One month and no update? Wow - between vacation and something else I've been writing, it's been nearly impossible. Here's the next installment! Thanks always for reading and all your support. And thanks to my betas!

CHAPTER SEVEN

Absolute silence leads to sadness - Jean Jacques Rousseau

Denerim

Denerim burned. Beyond the early light of dawn Lucia could see the hazy orange glow of fire as it flickered, licked, and destroyed parts of the city she had grown to love.

But hope surged in her heart as she stood by the city gates, her emerald eyes searching through the morning fog and fire smoke, looking for Alistair. He was commanding the Royal Army now, at first uncertain and now strong and determined- a man so much like the one who had fallen at Ostagar. A man like Cailan, a man who would rule Ferelden with a sure hand.

A surge of love and confidence filled her as Lucia shifted from leg to another, feeling the sturdiness, the rightness of the armor she now wore. In spite of her inability to change the situation and the resentment that threatened to overwhelm her, she still knew she loved the man who was to leave her behind for this battle – the battle she felt she deserved.

Lucia hoped against hope that Alistair would see reason that she would be able to pass through these gates alongside Leliana, Sten, Oghren and Morrigan. She did not want to give up this fight - she despised being left behind, no matter the reasons Alistair had given her.

In front of her, Sten stood as a mighty sentinel, Leliana on his right and Morrigan a ways behind him on his left. Oghren had run off to join the dwarven warriors promising to return soon. He had given her the old familiar smirk and something in Lucia had wanted to weep.

What if this is the last time I see him - that I see any of them? What if we both fail and the Archdemon survives?

She was unaccustomed to panic and had always relied on her well laid plans, but even the best plan could not ensure victory, could it? Fidgeting once more, she heard running and yelling behind her and a group of elves wearing armor and carrying magnificent bows ran past her towards the alienage, swallowed up quickly by the smoky darkness and gone just as suddenly as they had come. In the fiery distance she could hear the inhuman shrieking of their foes - the many that had kept coming during her fight to stop the Blight. Her blood roared in reply - making everything inside of her burn.

Darkspawn. She twitched slightly and then suddenly the wind picked up, blowing around rogue strands of her hair.

This is my fight too! Maker - let Alistair see that!

Soldiers began to walk steadily down the main street towards the west side of the city, where, one could barely make out the top of Fort Drakon. The men were numerous and all wore the Royal Crest on their backs. Lucia's heart hammered wildly as she took a better grip on her dagger. Sten moved, nodding towards his companions.

"The Royal Army comes," he stated.

Lucia swallowed and then spun around in anticipation, watching the coming crowd for a glimmer of gold armor - something indicating that Alistair was nearby, but all she could see was the slowly lifting fog. The rain began to fall, at first misting and then with more and more insistent - soaking her through the sturdy chainmail she was wearing, the big fat drops hitting the dusty ground around her.

Through the rain, more and more men came, heading west, heading towards the final assault. Then, as if from nowhere, the sound of his voice startled her.

"One of us has to survive this. Lucia, you promised."

Lucia had lost sight of her goal - and had forgotten for a brief moment whom she was looking for, but when she turned around she saw him.

Alistair stood straight, watching her, the hardness in his eyes thwarting any sympathy and warmth that may have been there. Soft, the words were, but insistent all at the same time and even as Lucia tried to speak, nothing came but a strangled sound from the back of her throat. Alistair motioned to the others around her and began to speak to them.

"Go. It is time."

Lucia whirled around to face her companions. She was now soaked from head to foot, hair plastered around her pale face like a vivid red halo. The others, the ones she had learned to trust, to fight with, and to love - Maker, yes, she loved them - watched her with faces colored with affection and trepidation. Lucia found her eyes watering and she thanked the Maker that the rainstorm around them washed away any sign of what she perceived as weakness. When no one spoke, she found herself snapping back around to face Alistair, her face a mixture of hopelessness and anger.

"I have to go with you! You can't make me stay!"

The sound was a croak - the words raspy and thick.

Only at the sound of her voice did Alistair's hardened expression change - his brown eyes melting if only just slightly. Reaching out he cradled her face against his palm, and the gauntlet was hot cold and wet against her skin. Rain dripped down his chin and rolled along his temple, and Lucia had a maddening urge to hold him to her fiercely and not let him go.

I could lose him. Even if I do what he wants, I could still lose him.

Lifting her chin high, her eyes flashed in unbridled contempt.

"You need me!"

"I need you alive."

"This is my fight too!"

"You promised, Lucia."

Then, nothing -just the rain falling hard and unceasing as more soldiers moved past now, their heavily armored boots splashing through the puddles that had now formed. She blinked the cold rain out of her eyes, choking on it for a moment. Behind her the sky lightened to a steely gray, the orange glow now gone, wiped away by the unrelenting rain. It pounded nearly as hard as her beleaguered heart.

"I did!" she choked out now, unable to stop the tears. "But I should be there with you! You need me! You need all the people you can get!"

This plea fell on deaf ears she knew - she had already known even before the utterance of the words. Alistair's face remained a mask of stubborn determination.

"I have people. This is something I have to do, Lucia. I want you safe, I told you."

Nothing, she knew, would change his mind now and somehow she found within herself the will to give up, and she relented, her body wilting. Her head dropped and she felt the heat of her tears burning through her.

"If you don't come back from this, I'll never forgive you."

The words weren't meant to be harsh; she had little energy left for such emotion. She was drained. Drained, disappointed and shell-shocked. The city around her swelled with battle and in the distance there were more screams of the darkspawn- their cry ringing through the gray, rainy skies.

Lucia found it impossible to look up because she was afraid he would see her resentment, and at that moment nothing was more important than his coming back to her safe and her feelings seemed shallow in light of their current situation. She gazed up at Alistair's face, grey and somber in the early morning light which had now imbued the world with ashen color.

She watched the rainwater run down his face as he spoke.

"And if I allow you to come with me and you do not come out of this alive, all I have done with Morrigan will have been for naught. That was for us, Lucia. For our future. I have faith that I will not fail this battle and Ferelden, and if that's the case you and I will have a future. And if not, then why should you be the one to die?"

When Lucia gazed up at him in despair she could no longer hold back the flood of tears.

"So that's your answer for all of this?" she hissed angrily. "You go off into battle, and, oh well, if you die?"

Eyes flashing he refused to budge.

"I chose this! I want to do one thing in my life – one thing that shows I'm willing to do anything for you. Don't deny me this one thing, Lucia. I love you."

She could see how torn he was in that moment, with battle swelling around them like a terrible symphony. She could see how he stepped forward to try and cradle her face in his hand, and then the way he stepped away in frustration and pain.

In the end, she let him go, watched him hurry off, the rain and gray fog swallowing him up completely and Lucia stood facing the direction he had gone, glad that her tears were erased by heavenly tears around her. The sword and dagger she now clutched felt useless and she felt more alone than she ever had before.

Leliana, Morrigan and Oghren had run after Alistair, and she could only recall now the echoes of their whispered goodbyes. Sten had rushed the city gates and Lucia for lack of more purpose, moved with him, raising her dagger as the darkspawn flooded the gates, screeching. She had sliced, cut and knocked down all that got into her way, fighting not only with purpose, but with anger – anger at being left behind, at the unfairness of it all. And even though she knew that Alistair was with her in spirit and that surely he would think of her – that she was missing something, someone. Someone who had fought with her for months before betraying her.

The rain poured down from the heavens in long, wavering sheets, as the wind picked up and wailed mournfully. Lucia stood staring out of the window, trying to see past the huge droplets that ran down the pane and the low visibility of the landscape beyond.

She was still dressed in her smallclothes – uncomfortable because they were damp and soiled from battle. But she had never changed for too much else raged in the forefront of her mind to make something that mundane important.

It was over.

On the outside she was a vision of calm, though the fiery flashing of her eyes gave away her ruse. Excitement raged within her hammering heart as she barely contained herself in waiting. A part of her was overjoyed, another relieved. The third (and the part she was trying to ignore) was still irritated and jealous.

I won't be. I shouldn't be, it's not right. It's not fair to Alistair.

She swallowed down the bitterness that threatened, her hands tightening on the black parapet of the window in the bedchamber.

The battle was won and the Blight was no more for the Archdemon's blood lay soaking into the muddied, early spring earth and was being washed away by the maelstrom. They had been victorious!

Lucia could see the lines of men moving through the city, tiny dots along the horizon. She had heard word only hours after the victory at Fort Drakon, and had taken immediately from the courtyard to come here, knowing they would tell him where she was – wanting to see him. She now stood where she had from the moment she had heard of the army's victory – of Alistair's victory, to be more exact.

Yes, she felt vindicated –for him, because she knew this had been their destiny. She had hoped from the beginning, even before she had joined the Wardens, that it would be her destiny. But it being Alistair's – well that was the same thing, wasn't it? She couldn't however deny the part of her soul that still yearned achingly to have been at Alistair's side, watching him strike the deadly blow against the Archdemon. It had been his blade, and his might that had sent the horde back to the Deep Roads for the time being – and no one was as deserving.

At least, that's what Lucia had been telling herself all this time. Once again she forced away the distasteful chain of thought, but this time it was drowned in her bitterness. She had been left behind – and she recalled the conversation (argument) they had shared the night before. It brought back the irritation and downright justified anger she felt. After all the work she had done, after the awful joining, all the darkspawn, battling, all the literal blood sweat and tears, Alistair had deemed her too precious for battle!

Preposterous! How could he be like this?

Lucia wanted to weep, and she hung her head, looking away from the rain stained window pane. She didn't want to hear them, but Alistair's words from the battlefield returned to her once more.

She had felt guilt - guilt at the pain his in eyes, at the worry. It was only her stubbornness that was upsetting him, the irritation she couldn't hide at being left behind. She wondered what she would have done if he had died in battle. Rule Ferelden alone? When Anora was just waiting for such an opportunity?

And how? I was never of Theirin blood and therefore I would be usurped at first chance. How could he have thought it was a good idea? How could he just assume that leaving me behind to survive if he perished would ever be the right thing to do?

The rain suddenly picked up, falling in huge, fat drops, momentarily disrupting her view of the approaching armies. Then it cleared and she could see them once more. Lucia stood completely still, deep in thought. At least Alistair had fulfilled his purpose. He was not only going to be the King of Ferelden, rightfully taking the throne his half brother had vacated so prematurely, but he was also the Grey Warden that had slain the Archdemon. It wasn't that Lucia begrudged him. She didn't - they had all had their purpose, hadn't they? Sten would go back to the Arishok with his answers about the Blight. Morrigan would be gone soon -if she wasn't already. Leliana would return to Orlais. Wynne was most likely back within the Tower already, and Oghren…well, she wondered what would happen to Oghren.

Each of them had played their part and now it was over. She had remained in the castle, wishing them farewell only from the gates, and after this, she knew she would not see them again.

Their union, their purpose was over.

And Zevran – no.

She wouldn't think of him, not now.

Yes, we all had our part to play and we played it. I did my part. Alistair wanted me safe. I stayed behind for him - he was able to defeat the Blight knowing that I would be here when he returned.

The thought was a disappointing and sad one and she was no more convinced than the minute before. Her hands itched for her sword and dagger, and her soul for battle.

A battle I should never have been denied.

Lucia finally stepped away from the window, blinking furiously. She tried to distract herself.

The room was large and warmed by a huge fire in the far hearth. The bed was covered in opulent sheets and each window framed by long draperies. She had everything she had desired - from the tiniest things like slippers to elaborate dresses which she would be required and at the same time, hate to wear. No more would she be cold at night or uncomfortable on a lumpy bedroll. There would be no more days of trekking through miles of rain to get to the next destination. Their fight was over until the next time, and she was lucky.

She would be the king's wife. Whatever she desired was instantly granted. The seat on the throne would be hers.

Alistair is mine. Why does this feel so wrong? It's all so sodden wrong!

Why did she feel like somewhere along her journey, something had changed? Why was her heart weighed down by the feeling of being unfulfilled? Why did she need to compromise her own desires to do what she believed her family wanted her to do? Why did she miss those nights at camp when the newness of her love for Alistair had brightened her heart, and the danger of the darkspawn had quickened her heart with excitement and at the same time had stopped it in fear? How she longed for those nights once more! She longed to run, to battle, to be a warrior and not a woman. She longed for the nights she had spent in the taverns, drinking and cussing. She missed those intimate nights with Alistair in her tent just as much as she missed long conversations with her companions.

She longed for freedom. She longed for another man's-

No.

She refused another thought to pass through her mind.

What will my purpose be now? The wife of the king? Will my life no longer be my own?

Disappointed, she turned at the sound of the door opening. A man in armor walked in, removing his helmet as he went.

"My lady," he said, bowing deeply.

Lucia knew it was Ser Perth by the riot of honey brown curls that framed his angular features. He had been one of Eamon Guerrin's most devoted knights, and they had met him in Redcliffe when they had first traveled there. He had become Alistair's friend over their travels, and in the end one of his closest confidantes. Lucia knew that Alistair drew much of his wartime wisdom from Perth, as the man was much more seasoned in such matters.

"Ser," she said motioning him to right himself, which he did quite fluidly.

"I came to bring you news. The King elect had asked me several days ago to check into a matter of great...sensitivity," said Perth, choosing his words carefully. Lucia raised an eyebrow.

"Sensitivity?" she questioned with some interest - her life had become quite dormant she realized - since agreeing to be Alistair's bride. Any spark of something different rustled her restless heart.

"Yes, to track down a man...an assassin from Antiva. I suspect you know whom I speak of?" he questioned.

Lucia's heart stopped at the mention of Zevran and started beating once more, though now each beat was more like a gallop. She swallowed her emotional reaction.

"I...yes," she managed. "I know of him. I didn't know Al had-"

She stopped, biting her lip in worry. Why had Alistair involved himself in this of all things? Had he sensed her heartbreak? Sodden heartbreak over a dirty little elf that was no better than the dirt beneath her boots.

She wore a scowl on her face as she listened to Perth.

"It has been whispered that he plans on traveling south towards our fair city," said Perth noncommittally as Lucia's bright green eyes bore into his face with intensity.

"He comes to Denerim?" she asked, hoping her voice did not give away her feelings. No. She didn't STILL have feelings. She couldn't. Whatever had been, whatever chance as slim as it had been had died with his treachery.

"It seems that way, my lady," responded the advisor. "Alistair has asked me to keep watch on the castle if he should come here."

"He won't," was Lucia's reply as she turned towards the windows. It was raining harder now, the sound drowning their conversation.

"My Lady?"

"He won't," she repeated with more emphasis on her words. "He knows better. He is no friend of the Grey Wardens, and certainly no friend of the King's," she finished.

Perth nodded.

"As you say. Although the king mentioned...ah - well, I will leave that to you and Alistair then."

"Thank you."

"Enjoy the coronation festivities in the eve, my lady."

"You too, Ser Perth."

She heard him retreat, and then Lucia was left alone once more in her turbulent thoughts. She turned back towards the storm beyond her windows, her eyes sightless as they stared out at the gray.

I know it shouldn't bother me, but it does! I know I should forget him, put him out of my mind and focus on the coronation and on the upcoming wedding. I shouldn't have dragged Al into this! Zevran shouldn't even be a memory any longer! Maker help me!

She fought with that stupid part of herself, that insolent, stubborn part of her heart that had refused to let Zevran Arainai go. She stared unseeingly at the rain and the now swiftly approaching victorious army. Now she could hear their yells and cries of victory. She could hear the cheers from the citizens of Denerim, and the laughter of children.

And why not? The Blight was over - Denerim had been saved, Ferelden had not fallen as all had feared. And the coronation was upon them, a time of joyous celebration. Even more so now, Lucia knew. She also knew in the revelry to come and the parties, dancing and feasting, the city would be turned on its head, and it would be much too easy for a skilled and stealthy assassin to hide.

He won't be found unless he wants to be, her heart whispered. Maker help us all.

The door opened once more, this time with less ceremony and Lucia knew it was Alistair. She turned, seeing him standing there, hair a soaked mess, cheeks flushed, and his eyes bright with joy and the victory of battle. She rushed into his arms, holding him close, smelling the scent of rain drenched air and battle on him but clutching him all the same. His armor was half off, covered with dirt and snow.

"Hey now," he soothed kissing the top of her head. "You'll get dirty."

She let out a snort, running her hands down his neck and arms feeling the expensive fabric of her dress dampening.

"And I haven't been there, Alistair? I'm a warrior and I know what it's like to fight, to get dirty. When have I shied away from blood and guts?" she asked shaking her head sadly. "Please don't coddle me," she finished with slight annoyance, and she lifted up her mouth to give him a proper kiss.

The king blushed.

"Point taken," he said with a smirk. "I have been properly chastised, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I treated you like you're…I don't know," he sighed.

Lucia rolled her eyes affectionately, for she could never be angry with him for long.

"I know, you love me," she said with a smile, tipping her face up for another kiss which came more than willingly.

"I do," he sighed against her mouth and she found herself musing over how he tasted of rain and steel.

"I could have been there with you," she reminded with a note of longing when the kiss was over. "I'm not fragile, I never have been. You just treat me like I am now that I'm to be your wife. No fair Al," she joked, although the truth was there, much deeper rooted than Lucia wanted to admit.

Gripping her hands in his, he pouted.

"Don't do this again!" he bemoaned, raising one eyebrow. "I thought this discussion was beaten dead."

"Not as dead as I'd like you to be when I think of unfair it is!" she exclaimed matching his pout with her own.

Alistair, perhaps relieved that everything was over, didn't seem to bristle the way he had the night before and relented a little.

"I know, I know, I just…you know, now that you're to be queen, we can't fight side by side. One of us has to…well, survive," he reminded. "So that Ferelden will have a ruler."

"Why must we always be so negative?" she inquired. "We never lost before, have we? Why would we start now?" she asked with confidence and a cheeky grin.

Alistair couldn't help but smile back.

"Point taken again. I love you," he whispered. "More now, more everyday. And the thought of losing you…."

"Shh…"

They embraced once more, Lucia swallowing the ever present dissatisfaction with her life. Was it enough? Feeling safe and being loved? Giving up the freedoms she had enjoyed and…simple things. Yes, the simple things. Like not having to wear yards and yards of unnecessary material because she was the future queen and was required to wear dresses. And having to watch her tongue even though some things were sodden, and some were bloody, and still others were damned, and she wasn't allowed to use such language without getting strange looks from everyone around her.

It wasn't bloody fair. She made a face.

"Alistair?"

"Hmmm?"

"Must I wear dresses? They're uncomfortable and the sodding hoops keep catching on my stockings," she cursed glancing up at him accusingly as it were his fault. "I don't understand why I should have to wear them just because I'm a girl," she said rolling her eyes. "Can't I just be queen in a pair of trousers?" she asked.

He burst out laughing, his brown eyes shining with affection.

"I think you would look beautiful no matter what. In fact, I rather fancy you without clothes," he said huskily. "But I'm not sure how the court would take to you walking around in just your trousers," he pointed out with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Lucia sighed, and shifted the dress so she could hug him closer.

"It's not what I expected is all," she admitted snuggling up against him. "Nothing is the way I had thought it would be. I guess I'll get used to the dresses," she sighed, falling silent for now.

She felt him kiss the top of her head gently and she took a breath. She could get used to it. She guessed.

"Alistair?" she questioned once more, this time more gently.

"Yes?"

"Ser Perth came in here earlier and mentioned that you-"

Alistair interrupted by pulling away from her.

"I didn't think he'd tell you!" he exclaimed with a half smile. "As it is, there's much to talk about love, but I really, really can't do this now," he said with a frown. "Believe it or not, even with this – even with my slaying the Archdemon, no one misses a beat. They're already planning the coronation supper," he muttered shaking his head. "They need my opinion. And my advisers are just outside the door…"

He motioned towards the large doors leading to the hallway, and his face fell.

"All right," Lucia consented with a sigh even though her heart yearned to know what business Alistair had with Zevran. "Tonight?"

The young king smiled, his face relaxing once more as he gathered her face in his hands and kissed her one last time.

"Tonight, I swear. We'll be all alone again and you'll have me all to yourself."

"I should hope so, I am the future queen," she teased and then reluctantly watched him hurry from the room. Soon all that was left was the puddle of rain water where he had stood and Lucia turned back to the rain, listening to it as it violently sang a mournful song.