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Hoping One Day We'll Make A Dream Last	By : kruemel Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 3679 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Dragon Age and the characters of the game do not belong to me. This is a no profit fanfiction

Chapter List
- 7
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Like a whirlwind Rori burst through the door leading to my royal office. "Fergus!" she cried and laughed at the same time, flinging herself at the tall darkhaired man in exuberant joy. Fergus was almost thrown back into the armchair he had been sitting in before Rori's sudden entrance startled him out of his slumber.

"Ugh, Pup! You gained some weight!" Fergus laughed, lifting his sister off the ground with feigned effort.

Rori punched his chest playfully when he set her down after twirling her around twice. "It's you being out of shape, you wimp!"

"Compared to you, that's what I am," Fergus smiled, ruffling her curly hair lovingly. "When I heard that my little sister was not only a Grey Warden but also leading Ferelden into battle? I was surprised to put it mildly."

"I didn't lead Ferelden anywhere," Rori protested meekly. "That was Alistair's part. But he believes it would blow his cover if he admitted he actually has leadership qualities. So he blames it all on me."

She was already sick and tired of the spotlight on her. She knew she wasn't the hero everybody believed her to be - not with what she had done to survive this battle. Being a natural trickster, she didn't really feel guilty, that was my part including all the fretting and what-ifs and such. Rori was too busy planning her future to be stuck in the past. Her main goal was to stay alive. She used to say she would deal with the havock a demon brat with the soul of an old god could cause when time would come.

The attention she got unnerved her, having to pretend that everything was just as it was supposed to be. Rogues like her rather stayed unnoticed. That didn't mean she wasn't going to make the best of her situation and shamelessly use her fame for her advantage.

"Father...," Fergus said in a choked voice, ignoring her mumbling. "He would have been proud of you. I know I am. You've done good." He forced a smile upon his face and put his hand on his sister's shoulder.

"Done good?" Rori snorted, poking her brother's chest when he was close to burst into tears. "Now, that's a mighty big understatement. I saved the fucking world!"

"And found yourself a husband while doing so," Fergus grinned, wiping the corners of his eyes while Rori did him the favour and looked away, pretending she hadn't noticed. "Our dear cousins told me everything about your... romance. You and your prince didn't miss out on anything, did you?"

"Everything, huh?" Rori squeaked, blushing a deeper shade of pink.

"Everything," Fergus confirmed, nudging her shoulder. "You saucy little minx!"

"They exaggerated," Rori dead-panned, causing her brother to laugh out loud. "And we did miss out on a whole lot of things according to Zev..."

"Well, you'll have much time to catch up on whatever you missed," he grinned. Rori poked out her tongue at him. Her cheeks were burning with embarrassement at her brother's merciless teasing. "My little sister... marrying the king. All I can think about is what Mother would have said about that."

"Every Jill finds her Jack," Rori imitated her mother's voice. "I always knew the girl would make us proud. Didn't I tell you, Bryce, to leave her alone and not push her? And haven't I been right?" Actually it had been Bryce Cousland to keep his wife from urging their daughter to marry. He had been far more laid back about that matter.

"Ha! That's exactly what she would have said!" Fergus chuckled. "And Father would have smiled and said with a tinge of mockery: What would I do without you, Eleanor?"

"And she would have given him the look !" Rori pointed two fingers at her eyes and glared intently at her brother.

"You always knew you were in deep shit trouble when she gave you the look," Fergus sighed. "Father could wrap her around his little finger, though. She never could be mad at him for long."

"Maker! She would have picked poor Alistair apart," Rori giggled. "She would have given him the look and he would have started to sweat and become all flustered, blushing from head to toe and stammering nonesense unable to think straight."

"So, you think you are the right man for my daughter?" Fergus imitated his mother. "What exactly makes you think so? You obviously convinced her. Now convince me. Just in case you don't know, I have the habit of keelhauling men who mess with me."

The siblings smiled sadly at each other. "I still can't believe they are gone," Rori whispered, wiping the corners of her eyes angrily. "Somehow I still expect them to just enter the room. Mama scolding me for dropping all my clothes onto the floor and the dog sleeping on top of them. And every time I put my weapons on a table, I hear her voice: A lady does not place her weapons on the table."

"Mama! It's just my daggers," Fergus whined, parrotting his little sister. They both laughed at the memory of happier times. It was a bittersweet moment of realization of what they had lost.

"What happened to you, Fergus?" Rori asked into the following silence. "Where have you been all the time?"

"I never made it to the battle at Ostagar. We were still scouting in the Wilds when we were attacked by a party of darkspawn. Most of my men were killed," Fergus said gloomily. "I suppose, that's what saved my life. I woke up two weeks later in a Chasind hut, wounded and feverish. I was told I was hallucinating and for some time didn't even know who I am. And when I finally was strong enough to travel, there was darkspawn everywhere. So I was forced to stay with the Chasind. By the time I was able to sneak out of the Wilds, you were already marching on Denerim."

"You missed the whole Blight! Now, that's not going to make for a good story to tell your grandchildren."

"I'm afraid I indeed will be a disappointment. At least their aunt has some stories to tell."

"Most of them are x-rated," Rori remarked. "Not what you think! Stop grinning like that! You're such a jerk! Really! I mean, we've seen... horrible things. That's nothing you'd tell a child..."

"Ho-hum." Fergus smirked.

"Jerk!" Rori huffed, punching his chest.

"I tried to get word to Highever," her brother switched back to serious. "You can imagine what happened, I suppose. I can call myself lucky the Chasind took me in. Howe couldn't get me there. The assassins he sent, they never left the Wilds alive."

"I'm so sorry about Oriana and Oren," Rori whispered hoarsely. "And about Mother and Father. I... I shouldn't have left them... I should have stayed and fought to defend them..." She hid her face in her hands at the memory of her mother cradling her dying father in her arms. Duncan had dragged her away from her parents. Her hands had been slick with her father's blood. She had grabbed for their hands, had tried to hold on when they both had pushed her away. She had kicked and screamed when Duncan had thrown her over his shoulder and hurried down the tunnel that led them out of the castle while she had uselessly drummed her fists at his back. "They didn't deserve to die like that!" she cried.

"Rori, I do not blame you and you should not blame yourself either," Fergus whispered. "You would have died, too. I'm... trying not to think too much about... them... and my wife and... my son."

"Does it work?"

"Not at all." Fergus sighed, running his fingers through his thick dark hair uneasily. "I try to keep myself busy - and suddenly I get assailed by memories... triggered by a scent, a word, a song..." Rori hugged him tight. Briefly, he returned the hug before pushing her away gently but determined. The Couslands were made of sterner stuff. None of them would just bury their heads in the sand. There was no way to go back, so they would move forward. "Howe was a greedy, treacherous bastard," Fergus growled. "I just wish I had been there to help you kill him."

"He got what he deserved," Rori pressed through gritted teeth, recalling all the painful details of what Howe had spat in her face about her parents' fate, about Oren and Oriana. She wouldn't repeat any of this in front of her brother. She had gone far too easy on Howe. What he deserved... he had deserved so much more than she had been able to give.

"You really got a bang out of this Blight."

"You haven't the faintest idea! I really left nothing out," Rori confirmed sarcastically.

"I need to go back to Highever as soon as possible. See if I can clean up some of the mess Howe made of it... And arrange my wedding."

"Your wedding?"

Fergus slumped into the armchair, his arms resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. "You and I are the only Couslands left. I need an heir and therefore I will have to marry as soon as possible," he muttered, his voice muffled. "Lord Orion, Oriana's father, is interested in marrying one of her younger sister away and he is so in love with my title that he is willing to give me another chance. His money will help me rebuilt Highever." Fergus straightend, his expression one of utter unhappiness when he met his sister's gaze. "It... it doesn't feel right although I know it's the right thing to do."

"I know exactly what you mean," Rori sighed. She sat on the armrest of the chair and patted her brother's shoulder.

"You're not saying your own wedding is a politcal decision?" Fergus asked sharply.

"Quite the contrary." Rori admitted compunctiously. Then a rapt smile lit her whole face, making her eyes sparkle and her cheeks blush. "I love him, Fergus! There's no words to say how much I love him!" she exclaimed with exuberant joy. "Alistair... he... makes me laugh. You have no idea how important that is when there's only tragedy and chaos all around. He's always there for me, I find strength in him when I am weak. Without him... Blast! I cannot even imagine life without him. He's a good man. A strong man. And cute..."

"Cute?" Fergus laughed. "That's what every man wants to hear. I bet he's delighted."

"What in the name of the Maker is wrong with you guys? There's nothing wrong with being cute!" Rori swated annoyedly at him. "Fine, Alistair's also real manly and handsome - in a manly way - and... Whew! Sexy... Oh stop laughing, Fergus! You're such a jerk!"

"Wow," Fergus chuckled. "You've got it bad."

"Yes," Rori admitted, grinning from ear to ear. "Very very very bad." Her smile faded when she saw the grief in her brother's eyes. "I'm sorry, Fergus. Here I babble about Alistair when you..."

"No sorries, no worries, Pup. You deserve your happiness. And I am delighted for you. Not as delighted as Mother would be. She'd be planning your wedding by now and you'd have nothing to say about it."

"Just because that's what she did with your wedding doesn't mean I would have allowed her to do the same with mine."

"There's a reason why Father called her the Admiral, you know."

"He didn't!"

"Not when she was around. He was afraid she'd have him keelhauled."

"Again."

"Again," Fergus laughed. "Now, are you going to introduce me to your Prince Charming? I am curious to meet the man who swept my little sister of her feet. He succeeded where so many before were foredoomed. I'm not sure if I should congratulate or pity him..."

"You shouldn't be too hard to yourself, Fergus. You won't make that bad a brother-in-law," Rori retorted.

"He should have had enough time by now getting used to the Cousland sense of humour," Fergus chortled in agreement. "I'm also your closest male relative. He actually has to ask my permission..."

"The poor boy already had to ask Uncle Angus!"

"He has my deepest sympathy."

"Let's see if we can find him. I by now know most of his hiding places when he tries to avoid Eamon."

She didn't have to search for long as I was in our suite, cornered by a man who claimed to be my butler. I swear, he was a creature of my worst nightmares. Rori had sassy little Amethyne, I was stuck with Arlington, the Butler of Horror! He was very tall and thin as a rake, with extremely short blonde hair. By his looks he was in his mid-twenties but much older the way he behaved. Compared to him a tranquil was a great joker. From the very moment he had gotten hold of me he found fault in anything I did. Obviously Eamon had briefed him to help me with my kingliness. I learnt that I walked, talked, dressed and looked anything but kingly.

When Rori burst through the door with her brother in tow - Maker! Hadn't anybody taught that girl to knock! - I was in my smallclothes and in the middle of a tug-war with Arlington, each of us pulling at one leg of my pants. It was easier to retrieve my boots from Barkley's jaws than to losen Arlington's grip on my pants.

"Alistair! This is my bro..." Rori cheered, then stopped dead. "Err... what are you doing?"

"Obviously," I pressed through gritted teeth. "Kings are not allowed to dress themselves!"

"Your Highness, stop behaving childish!" Arlington scolded me, letting go of the pant leg as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. Without him pulling, I lost balance, tumbled backwards into the hanging rail, flailing my arms and ripping clothes off their hangers. "Arl Eamon says you cannot walk around in these rags!"

"It's childish when I want to dress myself? As far as I recall only toddlers have someone helping them dress!" I muttered sullenly while Rori pulled me back to my feet. "And I can very well choose my outfit myself!"

Arlington snorted indignantly and raised an eyebrow in reply.

All right! My wardrobe until then had only consisted of three shirts - one usually alienated by Rori as a nightdress -, two pants, four pairs of socks and as many smallclothes. I would have loved to keep it that way. I felt comfortable in my old worn clothes with all the patches and stains. I looked like myself when I wore them. I felt like myself. Obviously that wasn't allowed anymore.

Now there were several shirts of different colours and material, vests, trousers, jackets, cloaks, coats, drawers filled with socks and smallclothes and a dozen boots and shoes in different shapes and colours. This incredible amount of clothes came in a myriad of different combinations that made the puzzles we had solved during the Blight seem trivial. I felt dizzy and lost in my own blasted walk-in-closet - another of Meghren's alterations to the original palace. It was larger than the dorm I had shared with five other apprentices during my templar time. The only thing I very much appreciated was the floor-to-ceiling mirror with the two wings at the far end of my closet. The usage I had in mind didn't involve any clothes, though.

"Wow," Rori said. "That's... a whole lot of clothes. One should think there are more important things to do with the archdemon having burnt down the city than tailoring a new wardrobe for the king."

Maker! My sentiments exactly!

Not Arlington's. He glared daggers at Rori.

I immediately hid behind my betrothed, hoping she would defend me. She had slain an archdemon after all. That had enough intimidation potential to scare the butler away! At least that's what I hoped. Alas, hope failed. Arlingtpn crossed his arms in front of his chest and stayed where he was.

"Arl Eamon says his Highness has to dress properly for the different duties he will have as king," he insisted. "The choice of the appropriate attire is essential for the impression he makes. Arl Eamon says it is of utmost importance."

"Really? What does anybody care what I wear?" I wondered. I hadn't cared. Not once. Actually I far more cared about what Rori wore. And then I took care that she got rid of whatever it was.

"Arl Eamon says this is the attire you should wear tomorrow for your coronation," Arlington went on, completely unperturbed by my unwillingness.

"Maker!" Rori, Fergus and I gasped in unsion when Arlington presented my outfit.

It was a whole lot of velvet and broidery, the colours were a shiny blue and green. I had visions of chasing felons through the city, dressed in that... stuff..., as a way of ultimate psy-torment. I felt real evil only thinking about it.

"I am not going to wear that!" I said matter-of-factly.

"Arl Eamon says Lady Isolde has chosen it personally," the butler informed us, ignoring my protest.

"Oh wow, now this has to be love indeed," Fergus observed. "This woman has no taste."

"She hates me," I groaned. "I am going to look like a giant..."

"... blowfly," Rori said mercilessly.

"I wanted to say peacock but now you mention it..."

"Arl Eamon says..." Arlington began once more.

"Arl Eamon seems to be rather talkative," Fergus remarked.

Rori and I looked at each other at the same time. The corners of my mouth were twitching when I began to hum the tune. She grined from ear to ear, inhaling deeply, then burst into a song, me joining in at once. "Put your hands in the air!" we sung, raising our arms. "Eamon Guerrin says. Shake them all about! Eamon Guerrin says. Do it when Eamon says, Eamon Guerrin says. And you will never be out!"

That was when Arlington left in a huff, probably to peach against me in front of Eamon, and Fergus laughed: "You are indeed this Jack's Jill."

"Alistair, this is my brother Fergus," Rori finally introduced us and I got to shake hands with the Teyrn of Highever while still wearing no more than my smallclothes. After Arlington had shown me what I was supposed to wear for my coronation, smallclothes couldn't make me feel embarrassed anymore.

"Excuse me for staring," Fergus chuckled. "I just cannot believe my sister found a man she would marry voluntarily. You have no idea how hard Mother worked to marry my dear little sister off. It was actually the last thing she did in life, planning her daughter's marriage."

"Huh?" Rori said.

"What do you think Lady Landra was doing there with her son in tow?" Fergus nudged her ribs. "It was one of Mother's sneaky plans to hook you up with Dairren. She would have left with Lady Landra - but Dairren was supposed to stay and Oriana would have chaperoned."

"No!"

"Yes!" Fergus smirked. "And Dairren wasn't loath to do like the ladies had hatched it."

"He wasn't?"

"Maker, Rori! Haven't you noticed the way he looked at you during dinner? He was devouring you with his eyes!"

"Err... really?"

"He was looking at you all the time!"

"I thought he was checking out the weapons displayed at the wall behind me..."

"How exactly did you manage to catch her attention?" Fergus asked me.

"You know one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together," I laughed.

"He's so valiant when he bashes in darkspawn skulls with floral arrangements," Rori raved, batting her eyelashes at me as she leant against my chest. "And his rosy scent... it's overpowering!"

"And then there's my cooking skills of course. They sweep anybody of their feet."

"The way to a woman's heart is through her stomach," Fergus chuckled.

"Oh yes, he always would nurse me back to health after the consumption of his infamous stews," Rori giggled, snuggling against me with her arms wrapped around my waist. I nuzzled the top of her head and smiled like a moonstruck fool.

"Maker! You got audience, remember? At least allow me to leave before you move on!"

"We didn't do nothing!" Rori protested.

"Yeah? My little sister in the arms of a man in his smallclothes, that's not what I'd call nothing," Fergus teased her. Then he pinched her cheek and ruffled her hair lovingly. "Take care of yourself, you hear? Or I'll find you and nag you like Mother did until you're ready to tear out your hair."

"You'll stay for the coronation, won't you?"

"Of course! I don't want to miss Alistair in this outfit, not for money nor love!"

"Maker preserve me!" I groaned. "No! No way I am going to put that on! I need some help, I need..."

"Leliana!" Rori exclaimed. "She'll find you something to wear." And before I could protest she left me standing there with her brother to find the bard.

"Holy Maker! I'm going to end as a fashion victim," I sighed while Fergus patted my shoulder in heartfelt sympathy.

Shortly later a delighted Leliana was skipping through my wardrobe, searching for something wearable after she had decided the costume Isolde had chosen was a no-go. Fergus had left me alone - Fine friend! - and I was at the mercy of my so called advisors.

"This is absolutely not Alistair," Leliana informed Arlington who had returned with a clearly unnerved Eamon in tow.

"And that is the reason why he will wear it," Eamon insisted. "He has to act the part of the king."

"I do not act the part of the king, I am the king," I retorted. Yeah, this was only about some clothes. I could have given in easily. I mean, al my life I had worn whatever I had been given without complaining. Look at the ridiculous robes brothers wear at the Chantry! But this was different. It was essential.

You know, Eamon really meant well. He wanted to help me play my role and prevent any damage I could possibly cause. With all the reports he had gotten from the monastery regarding my templar training, poor old Eamon had gotten the impression I couldn't find my way without somebody holding my hand and taking the lead. After Duncan had recruited me, I followed his orders. And when he was gone, Rori became the one in charge. Now I was supposed to rule a country, Eamon naturally thought he would be the man pulling the strings. He really cannot be blamed.

That moment when Eamon stared at me slack-jawed for talking back, when his expression showed irritation and shocked surprise, I realized I would have to fight for control over my life or I would indeed become the puppet Loghain and Anora saw in me.

"Listen, I will consider your adivice," I made clear. "But I will be the one to decide. That's how it works."

Eamon wore that look he had in storage for pig-headed brats that clearly overstepped their bounds. He swallowed his annoyance with extreme effort and pressed through gritted teeth: "Very well, your Highness. You may choose."

Oh wow! That had been easier than I had expected...

Next three people turned their backs on me, discussing what I was going to wear and I was the one left out, reduced to perform as their dressing doll whenever they felt like tossing clothes at me to try on.

Oh blast!

That hadn't worked out the way I had planned. Again I was reduced to choosing from the objects directly placed in front of me like a child.

Marvellous!

Sighing, I began to examine the hangers and drawers myself. Maker's Breath! How many kings did they want to dress? One individual surely never, not in a lifetime, could possibly wear all these outfits!

"He's not like the kings before and he will never be. Instead of trying to change him, make him a trademark," Leliana said.

"What about the kilt Uncle Angus gave Alistair as a coronation gift?" Rori suggested. "The Theirins didn't have a tartan pattern so Angus had one designed for them."

"He is already strongly connected to Northern Ferleden due to his marriage," Leliana pointed out. "Wearing this gift for his coronation could cause serious alienation between him and the Bannorn."

Really?! Maker! And they called me childish!

Still in my smallclothes and fed up of the dressing game, I decided to get dressed all by myself since my butler thankfully was busy. I rummaged around and indeed found awesomely practical black leather pants and a simple light grey shirt. While Leliana was explaining to Eamon why yellow so wasn't my colour no matter the Theirin crest, I discovered some kind of tapered frock-coat reaching mid-thigh, the silver buttons engraved with the Theirin mabari. It was grey with some silvery embroidery at the hem and cuffs. Ornamental without being, you know, girlish. No flowers of such things. Actually it reminded me a bit of waves at the sea. It was all very manly...

Great, now socks... Until that very moment I had kept the erroneous believe that socks just were socks... Then I pulled an incredibly long sock from some drawer. It was lace trimmed and made of black silk...

"Holy Maker!" I gasped, rummaging around for something actually wearable. What had happened to the good old woolen sock? The whole damn drawer was filled with equally useless frills and furbelows! Sighing, I slumped down to resign to my fate and, tip of my tongue sticking out the corner of my mouth in high concentration, tried to put on the blasted sock without ripping it apart. I had just squeezed my toes into the first one when Rori slumped down next to me, watching my progress with high interest.

"Mhmm," she hummed, thoughtfully tapping her index finger against her lips.

Grunting and cursing, I managed to pull the damn thing over my heel.

"Alistair?" she asked softly after she had witnessed some more struggling and cursing on my side.

"Hmph! What? That blasted...!" The sock was too tight!

"You do realize you're putting on my stocking, right?"

Huh!?

Doom!

DOOM!

Blinking stupidly at my silk covered foot, I began to reconsider the usefullness of a butler. I hadn't even noticed Rori's clothes were in this closet, too! Now regarding the left side of the room, there were indeed a whole lot of outfits that could only be identified as dresses.

"Blast!" I groaned.

Rori had the decency to at least attempt to stiffle her laugh. She stuffed her fist into her mouth until she could hardly breathe anymore from the effort of holding back. In the end she failed dramatically and her gigglefit was only interrupted by her hiccup.

"Stop drawing attention!" I hissed, frantically pulling at the stocking to get rid of it before Eamon or Arlington noticed my misfortune. Rori was laughing so hard, tears welled up in her eyes. At least she had mercy and set me free, wiping her eyes with the blasted stockings.

"What in the name of the Maker are you doing?" Eamon asked sharply.

"Just trying to become real silk-stocking," I muttered, a foolish grin plastered across my face. That had Rori roll around on the floor in hysterics. Once she could breath again, she diverted the stocking to blow her nose. Eamon shook his head before returning his attention to the difficult task of finding me a fool's motley.

With Rori's assistance I found wollen socks as red as my face, hurriedly chose a pair of grey jack-boots just because they were standing right in front of my feet.

"So?" I asked my beloved fellow royal to-be.

"Cute!" Rori squealed girlishly, clapping her hands as she bounced up and down.

I swear, she did that on purpose!

"You only want me to spank you tonight," I grunted huffily.

Rori grinned and smacked my hindquarters. "You're soooooooooo manly! And sexy! RAWR!" She pawed at me.

"Be careful what you wish for - you just might get it!" I of course totally failed at sounding menacingly. It's just absolutely impossible to act sinister when at the very same time you grin from ear to ear with blatant anticipation. I pulled at my cuffs, opened the first two buttons of my shirt because it was feeling too tight at my throat. When I turned to check my reflection I found my advisors staring at me across the mirror.

"Gorgeous!" Leliana squealed, clapping her hands. "That's exactly your style! Practical! Manly! A bit roguish and elegant in one! It's pure understatement. It's smart casual. Forget about frilled shirts, knickerbockers, velvet and satin, this man is not made for Orlesian fashion! He's 100% Fereldan. Congratulations, Alistair! You've found yourself your coronation outfit!"

"Indeed," Eamon conceded defeat.

What?! For real?

"Just don't spill sauce down your shirt," the Arl added as if talking to a child.

"Duh! Does that mean I have to undress again and find something else for now?" I groaned.

"Oh, no worries," Leliana purred. "I'm sure, Rori will give you a hand. Or two."

"That, Lady Leliana, is my duty," Arlington remarked sourly.

"Believe me when I say this is most certainly not part of your job description," I deadpanned.
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Hoping One Day We'll Make A Dream Last