This fanfic is inspired by Cmessaz's amazing human noble cutscene which is part of the IRS-Alistair mod. (.com/watch?v=gbAPwS3MtXY&feature=related) But what if Alistair and the warden had been more timid about their feelings for each other up until this point? What if the tension had just been simmering in the background? What if these things happened differently? What if the warden ruling by his side was his idea all along? What if? What if? What if? Ahh how I love playing around with the facts. I'm exercising some, uh... Poetic license, I guess.
Feedback is greatly appreciated! I haven't yet decided if this is to remain a one-shot story or if it will become part of a longer one. Without further ado...
I wondered what Arl Howe wanted to tell Lucretia before she silenced him. He was a helpless, bloodied heap writhing belly-down on the chilly dungeon floor after Lucretia, Sid the Mabari, Morrigan, and I were through with him. His lifeblood formed a dark, growing puddle around him as it drained from his body. He struggled to push himself up on his hands; he leaned his head back and looked up at Lucretia, who loomed over him like a specter. Howe's lips parted. Perhaps he intended to ask her to spare him or maybe he was going to offer some sort of explanation for the attack he ordered on her family. Or was he going to impart some final verbal insult on her?
"Wh—" His statement was quickly truncated by Lucretia's boot as it connected with his face. I thought I heard a crunch when she kicked him, but I may have imagined such. He slumped back down into his puddle, which appeared black in the dimness of the chamber. Lucretia crouched down and rolled his body over onto its back. Her gloved hand yanked her dagger from its leather sheath on her belt and she plunged the blade into the spot where Howe's chest met the top of his abdomen, dragging the blade downwards and splitting him open.
"The queen," I reminded her, averting my gaze from Howe's innards, which were now on display as they poked out of his belly. Morrigan smirked faintly. Lucretia rose to her feet, snapped her dagger back into its sheath, and wiped her hands down the bodice of her leather armor.
"Yes. Let's go," Lucretia agreed as she stepped in the puddle of blood and then headed out the chamber door. "We have a traitor's daughter to rescue."
That was the moment Lucretia hungered for.
She really suggested that I marry Anora and rule Ferelden as its king after I made it clear to her that I had no interest in becoming king, wed to Anora or not. At least Anora would be glad to take the reins from me but she seemed so self-serving that this thought gave me pause. I decided not to consider this possibility until I had to, and instead I wondered what was going on in the Elven Alienage. Arl Eamon and Anora had mentioned something about trouble brewing in that neck of the woods.
"What are the elves up to now?" Lucretia asked. She sounded even more beleaguered than usual, like her voice was trapped in her throat.
"I wish I knew," Arl Eamon responded. "That's why you should go find out. But first you need to see what Anora has to say for herself. It's important that we know where she stands because she can be a formidable ally, and an even more formidable friend."
"Right you are. I'll go find her at once." Lucretia forced a smile, offered Arl Eamon a short bow, and then turned to stalk out of the room. As she crossed the threshold, she glanced over her shoulder at me. In that moment, her green-yellow eyes had a moistness to them; she was holding back tears. I had found myself fixated with her expressive eyes since shortly after we met at Ostagar; they were a color I previously assumed only cats could have. Throughout our adventures together, it was impossible for her to hide her sadness because her gigantic chartreuse eyes would always give her away. But up until now, I never saw her cry.
"Please ensure that I am not disturbed," Lucretia instructed a maid who had been just outside Arl Eamon's door, probably eavesdropping.
Lucretia Lark Cousland, have you finally broken?
I watched as Arl Eamon held a muttered conversation with Riordan, who looked up at me and furrowed his brow before returning his attention to the Arl.
She had listened to my melancholy lamentations about Duncan ever since the massacre at Ostagar and she never told me to shut up about it. She would touch my arm and say she understood what I was going through. She said that my grief was perfectly appropriate and that there would be something wrong with me if I had not been affected by his death. Of course she understood. Before I had even been introduced to her at Ostagar, Duncan informed me of her circumstances. I knew what happened to her, yet she never spoke of it to me aside from mentioning that Arl Howe was behind the assault on Castle Cousland. And when she had a bit too much wine after our victory in Redcliffe she confessed that when she awoke to find her family's estate under siege she was actually in bed with the son of a visiting noblewoman but that he was killed by an arrow when he left to investigate the commotion. Usually she told me stories of her childhood in Highever—stories of things that happened when her family was alive and happy. Then she would break eye contact with me and smile wistfully. I had only known Duncan for about six months, and I used the idea of him to fill in the gap where a father should have been. But Lucretia had lost something tangible and constant. She had lost the family she loved since she was wrapped in swaddling blankets. How could she sleep at night after that? How could she get up in the morning? How could she have put her own grief aside to help me unite the nation and battle the Blight? How could she have guided me this far?
I came to admire her as much as I admired Duncan.
I would have certainly unraveled had Lucretia not held me together. That's how I knew she was unraveling in the guest room. That's why I knocked on her door.
"Come in," she called. "The door's unlocked."
I opened the door slightly and poked my head in. She sat at the ornate vanity in a dark blue dress which, much to my surprise, complimented her vibrant red, jaw-length hair and alabaster complexion. This was the first time I saw her in a dress.
She paused her hair-brushing to offer me a curt, impersonal nod and then looked back at her reflection in the mirror to resume. I remembered her telling me about how her hair used to reach past her hips when she was a little girl and that her mother would brush it with a hundred strokes morning and evening. During our first trip to Denerim, she had purchased an ornamental hairbrush and explained that it looked a lot like the one her mother had used. However, I had not seen her brushing her hair with it until now.
I slipped into the room and approached her. She stopped grooming her hair and set the brush down on the vanity's surface very carefully as though she were afraid it would break if it were not handled gently.
"You look lovely," I offered. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It seemed like a superficial comment, given all that just took place, and she knew that I wasn't here to just flatter her. I looked at Sid, her Mabari, who lay languidly sprawled on the sofa, tongue lolling out of his maw. He offered no clue as to what she wanted to hear. Then I looked at the weapon rack in the far corner of the room. Lucretia's longbow didn't have any advice to dispense either, nor did the quiver that rested against the wall next to the weapon rack.
"Lady Iosolde said I could borrow one of her dresses," Lucretia explained without looking away from her reflection. "We're similar of build, though she's quite a bit taller. Let's hope I don't trip over the hem when I present myself to the Anora."
Now she looked at me. I noticed that she still had on the sensible leather boots that she wore all the time. The toe of one poked out from under the excess of lush blue fabric gathered around her feet.
She continued, "A part of me sort of misses getting all dressed up like this. And I seek audience with the queen of Ferelden, so I should put some effort into my appearance for once, shouldn't I?" she rambled as she clasped a double row of pearls at the back of her neck. I assumed Lady Iosolde loaned that to her as well. Then Lucretia smiled impishly. "Or rather, the queen of Ferelden seeks audience with me, now doesn't she?"
Her smile quickly vanished as I moved a few steps closer to her. "Lucretia… I…" I stopped, unsure of what I could say to make her feel better about this mess we've come to know as our lives.
"If you're here about my suggestion that you marry Anora, then just hear me out," she said, rising to her feet and pacing to the other side of the room. Seeing Lucretia in a dress and without the weaponry she normally bristled with made me realize just how petite she really was. "She is selfish, shrewd, manipulative, and the Orlesian bards could write entire ballads about her ambitious streak. I'm all too familiar with women like her."
I wasn't sure if Lucretia was talking about Morrigan or the women she used to deal with during her court days. She stopped pacing and turned to face me. Her fingers were laced together and her hands were poised augustly in front her abdomen. She sure knew how to look stately what she wanted to and it took me no small degree of effort to avoid examining the way that rich blue fabric of the borrowed dress fell over her thin hips, hinting at the subtle curvature underneath.
She continued, "Most importantly, I wouldn't trust her as far as I could throw her, and you shouldn't either. There is still the possibility that her abduction was a setup. Rendon Howe and his men were merely pawns in Teyrn Loghain's machinations. Maybe Howe stopped being useful to him. Maybe she really does intend to betray her own father, which is also a troubling thought because it means her loyalty changes hands quite easily. I don't know what to make of anything anymore but my instincts tell me that we should proceed very warily."
"Well, Loghain did kill her husband—our king," I replied as I rubbed the stubble on my chin. "But I see your point."
She moved towards Sid and scratched the top of his head before continuing. "Alistair, we don't know what's going to happen at the Landsmeet, but if Anora retains the crown then someone must be there to keep her in check. After all, you do seem to dread the thought of ruling alone."
She crossed the room once more and sat down upon the foot of the four-poster bed, her hands resting daintily in her lap.
"But I—" I began, but Lucretia held up a hand to silence me.
"Alistair, I know you feel nothing but mild disgust for the woman and that she's your brother's widow makes the idea a little awkward, but we don't always have the luxury of marrying someone we love, now do we? 'Twould be for the benefit of Ferelden."
Of course Lucretia knew all about being wed to someone for political advantages. Her parents had groomed her to be such a bride for someone. She admitted to me about a tenday ago that she had no interest in this sort of marriage though she would have gone through with one for the convenience of everybody involved. Such is the lot a young noblewoman must face, she said. What a dutiful daughter.
"We'll see, Lucretia," was all I said regarding her piece.
Maybe it was her lithe frame, or maybe it was the hopelessness I saw reflected in her eyes as she looked down at the floor, but at that moment she seemed so vulnerable.
"That's actually not why I came to see you," I told her, moving as close as possible without seeming like an utter creep. "I just want to… Make sure you're holding up after all this. I know I would be a wreck."
"I'm fine," she said stoically. "Howe's dead. I'm satisfied. Now we have an elven rebellion and a Landsmeet to worry about."
"You're not fine," I told her. "I know you well. You're my friend, and I'm yours. Have you been spending too much time around Morrigan or something? Because you should know by now that you don't have to put on airs with me. We've been through too much together for that. Besides, you were on the brink of tears when you left the Arl's study."
She breathed in deeply and her shoulders shuddered when she exhaled. "I'd been chomping at the bit for that moment, but I don't feel any better now," she said, now taking a much softer tone than the one she employed when she lectured me about why I should marry Anora.
"Of course not," I said, easing myself down onto the bed to sit next to her. I didn't even consider the implications of this gesture and there was about a foot and a half of space between us. She didn't seem to consider the implications either. "Killing Howe could not bring your family back. Nonetheless, he deserved everything he got and more. I know you probably don't want to hear platitudes right now, but only time will heal your wounds, Lucretia. And you have friends to support you."
"Thank you," she said, offering me a ghost of a smile. "You are truly a light in the dark. You, Leliana, Wynne, everyone. Even Morrigan is when the fancy strikes her. The whole lot of you restores my faith in the goodness of mankind. But you have been…" She hesitated and looked at Sid who still lounged upon the sofa. "I probably would have gone insane if not for your good humor through all of this. Thank you for that. And thank you for this talk. I needed it."
I gazed at the faint smattering of freckles upon Lucretia's nose and cheeks as I considered that she was a woman who always knew what to say, who always knew when to hold her chin high, who always knew when to bat her long auburn eyelashes and when to pout. She knew when to stand her ground and when to throw down. She was well-bred, well-mannered, and well-meaning. To most, she seemed unflappable but I knew that if one bothered to take down her walls then he would find a sensitive, kind-hearted young lady with strong moral compass and an even stronger set of convictions. She managed to rally the Dalish elves of the Brecilian Forest, the mages of the Circle Tower, the dwarves of Orzammar, and the troops of Arl Eamon under the Grey Wardens' banner. She was as formidable and skilled an archer as she was a politician, and she looked awfully fetching in a dress. In a way, Lucretia Cousland was already the leader that Ferelden so desperately needed.
Her attention was fixated on Sid. My eyes followed her gaze to him, still on the sofa but now shamelessly grooming his private parts.
Lucretia chuckled. "Alistair, if you were able to lick your own lamp post like that then perhaps you wouldn't be wondering about it. But I'm-"
And I was quite sure that I loved her. So sure, in fact, that I cut off the rest of her jest with a kiss. As far as kisses went, though, it was absolutely pathetic. Is a quick, chaste peck on her rosebud lips even considered a kiss, I wondered. Zevran wouldn't think so. And my hands had remained at my sides. Weren't they supposed to… Do something?
"Alistair," she said quietly, her eyes looking even bigger than usual. Her pale hand reached out for mine, which was still planted against the bed's surface. "Alistair," she repeated as she grazed her fingertips against my knuckles. "Could your timing be any worse?"
Her spindly fingers traveled over the back of my wrist and continued to explore my forearm. She was looking at what her hand was doing and not at my face-for this I was grateful because my face was undoubtedly an impossible shade of red. "Eh… Probably not," I replied belatedly when she withdrew her hand from my arm.
And then something spurred me to kiss her again. This time, my lips lingered against hers and I cupped the back of her head with my hand. She placed her hands on my waist. After a few moments of this, it escalated into a kiss that felt like a claiming. I used my body to push her down against the bed, but then we both seemed to remember propriety as we pried our mouths apart with a faint pop. I rolled off her and scrambled to my feet. She bolted upright and smoothed her hands down the bodice of her dress. As I took a few steps away from the bed I stumbled over a wastebasket which tipped over. Crumbled wads of parchment scattered across the floor like frightened spiders.
"I… Uh…" I stammered. "Look, Lucretia, would you still insist I marry Anora now that you know the fact she's a treacherous harpy isn't the only reason I don't want to?"
Lucretia's eyes were shut, her hands folded regally in her lap again. This gesture was beginning to irritate me.
"What would you have me arrange with her instead?" she asked carefully as though she figured she was treading upon a sensitive topic.
"Just tell her she can have the crown if she wants it so badly," I responded as I ran my fingers through my hair.
"You know Eamon would never stand for that. You know I would never stand for that. The way I see it, your only other option is to rule by yourself." She paused and looked up at the ceiling. I would describe the expression on her face as wounded. "Until you take a queen, that is," she added.
"You could be my queen, you know," I blurted out.
Lucretia guffawed sharply. "Don't be ridiculous, I have no claim to the throne whatsoever. Even your claim is hardly legitimate; putting the crown on your head will be an enormous stretch. Pardon my frankness, Alistair, but I'm not at all certain we could pull it off as Arl Eamon hopes. I still… Believe you should just marry Anora."
"Don't you dare say anything about that to her," I growled. Then I realized that as much as her words stung, she looked utterly devastated. I added in a more temperate tone, "If you care at all about what I want, then you won't. Not yet anyway. It's important that we buy as much time as we possibly can."
Lucretia passed her hand down her face and then shook her head. I could see plainly how much this conundrum began to affect her and I approached, reaching out for her wrists. The way she trembled in response to my touch, the way she seemed so tiny and fragile made me think of a sapling.
"Alistair," she said, pulling her hands out of my grasp. "I didn't think you capable of such cruelty, but I suppose the wonders never cease."
"I didn't mean… To… I…" I didn't know what to say and I figured telling her that such an accusation made me cross wouldn't help my cause.
"I know," she replied, her gaze fixed on my boots. "I'm sorry I called you cruel. That's not what I meant to say."
But it was what she meant to say.
She looked up at me, her shoulders rising and falling with the silent sigh she heaved. She continued, "I used to find your idealism rather endearing. In fact, it kept me from resigning to the bleakness of our situation. But now..." She hesitated and bit down on her lower lip before plowing on. "But now the time for escapist fantasies has ended. I will, however, respect your wishes for now. I see no point in delaying the inevitable but so be it. Now if you'll excuse me, I shouldn't keep the queen waiting any longer."
I stepped aside as Lucretia strode past me with her head held high and she walked over to the door. After opening it, she paused. Without looking back at me, she said, "Infatuation is love's weak cousin."
Before I could say anything to that, she slipped out into the corridor and closed the door behind herself.
Sid looked up from his spot on the sofa, let out a whimper, and then put his head back down.
I wanted to run after her and scoop her up in my arms. I wanted to assure her that what I felt wasn't simply infatuation. I wanted to throttle her. I wanted to stop being glad that her lover died the night her home was raided. I wanted to hit my head against the wall again and again. I wanted to go to sleep. I wanted to leave Arl Eamon's estate and drink myself into a stupor at the tavern. I wanted to wait here for Lucretia to return from her private conference with Anora. I wanted so many things and I wanted nothing at all.