Dragon Age

The Rose of Highever

A/N: This one was one of the earlier chapters written, it was fun to write. Hopefully it's as fun for you to read as well. Another adjustment to the game is made, because it makes more sense like this.


Chapter Twelve: Dream a Little Dream


Knock knock knock

Knock knock knock knock knock

Samantha groaned and tossed in her soft bed, pulling the thick quilted cover over her head to drown out the unwelcome noise.

Knock knock knock

"My lady, please get up."

Reluctantly, she pushed the cover down and opened her eyes. The sight that greeted her sleepy eyes couldn't be more familiar: the faint cracks on the ceiling formed the same abstract patterns as they had been for as long as she could remember. Her feathered pillow and silk sheet readied to lure her back to slumber as they always did.

But not today.

The sound of knocking door became more insistent. "Please, my lady. If you don't get up now, you'll be late. Your mother will have my hide," pleaded a meek voice from the other side of the door.

Lady Cousland grumbled as she sat up and swung her legs off the bed. Her laced silk gown did nothing to fend off the morning chill. Almost blindly she grabbed a robe by the bed and wrapped it tight around her body. Stumbling across the room, Samantha flung open the thick wooden door and stared sleepily at a nervous looking elf froze in the middle of a knock.

"Pardon me, my lady," the elf servant sheepishly apologized. "Your mother has been looking for you. She said you should get ready soon."

Samantha frowned in confusion. She opened her mouth, tried to talk, but found her throat too dry to form any words. Taking her silence as a sign compliance, the elven maid stepped into her room and took her by the elbow gently, then settled the young mistress in front of the dressing table. Samantha blinked a few more times to clear her head as well as her vision, and stared at her own image in the mirror. Her long golden hair tangled in a mess, falling haphazardly over her shoulders. The side of her cheek she had pressed onto the pillow was slightly more pink than the other one. Her sky blue eyes glassy and dazed from recent deep slumber. In other words, she looked just like she always did when she woke up; nothing out of the ordinary. But something didn't sit quite right with the Lady Cousland this morning...

The maid took a hairbrush in her hand and began to untangled on the knots on Samantha's hair. Her hands were fast and nimble, obviously she had done this same task too many times. "Would you like your hair up or down today, my lady?" the elven woman asked as she brushed through a handful of golden hair.

The question was almost expected. Samantha had answered it as many times before as it had been asked every morning. She cleared her throat, struggled to find her voice. "Er... up?"

The maid nodded in approval. "Good choice, my lady. It'll accentuate your neck and show off your necklace."

Now, this was new. "...what necklace?"

"You haven't heard?" The elven woman began to braid her hair with a silk ribbon weaving through each braid. "Your necklace arrived yesterday. There will be more gifts to come in the following days. The teyrna said you are to wear it today at your party. I haven't seen it, of course. But I've heard it's gorgeous."

Samantha's fine brows furrowed in confusion. None of these made any sense to her. It was as though she had been shoved into someone else's role in the middle of a play without a script. Only this particular part was written just for her; she was Samantha Cousland playing the role of Lady Cousland. And she couldn't deny the warm feeling of familiarity. An inexplicable feeling of homesickness had instantly been cured the moment she had opened her eyes this morning; it was as though an unlimited amount of fresh water was provided to someone who was dying of thirst. The maid who was busy with her hair had been doing exactly that ever since she was a child. This room, her room, had looked exactly the same for the past nineteen years. She was home.

"What party, Tanna? And whose gifts?" The maid's name rolled off her tongue naturally. Samantha felt mildly guilty. How could she have forgotten Tanna's name?

Tanna shot the young lady a concern look through the mirror, though her hands never stopped working. "Are you feeling quite all right, my lady? You must have a bit too much wine last night, no? It's your engagement party, of course. And those are all your gifts from your betrothed."

Samantha choked at her answer. Tanna gasped and gently patted her young mistress' back. "Have some water, my lady." She poured a glass of water from the dresser nearby and handed it to the young woman. Samantha took a long drink. She could feel the cold water pouring down her throat and settling in her stomach. She could feel Tanna's gentle hand soothing her back to ease the cough. She could feel the tension of the braids on her head. Everything was real. Yet, it felt so surreal...

How could she have forgotten her own party? Her engagement party? And just who was her betrothed? The was no way she could forget the man she was supposed to marry, could she? She was supposed to get married?

Before she could finish her long train of thoughts, once again, there was a knock on the door. "How is my Sam doing?" The voice piping in was none other than her mother's. The teyrna stepped in and approached her daughter with a disapproving shake of her head. "Tsk, still not ready, I see. Well, you'd better hurry, darling. The royal escort has arrived at the city gate an hour ago."

"What royal escort?" It seemed all she had done this morning was asking questions. Stupid questions.

The teyrna rolled her eyes with a sigh. "Still resisting the engagement?" She crouched down next to her daughter and took her hand. "I know it might sound like a political arrangement. But darling, it's not so bad. You are a Cousland. Where am I supposed to find a worthy match for you but the Theirin line? You are going to be queen, Sam. How many women in the entire Thedas can claim that title?"

My betrothed is the KING? Blood drained from Samantha's face but her mother seemed oblivious to that fact. Tanna's nimble hands stopped as she proudly announced she had finished her work. Samantha glanced at the mirror; brilliant blue eyes widened in shock, staring back at her. The reflection was unmistakably her very own. She was Samantha Cousland, she wasn't playing someone else's role. Hundreds of questions flooded her mind simultaneously, but none could find its way out of her lips. Since when had she been engaged? To the king no less? Still, what her mother had just said did make sense, in a very strange way. She was a Cousland. Who was she supposed to marry? To a Howe? Somehow that very thought brought an extremely bitter taste in her mouth. All of a sudden, marrying the king did not sound so bad in comparison.

Samantha found herself being dragged off the chair by her mother and positioned in front of the full length mirror as the two women started to undress her. Still shocked by the revelation, all she could do was to stare passively in the mirror as they put an exquisite silk gown on her. Watching both women fussing with clasps and ribbons, the Lady Cousland felt as though she was being dressed as an actress, getting ready to enter the stage for her debut performance. Part of it felt so right; it was everything she had dreamed of as a child. But a small segment of her mind kept screaming at her, urging her to rip the gown off and run away.

Running away? But where to? Her whole life she had known nowhere but Castle Cousland. She had traveled quite extensively around Ferelden with her parents, to be sure, but she had never been out there on her own. All her life, everything had been handed to her, done for her, could she even survive out there by herself as the spoiled daughter of the teyrn? Samantha seriously doubted that.

Yes, the thought of marrying the king started to sound rather appealing.

After making sure the ribbon bow on the back of the dress was perfectly tied, Teyrna Eleanor reached for a box she had carried with her and carefully opened it. Her smile brightened as she admired the content. "Say what you will about the king, but he does have excellent taste," claimed the proud mother while she turned the box to her daughter and showed her the necklace.

Samantha drew a sharp breath when she laid her eyes on the jewelry lying inside the padded velvet box. The chain formed an intricate yet delicate pattern, accented by small clear diamonds. In the center, five big teardrop-shaped rubies dangled down from the diamond-studded chain. Each ruby was bigger than a copper coin; each flawlessly clear in red and rich as blood. Samantha felt the coldness of the stones against the skin on her chest as her mother draped it around her neck and fastened the clasp. The weight of the necklace felt too heavy for it not to be real.

Still, she couldn't shake off the surreal feeling.

Eleanor studied her daughter's image in the mirror proudly, and put her hands on her Sammy's shoulders to give them a gentle squeeze. "Come, it's time."


The great hall in Castle Cousland was full of guests by the time Samantha arrived. Minstrels playing at one corner, wine serving at another. Vases of fresh cut red roses decorated the room and filled it with pleasant floral scent, yet it failed to soothe the knot in her stomach. She was led into the hall by her mother, who had soon abandoned her to greet other guests. It didn't surprise Samantha; the teyrna could be quite the social butterfly after all. Guests greeted and congratulated her as she passed by. She nodded and smiled politely as response, not trusting herself to say a word.

She drifted across the room aimlessly, hoping to find any familiar faces. It was then she heard her name. She turned and saw her father waving at her, beckoning her to join him by the fireplace. Next to him, stood a tall man in finest clothing. His face was undeniably handsome. The amber flame of the fireplace cast as strange glow on his blond hair, making it look almost red. His eyes followed her form appreciatively as she crossed the room to join them; a warm smile was offered to soothe her nerves.

She knew him - of course she did. He was her betrothed after all. Yet, somehow, Samantha couldn't shake off a mild disappointment when she saw him. Despite the faint ripple she felt from her heart, the Lady Cousland remained calm on the surface as she dipped into a perfect curtsey as soon as she reached the two men. "Your Majesty."

He reached out to take her arms in his hands to straighten her up. "No need to be so formal, my dear lady."

"As you wish, Your Majesty," she bowed her head slightly, as prim and proper as a noble lady should.

"No need to call me that, either," said the young man with a twinkle in his eyes. "To you, it's Cailan. Always. Just Cailan."

The music played louder. Or perhaps the crowd had somehow hushed in silence. The dashing young king extended one hand forth with his other folded behind his back. "May I have this dance?"

Samantha found no reasons to deny him. Nor did she truly wish to. She took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the center of the room. The noble guests parted as the pair passed through. His hand was very soft, his grip gentle. He stopped directly underneath the grand chandelier, turned and put his other hand on the back of her waist, pulling her a step closer to him. Samantha reflectively rested her free hand on his broad shoulder and settled her gaze on the golden embroidery on his collar. She'd had her share of dance lessons - as many noble ladies did, and she had actually quite enjoyed them, much to her mother's delight. Unfortunately, there weren't too many chances to practice her perfected steps since her last lesson. Samantha was suddenly afraid she had gotten rusty without practice.

The king started to lead, the Lady Cousland followed. Back and forth. Side to side. Release, twirl, and back to his arms. Step by step, she became more comfortable in the arms of the handsome man, as she relaxed and truly enjoyed the dance and his company. Step by step, all her doubts began to melt away; marrying this young king who seemed to adore her could truly be a blessing from the Maker after all. Step by step, the surrounding became darker, the chandelier brighter. The crowd faded away, leaving her alone with her king dancing obliviously.

Feeling strangely contented, she looked up to his eyes and smiled. His blue eyes shone brightly under the chandelier as he returned her gesture with a curl of his lips. But those eyes... Something weren't quite right about they were not captivating in this lovely shade of icy blue - they certainly were. Yet, somehow, she would prefer them to be in a warmer shade of hazel.

Where did that come from?

That single random thought of hazel eyes rattled her to her core. But her mind urged her to let it wander, let it dream. Samantha was too curious to stop her mind from wandering as she followed the king's steps gracefully. Her eyes settled on his flowing golden locks, and her mind went to work. What if the hair was different? Shorter and a few shades darker with a hint of red...

Warm hazel eyes instead of icy blue ones. Short dark blond hair instead of long golden one.

That particular face formed in her mind looked familiar. Too familiar.

Samantha dropped her hand from his as though it had burned her. She took a quick step back from the handsome king and stared at him in confusion.

"What's wrong?" The king seemed to be amused, not at all offended.

"No... This is not right," said Lady Cousland. "It shouldn't be you."

Still, the young king only smile kindly. "I see," he said. "Would you rather have me be this one instead?"

Icy blue eyes changed its shade to warm hazel. Long golden locks shortened and darkened with a hint of red. Skin tanned in a shade or two. Jaws became more square. And the morphing stopped soon enough. The king looked different, but not by much. And the new king certainly looked familiar. Very familiar.

She knew him.

She definitely knew him but she couldn't remember his name.

And then, he asked, "May I have this dance once again?"

That voice. She remembered that voice. The warm and smooth tone, often laced with hint of sarcasm.

"Alistair!"

Yes, it was Alistair. But it wasn't him. It couldn't be him – he was Cailan just seconds ago. She struggled to recall the very last moment before she had ended up in her warm featherbed... Demons. Tower. Templars. Mages.

And then there was a click inside her head.

The silk gown on her body faded, replaced by her leather armor. Her exquisite necklace turned into her simple ruby pendant. Her hair that had been done in a fancy braided bun was now held up in a simple ponytail. The great hall of her castle faded away around her. The weight of her blades on her back grounded her back to reality. Samantha reached for her blades immediately. "You are not Alistair. You are that... demon!"

The man in front of her sighed. His voice changed as though there were from multiple speakers. "Why can't you be contented with what I have given you? Does this not make you happy?"

"No," she lied. She had felt a strong sense of bliss momentarily before her own mind had broken the demon spell by changing Cailan's face into Alistair's. "This... None of this is real. This is not my home. You are not Cailan; Cailan is dead. You are certainly not Alistair. Stop wearing his face, and get out of my head!"

She charged at the demon with all the rage she could muster. She was angry with herself for being fooled so easily, embarrassed by her willingness to submit to such silly fantasy, furious with the demons for wearing faces of dead loved ones. She attacked the creature who was still wearing Alistair's face with fury she didn't even know she had. It was a one-sided battle, for the imposter held no weapon. She'd almost felt bad for stabbing him with a killing blow, but the fact the demon was using Alistair as disguise had only infuriated her further. Soon, lying on the floor was no longer an image of her trusted partner, but a lifeless demon.

Samantha took a few deep breaths to composed herself, trying to comprehend what really had happened. The sloth demon had probably dug deep inside her head to recreate her long lost home to lure her to stay. It surely had found a piece of her past that was quite hidden. But the fact it had used Cailan as a bait meant she was an open book to the sloth demon. For no one knew that just a few years ago, when she had barely reached the age of fourteen, she had developed a secret crush on the newly crowned king when her family had traveled to Denerim for his coronation. That silly infatuation had faded away as quickly and quietly as it had come. Still, Samantha had kept the childish fantasy safely tugged at the back of her mind, hidden and preserved as if it was a treasured childhood toy. It was a simpler and happier time. One that could never be reproduced.

With the demon now gone, Samantha sheathed her blades and headed to find her companions. She was glad none of her allies had found her in this dream; it would be too embarrassing for anyone to know, especially Alistair. The Lady Cousland took a final look at what had been the great hall of her castle, now revealed to be nothing but an illusion, and stepped up to a pedestal appeared nearby. Looking at the dead demon who had just worn his disguise, she briefly wondered who and what might be in Alistair's dream, then proceeded to rescue her trapped friends without delay.


The boat ride departing the Tower of Magi was eerily serene. The bright full moon lit up the night sky in a lovely shade of midnight blue; its mirror image reflected brightly from the rippled surface of the lake. The group had helped the Tower by defeating the blood mages and the demons. In returned, they gained a powerful mage ally and the Tower's promise to send help to fight the Blight – one treaty was honored, two more to go. The First Enchanter had also promised to go to Redcliffe to help young Connor. Samantha could only hope seeking the Magi's help was the right choice, that the mages would arrive Redcliffe Castle before the demon once again took control of the boy and harmed more innocent lives.

The boat docked with a sway. Morrigan couldn't get off soon enough, putting a distance between herself and their new ally Wynne. Leliana landed on the dock with a graceful leap. Alistair followed with a much less graceful one, then turned and extended a hand to the elder mage. Samantha couldn't help but smile at his chivalry, and watched as he helped the older woman off the boat. Then the hand returned, extended in front of her. Samantha glanced up at him with an eyebrow raised, while he merely shrugged with a loop-sided grin. She took it with an amusing smile, and leaped off the boat as he pulled her up. Either his tug was too hard or her bounce too strong, she found herself smashing squarely on his chest. His free hand reflectively held onto her back to steady both of them. The sheer closeness and the positions of his hands reminded her too much of the dance with the fake Cailan in the Fade. She mumbled an apology and stepped away awkwardly. Hundreds of thoughts and feelings came crushing to her mind – past and present; dream and reality; the late king and the bastard prince... So preoccupied she failed to notice he had held onto her hand a bit longer until she wandered out of his reach.