Disclaimer: Dragon Age and its respective characters belong to Bioware. I own nothing.

Chapter Title: "Nightmare" Born of the Heart

Note: Alright, so this will be my first fanfic. Forgive me if it's terrible. Also, this chapter is meant to be in the middle of the story, but it is the first thing I have typed… So as I write more chapters, I'll fix that. Reviews would be much appreciated!

Another Note: I felt a bit gipped by the female Human Noble origin. We were presented with Ser Gilmore, and I was satisfied, thinking that he was the equivalent to Gorim, Cullen, etc. But instead we got stuck with that noble pup whose name I've forgotten. Yes, the whole "queen/princess and her knight" thing might've been a bit cliché, but I still think it had potential 3. But maybe that's just me. Anywho, I absolutely adore Alistair's character… but then again, who doesn't?

Now that I'm done with that, please R&R! Enjoy!

Summary: Darkspawn aren't the only things that haunt Lady Cousland's dreams. And broken hearts need more than time to mend. Alistair attempts to lighten things up (as always)… but is there something aside from concern behind his intentions?

Laughter enveloped the grand dining hall. Of course, it wasn't the real thing. It was painfully stilted—a broken, unpleasant sound emitted only to feign amusement at bland attempts at humor. Artificial smiles and hollow flattery. What more could be expected of nobles?

But then again, who was she to judge? She was one of them. Lady Raivierra Cousland.

At least, that's what her bloodline dictated. Everything else argued otherwise. Her face-- along with the rest of her was noticeably sun-kissed; much unlike the pale complexions of the other ladies in the room. Her body sported generous curves, yet she prided herself on her lean, muscled physique. She was quite the contrast to the standard, delicately slender form noblewomen were accustomed to conforming to.

A mabari hound amongst a litter of pampered pedigree pups. A razor-edged dagger trapped in a cabinet of butter knives.

Silky dark chocolate hair cascaded past her shoulders to rest just across the peak of her chest. The ivory and crimson dress she wore was restricting and uncomfortable. Her toughened leather armor was far more inviting. She ran an impatient hand through her hair, allowing her bangs to fall back into her face. This earned her a stern look from her mother, who sat across the table from her. It seemed that any move she made displeased that woman.

This was to be a day of celebration. It marked year twenty-two of Lady Cousland's life. Raivierra's mother saw it as the perfect opportunity to finally find her a match.

And it didn't help that she had deliberately been seated between two of "Ferelden's most eligible bachelors". The blonde on her right looked remarkably kindred to the ebon-haired man on her left. The two shared the same set of uninteresting hazel eyes, loathsome desires and ambitions of every highborn man, and of course, they talked at her. She had long ago tuned out the stale pitches of their voices. How she ached to disappear from this horrid place. The food, she adored. Nan had always been quite the chef in her eyes—despite her constant griping. Yet, each mouthful of meat secured another scowl from Eleanor Cousland.

Raivierra had received countless lessons on how to behave like a gentlewoman. She argued that she didn't need them. She asserted that the way she ate was perfectly genteel. Her manner of speech wasn't crude and cocky, but rather, ambrosial and charming. There was no defiance in her step; it was simply that she wasn't fond of limping around in heels. Her attitude—her mettle… oh, she had no excuse for that one.

A grin flirted with the corners of her mouth, tickling them into a winsome smile. That was one thing the Teyrna approved of. No man could resist the radiance of Raivierra's smile. At least, that's what she'd been told numerous times. She had no desire to share it with these snakes.

Her olive-green eyes surveyed the chamber. Her father sat at the head of the long table beside her mother. Bryce Cousland was far more lenient towards his daughter's ways than his wife. Of course, he had been the one that initially encouraged her training in swordplay. He was a good man. A just man, beloved by the people. Her eyes wandered to the regally-arching twin oak doors. To the vigilant guards that barred her escape. Her gaze lingered on one man in particular.

He had been watching her. Again. Of course, it was to be expected. Ser Gilmore was a knight in her father's service. His right-hand man. And as of late, Eleanor had assigned him the duty of tending to her precious daughter; though in reality, it was undoubtedly to make certain Raivierra stayed out of trouble. Not that she was complaining.

The knight had been her childhood friend. And as they had aged, he always looked out for her. The man's subtle charm never failed to rescue her from the worst situations. And of course, he always accompanied her when she rode astride Loki in Highever's gorgeous fields. He was her cherished sparring partner when it came to training in the ways of battle. She had grown accustomed to his presence. In fact, she enjoyed it immensely so. He was always at her side when she needed him. Actually, now that she thought of it, he was always stood so close to her. Not to mention that he was decidedly quite handsome. How the visiting daughters of nobles swooned—remarking that if he wasn't just a knight…

His fiery orange hair and those tender green eyes served to reassure her that this dining experience was not entirely detestable. Her soft smile broadened into a wide grin when the subject of her thoughts realized that she had noticed his not-so-covert glances. He man held her gaze for a moment before turning away. That didn't last long, as he now peeked at her from the corner of his eye.

The smile fell from her face as quickly as her war hound had ambushed her brother, Fergus, earlier that morning.

Raivierra glanced down at her lap to find a hand in it, curious as to how it got there… or rather, how it dared to venture there. She looked up and shot a pointed look at the man on her right. His grubby little paw casually rested high on her thigh. Evidently, the man failed to recognize the look as a glare, and offered a sly smile in return. She raised a brow and nonchalantly reached for her wine glass, bringing it to her lips. She was a lady.

"Go soak your head!" Raivierra abruptly sprang up from her chair, casting it to the ground. She affronted with class.

The blonde's face and torso were stained red. Not only from embarrassment, but from the fine wine that had once filled Lady Cousland's glass. Raivierra was positively fuming. How dare he disrespect her! What made him think she was… ,"Touch me again, and by the Maker, I'll—,"she threatened, earning shocked gasps from those around her.

She graciously made a scene.

"Raivierra. Dearest child. Please, pup. Settle down." Bryce rose from his own luxurious seat as he attempted to coax her. Beside him, Eleanor scowled. It was either fury or humiliation that held her tongue.

Raivierra wasn't eager to discover which. Long, brisk strides carried her to that oak exit she had been eyeing earlier.

"Looks like little miss Cousland doesn't play nice with others." A pretentious red-headed noblewoman sneered. This seemed to cater to the amusement of her peers.

The guards made no attempt to impede her departure. In fact, two guards of Highever moved to heave the decorative double doors open to assist in her getaway. Acknowledging them with an appreciative nod, she gave an exaggerated scowled upon hearing the woman's condescending tone.

"Pompous ass." Raivierra growled under her breath. And with that, she left the guards to their suppressed chuckles and snickers. She found herself drawn to a sturdy, dusty bench several yards away and around a corner from the dining hall. No sooner had she sat down when she heard the gush of air as the doors were opened once more. Heavy footsteps sounded on the cobblestone path.

"My Lady?" She recognized the voice to be Ser Gilmore's. His steady footfalls came to a halt as he approached the intersection. His handsome face peered at her from around the corner. "My lady." This time, it was an affirmation rather than a question.

"Ser Gilmore." Raivierra's temper quelled as the man drew near. "I suppose my mother sent you after me?"

"My lady, I suggested that I attend to you. I wanted to see to it that the lady of the hour was at ease…" Ser Gilmore hesitated before settling down next to her on the bench. After a prolonged silence, his soothing voice washed away the quiet, "So… My lady… are you at ease?"

"You are too kind, good knight." Raivierra smiled warmly and turned her head to face him, drinking in the luster of his emerald eyes. "I am fine. 'Twas but a moment's madness." She ducked her head. Was she… ashamed? "I…I apologize. By now, you must be fed up with having to manage my trivial affairs—I"

"Lady Raivierra, please, do not allow such thoughts to plague you." Ser Gilmore fixed his gaze on his gauntlet-encased hands. "In all honesty, my lady, I am honored to serve you. I think of it as a blessing of sorts… Never before have I taken such pleasure in being in another's company."

"A blessing?" Raivierra flushed and looked away, over the arm of the bench. Why was she blushing? She had gotten compliments from many men, and was eager to dismiss them as adulation. But Ser Gilmore… he sounded so… genuine. She hid her thoughts with a scoff, "Take pleasure in my company, do you? It seems that you are the only one—the men my mother finds for me wish me to be completely different."

Ser Gilmore fidgeted beside her, as if debating with himself whether to speak or keep silent. "If I might be so bold, Lady Raivierra, I find it quite fortunate that the Maker made you the way you are." Raivierra slowly turned back to him, her curiosity piqued. "You, my lady, are strong-willed, competent, independent, yet kind, much beloved by the common people, and… enchanting. To say the least." He drew a breath and went on, "You manage to charm the most feral of beasts. Loki and Titan are evidence of that." He relaxed a bit. "If those men are blind to that, then pardon me, Raivierra, but they are fools."

Raivierra took a moment to absorb what had been said. She smirked ever so slightly at the mention of her bestial companions. She didn't fail to pick up on how flustered the man was. He refused to look at her. It was then that she noticed how close they were. The ornately embroidered leather shoulder piece that cloaked his chainmail armor was pressed against her bare arm. "If the Maker had a decent head on his shoulders, Ser Gilmore, you would be in my place. A man like yourself was born for this title. Not me."

"The title of 'Lady Cousland'?" Ser Gilmore asked innocently. "But my lady, I don't believe I'd look half as lovely as you do in that dress."

"That's the one." Raivierra laughed good-naturedly. She let out a sigh of relief; the discomfort between them seemed to dissipate with his joke. "Oh, but dear knight, I beg to differ. I think you'd be quite handsome in—," she cut herself off. Absent-mindedly placing a hand on the knight's broad shoulder, she motioned for him to be silent.

"L'vely Lady!? Where m'ght 'ou be 'iding? Why m'st 'ou make t'is so diff'cult?" A drunken nobleman called for her. As he staggered past the crossway, it was by pure luck that he didn't turn to find the Teyrn's daughter with the head of the guard in a less-than-professional situation.

"Dear Maker, I swear, mother wants to marry me off to a lout." Raivierra hissed after several moments had passed.

"She only wants what's best for her daughter, I'm sure…" Ser Gilmore countered half-heartedly.

"Oh? So you'd see me married off, and be glad of it?" She challenged.

"Your good father would never force you into an arranged marriage. But, I would… see you happy, my Lady." He answered calmly.

She sighed and tilted her head back to look at the cloudless sky. "Yes, well perhaps that would be possible if a single man of her choosing was an actual man." Her gaze flitted to Ser Gilmore for a brief second before fixating on the sky again. "Like yourself. Honorable, capable, admirable, earnest…" Handsome, enthralling, tempting, oh-so tantalizing. She left those unspoken. "… But no. Instead, they're only sniveling, greedy, sick bastar—" No. She was a lady.

It was Ser Gilmore's turn to be silent. It was his face that grew hot. He fumbled with the dagger scabbard that hung on his belt. Clutching the weapon by its hilt, he produced it and laid it flat on both hands. "I've a gift for you." He mumbled, finally looking into her mossy eyes once more. He cleared his throat and took a moment to regain his composure. "It may not be as extravagant as the pendants given to you by your guests, but—"

Raivierra looked down from those trance-inducing eyes to the offering. It was a simple blade. Its hilt was finely wrapped, and its serpentine blade was perfection yet to be stained by blood. "It's… It's glorious. You didn't have to…"

The familiar darkened woods of the Brecilian Forest, yearning to be kissed by dawn's light surrounded her. Night's nocturnal dwellers chirped and chattered from trees and beyond the stream. The crackling of the camp fire explained the faint glow of light. Which each breath, she drew in crisp, cold air. She blinked again, rubbing the sleep from her creamy jade eyes. Sitting up from her bedroll, she hugged her knees to her body. She shivered. Not just from the cold, but from longing as well.

It was just a dream. But it was so real. She glanced at her over her leather-clad shoulder at her weapons that rested next to where her head had been. The sight of her kris dagger assured her that it had indeed been real. That's right. But that was months ago. Before everything changed.

She groaned and cradled her chin between her knees. She'd dreamt of home before. Multiple times. Of him. In fact, just a few weeks ago, she had vividly relived the horror from which Duncan had rescued her. When she had left him behind. When he gave her a chance to escape. To save herself.

But this one had been so sweet. It wrought more pain.

"Another nightmare?" Questioned a familiar voice, heavy with concern. A thick woolen blanket accompanied the question, thrown over her quivering body.

"Alistair." She greeted her fellow Warden. She had been so immersed in her thoughts that she hadn't heard him approach. "Yeah… " She nodded as the man perched next to her.

"I used to get horrible ones. For the first few months. Not so much now. But, I don't think… I don't think I'll ever truly be rid of them." His eyes narrowed in thought, and she felt his gaze on her, but made no attempt to meet it. "I… couldn't help but notice that you were mumbling something. – In your sleep, that is." He pulled his head back ever so slightly, "Not—Not that I was watching you."

"I don't remember what it was." She fibbed.

"Oh. Oh… then I trust that you are alright?" The worry on his face was soon replaced by a playful grin. "You wouldn't want the others to see their fearless leader in such distress, would you? No, I don't believe so. It wouldn't be good for morale."

"And your cooking does wonders for it, am I right?" Raivierra shot back smartly. She finally raised her head from its roost and flashed him a smile, reassuring him that she was merely teasing.

"Why, of course dear Lady. In fact, since I know you to be so fond of it, I'll save you a double-helping of lamb and pea stew tonight." His irresistible lop-sided grin grew, while she humored him with an enthusiastic gasp.

"Really? Truly?" She asked with feigned eagerness in her voice. "You'd best not be joking, Alistair. My, that would be a dream come true!"

"Oh, I would never tease you with such a thing, dear Lady." Alistair slowly rose to his feet and reached down for her. The sound of canvas flaps clapping together signaled that Wynne was awake.

"Good. Then you and I shouldn't have any problems." Her lips curled into a sly smirk as she spoke. Grasping the forearm of Alistair's outstretched hand, she was hauled to her feet by the blonde-haired hellion. She drew the blanket about her like a shawl, inching close to the ex-Templar for warmth.

"Together, again?" Wynne goaded from across the camp. "Well, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that the two of you were joined at the hip."

"Aye. In more ways than one!" Oghren declared with a hearty roar of a laugh as he emerged from the adjacent tent.

"What? No no no, we're not—we aren't—we haven't--," Alistair stumbled over his words, his face turning as red as the blood Raivierra had washed from her clothes the night before.

"Oh, right. You've just been thinking about it. I've seen the way you keep your eyes on her. But I suppose she's a little out of your league, ey, Chantry Boy?" Oghren hectored the poor Warden.

"Alistair, Calm yourself." Raivierra placed her hands on his shoulders. Though she had to admit that his chagrin was quite amusing, he had rescued her, and so she would return the favor. Oghren. Wynne. Need I remind you that it's been the two of you that have been discussing wrestling under the covers?"

"How dare you associate me with—with that!" Wynne's jaw dropped momentarily as she wagged a finger at Raivierra.

"Damn woman… She's a clever one, I'll give her that much." Oghren muttered a curse under his breath.

"No?" Raivierra taunted. "Good. Then be off to wake the others. We leave for RedCliffe at dawn." She gave the command then turned back to fully face Alistair, who's flushed cheeks were returning to normal.

"You handled that rather well." Alistair praised. Looking down at Raivierra's expectant face and raised eyebrows, he chuckled nervously. "Oh, those two. Where could they have possibly gotten the idea that we were… that we might…"

"I'm going to scout ahead." Raivierra stated plainly. Turning on her heel, she caught up her discarded positions as she passed over her bedroll. Long, brisk strides led her away from the camp. "Pack up and be ready to move out."

"Oh. Really? Now? Well would you want me to accompany… you…?" Alistair trailed off, realizing that his question would go unanswered. "Uhh… yes, alright then. I'll stay here, and you go…" He called out to her in his usual chipper tone.

She saw through his act. He was disappointed. Offended, maybe? She couldn't fathom why, but he was. She could just imagine the wounded expression on his chiseled face. She wasn't heartless.

"Please do." She replied, turning around to address him. He stared blankly at her for a moment, then nodded and turned to roll up her mattress. "…And Alistair?"

"Yes?" He drawled; the way he always did with that word. She held up one corner of her make-shift cloak when she caught his attention. This brought a smile to the man's face; he was obviously proud of himself, having been able to please her.

"Thank you."

Well that ended up being far longer than I expected. If you've spent your time reading the whole thing, I'm flattered. Might as well take a few moments to review, right? :)

I'll be working on turning out more chapters!!