickly donning his own breeches and lacing them up. "As soon as this campaign is over, this tent gets burned, and everything in it."