It had been weeks after Lucilla's own ascension and coronation as queen, but she felt she had been that for so much longer. Ever since defeating the Archdemon, truth be told, ever since the King—my husband—ascended to the throne and began needing her by his side.
The words my husband seemed so foreign when referring to Alistair. True, they were friends. She regarded him highly, and he did so too. She watched out for him, and not just because her fate was tied to his. Lucilla entered his room at night and sometimes kissed him on the cheek as she bid him good night, before she headed for the hidden passage that connected the royal bedchambers to a smaller room where Lucilla slept with Leliana.
Leliana made Lucilla's blood quicken, her heart race, and her womanhood tingle. Lucilla always looked forward to nights with her lover, when they would simply discuss what had happened in Leliana's day, how Lucilla missed her, what new thing Lucilla wanted to give Leliana. Some nights, it was a Chantry amulet made of solid gold. Other nights, it was lace lingerie that she would ask Leliana to wear before lovemaking. More often than not, it was aromatic bath salts that the two women use in a nice warm bath at the end of each week, when Lucilla and Leliana, holding each other, would find joy and peace in a large wooden tub filled with hot water.
Lucilla always asked about Leliana's day. But she never allowed Leliana to return the favor, always saying that she left matters of state in her study and never allowed them in her bed.
"Don't worry your pretty head about my day, beautiful," Lucilla cooed in bed as she undid Leliana's robes. "Separation of Chantry and State."
Leliana melted under her lover's ministrations. Lucilla was like clockwork, with no real variations in how she made love, but Leliana always, always got excited with her: for the Orlesian bard, love was her aphrodisiac. The fact that it was Lucilla, her beloved Lucilla, who held her and made her hers. And Lucilla loved it whenever Leliana leaned against her, allowing the Queen to gently nibble on her lover's earlobe while her hands did their magic.
"Like it?" Lucilla purred as she rolled Leliana's nipples with her fingers. "What about if I do this?" she whispered as her hand travelled to her lover's legs, teasing Leliana until she begged for her release. And always, Lucilla would bring Leliana to her climax with her fingers or her tongue or both, and then always cuddling with Leliana before the bard returned the favor and made the Queen scream with delight.
The Queen liked the way Leliana moaned when her hands and tongue were all over that luscious, luscious woman. And Leliana never feigned her cries of pleasure—truly, Lucilla was a very attractive woman for her, who pleased her, more than pleased her. Oh, there were things she wished she could try with Lucilla: though they have shared another woman before, it never happened again. And that time that Leliana brought with her a strange toy resembling a phallus, Lucilla lost all interest in lovemaking that night.
"Never that one, my beauty," Lucilla said, in a strange tone Leliana could not place. Was it shame? Fear? Apprehension? Or plain dislike?
Leliana never asked why, because she was afraid of the answer.
While Leliana occupied the Queen's nights, Alistair had her during the day. Before the sun rose every morning, Alistair enjoyed Lucilla's company alone. He prepared their breakfasts, or had them arranged, so that when Lucilla woke up food was ready in his chambers. He knew his wife was not at her best when roused from sleep, so he took care that no one would ambush her before her mind was fully awake. And he relished seeing her this way, his Lucilla, still half-asleep as she walked back to his chambers from that hidden door, splash her face with icy water from her washbasin, dress up with gowns that she kept in a wardrobe in his room, and finally sit down with him to eat.
"Why do I know where you'll always be?" Lucilla asked one morning. "Eamon asked where you were yesterday, and I said you were in the barracks. I didn't even know you were there until he asked, but I felt it."
"That must be the Taint, dear wife," Alistair answered. The bond that always kept them together. "The dark, buzzing feeling that alerts us of darkspawn?"
"It links us to the hive mind," she said, surprised that she guessed it. She dropped her fork, and then quickly picked it up again. With care, she modulated her voice, as if her next words meant nothing to her. "I thought I dreamt it when Urthemiel threatened to hurt you and Leliana, during the blight."
Lucilla did not want Alistair to see that she was discomforted by the fact that Urthemiel had actually threatened to kill Alistair slowly and to turn Leliana into a broodmother before her eyes. She regretted saying what she did, and turned her eyes away from Alistair's probing gaze.
Too late. Alistair had seen the way her face blanched when she spoke. Ever since Ostagar, he had seen how this highborn woman could guard her face most of the time, but still slip up when her loved ones, such as her family, was mentioned: her face would momentarily lose color, her eyes widen for the briefest moment, or her grip would be tighter or would lose its strength. Yes, those were Lucilla's tells, and he was seeing them now.
He was not stupid: he guessed what atrocities Urthemiel spoke to Lucilla. He had never told Lucilla that the old god swore to violate his queen before his eyes as his country burned. Lucilla never need know that: Urthemiel was dead and could no longer fulfill his threats.
"Some Wardens are so sensitive, they could detect what kind of darkspawn was near," Alistair said instead. "The older ones like Riordan also said that they could understand the Archdemon. But with just two of us now, and no darkspawn nearby, I could feel you. The Taint in you. In time, we'll be able to tell each other from other wardens, too, if you already can't."
"Marvelous," she answered with a laugh, trying to cut the tension. Urthemiel was dead, she made sure of that. "So the Queen could be used as a device to tell if the King has gone on some mad adventure."
"It goes the other way too," Alistair said, jovially so that she would no longer be troubled. "If the Queen decides to run away from her King, why, I could tell exactly where our forces would find you. And then I could have you tried for breaking the King's poor heart."
"Alistair—"
"I'm kidding, Luce," he said. "The Taint now only means that we'll always find each other. Nothing more."
Two hours later, Queen Lucilla was back in action: clad in a simple but elegant grey dress, not a hair out of place, eyes alert and shrewd. Between themselves, they discussed the Amaranthine situation again, whether the Crown should just rescind its grant to the Wardens or not. Pursuant to their policy of the undivided crown, they must first discuss what to do before having it tabled for discussion with the highest nobles of the land and eventually the Landsmeet: the Arling of Amaranthine could not be without a ruler indefinitely.
They were at a stalemate until this morning, when Alistair discovered that Lucilla would always try to protect her family. He now knew how to outmaneuver Lucilla.
"I told you, you can't leave Denerim to rebuild the Order," Lucilla insisted. "To the Void with you being my senior Warden. I slew the Archdemon, therefore I outrank you as Warden."
"I know you're strong, my dearest wife," Alistair said, emphasizing that last word. Lucilla did not use the Theirin name in signing all matters related to the Wardens—admittedly, those were very few affairs—even if she used the Theirin name in everything else.
"But Amaranthine is a pit of vipers," Alistair continued, despite his wife's icy glare. "I don't want you there, no matter how many Archdemons you slay."
"The Landsmeet will revolt if we secede Amaranthine to an Orlesian, I told you that," Lucilla reasoned, adamant that no foreigner would ever become an Arl of Ferelden. "Do you realize what an uproar that would be? All Loghain's fears would come true, we'll lose our power, all our goodwill, everything we've rebuilt in the past months. Alistair, don't be a fool."
"It's not a secession, Luce, it's a grant," Alistair said, trying her patience even if he had now seen Lucilla's point that granting Amaranthine to a non-Fereldan Warden was a very bad idea. "For them to rebuild. But the administration of the Arling, its day to day activities—"
"Goes to a seneschal, I know, whose actions may be vetoed by whoever sits as Warden Commander," Lucilla said with finality. "The Warden-Commander gets to be the Arl. He would control taxes, levies, administration, everything in Amaranthine. Do you remember what happened to Sophia Dryden? Unless we have another Ferelden Grey Warden whom we could convince the Landsmeet as worthy, it has to be me or you. And you, my husband, can't leave the throne for that long. You have to keep the Bannorn in check, see to it that they stop murdering each other."
And yes, now that Lucilla enumerated the reasons why it was such a bad idea in the first place, Alistair chastised himself for not seeing those things before. No matter. Everything would be fixed now, as soon as he uses his advantage.
"Remind me why we can't build the Wardens in Soldier's Peak and cede Amaranthine to Highever, like the Teyrnir of Denerim is to the Crown," Alistair asked.
"Don't you think about getting Fergus involved in Amaranthine, Alistair," Lucilla threatened, venom in her voice.
"Then why is it all right for Lucilla Cousland to stroll around in Amaranthine while it's not for Fergus Cousland?" Alistair asked. He knew he already convinced Lucilla that the Wardens would rebuild in Amaranthine now. But he dreaded losing her, and resolved that no matter what she said, she would only be gone for three months.
"Because I'm much stronger than him," she stated. "And if you weren't aware, I'm using your surname now. Please. I'd rather risk myself than you or him. You're the only family I have left."
"Very well," Alistair conceded, surprised that Lucilla held him in the same regard as Fergus. His heart swelled: so she cares for me after all. "But you'll only be gone for three months. Make new Wardens. Appoint a successor. And go back home. In that order, Luce, for three months only."
"Trust me, my husband, I don't want to spend that much time in Amaranthine myself," Lucilla stated. "Now summon Eamon and Fergus."
Teyrn Fergus and Arl Eamon, the two most trusted counselors of the Crown, were at first hesitant to send the Queen to Amaranthine but had seen the wisdom behind it after a long day of suggestions, rebuttals and debates. They had also agreed that the Landsmeet need never know that the Queen was gone, until after the entire affair was wrapped up. And as long as Lucilla settled Amaranthine and Warden matters in three months.
"I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be forced to choose between the safety of my sister and letting Orlesians hold an Arling," Fergus admitted. "What of the other Wardens?"
"The Orlesian Empress has sent her Wardens via sea," Eamon informed them. "They would reach Amaranthine ahead of you by about three days, Your Majesty."
"Then give the order of the Warden-Commander," Lucilla said. "They are to investigate this 'Thaw' and report to me when I arrive what it entails for the arling."
The Queen did not want to admit that she and Alistair knew far less than their Orlesian brethren. If she had her way, Eamon and the rest of the nobility would never find that out. Lucilla would also never concede that having a more senior foreigner as Warden-Commander of Ferelden would be better than even her in terms of leading the Wardens, because they knew Warden secrets better than her or Alistair. But no, neither Lucilla nor Alistair were willing to pay the price for that. Orlesians would never hold another part of Ferelden, not while they breathed.
Eamon and Fergus bowed after their meeting was adjourned. Lucilla watched the two of them go, and a dark thought entered her mind.
Was Eamon vying for a Teyrnir?
The Teyrnir of Gwaren was still available. After the death of Loghain and the imprisonment of Anora, there were rumors in the Court that Eamon was playing to be declared Teyrn. This did not go well with Lucilla: she disliked Eamon's… easy-going policies with Orlesians.
She decided to voice this concern to Alistair; she never doubted her husband's loyalty to her. Not while he loved her above all.
"You're being paranoid, Luce," Alistair told her. "Just because he's married to an Orlesian."
"It's not just me who says that," Lucilla answered as she batted her eyelashes at him. She decided to play coy with him; she would now exploit his weakness, just as he had hers. "The rest of the Landsmeet say that behind your back, my husband."
"And you know that how?" Alistair asked.
"Hush, my handsome king, a lady never tells her secrets," Lucilla answered. She closed the space between them, cupped his face and kissed him passionately in the mouth. Distraction achieved, she thought, Alistair never expected this.
"Very well, dear wife," Alistair said, still pleasantly surprised at the kiss but knowing that it was probably orchestrated. He wondered what his wife was playing at, but decided to go along with her plans. "Eamon has Redcliffe. He will always have Redcliffe."
Lucilla smiled at her triumph. Her kiss, that carrot-stick approach, had achieved in distracting Alistair from his very important question: how did she know what Eamon was up to?
She regretted the deception, but did not find the kiss disturbing. In fact, she would not have been disturbed in kisses less chaste than the one she had given him: Alistair was not hard to please, and did not displease her either.
She knew, because Eamon's staff frequented taverns, bordellos and whorehouses where her spies were abundant. Truth be told, ever since Lucilla won the trust and loyalty of the proprietors of The Pearl and The Gnawed Noble, and ever since she did Slim Couldry his little heists, she had ready access to the vast network of information from whorehouses, taverns, and secret guilds of the underworld. Men often whispered secrets to the ladies of the night, or drunkenly shouted them as brags in order to gain the rented admiration of whores and other equally drunk patrons. Pickpockets knew more than mere petty thievery. Tavern keeps shared more than scandalous gossips.
Oh, that was just the tip of the dung heap. She wondered if Alistair knew of Zevran's little field trips all over the country. Probably. Did he suspect? He should, but he was polite enough never to ask why, for instance, the Arl of Denerim, Vaughan Kendalls, had died three days after the Archdemon fell from a mysterious blight sickness. With a poisoned darkspawn dagger in his gut. Oh, Lucilla hoped he died a horrible and painful death, after what the Alienage elves told her about that spoiled brat lord—and after how, after many years, she still remembered the way Vaughan leered at her when she was very young. If Alistair had found out, he probably would have plunged the blade in Vaughan's gut himself. Not very kingly, but now the topic was moot, and Alistair need never sully his name for her.
Speaking of Zevran, he should be back from his mission now. Lucilla would have to pay him a great deal of gold—but never from Ferelden taxpayers' coffers, only from her own stash of jewelry plundered from ancient dragons and ruins. If Zevran was successful, her stint in Amaranthine would be much less dangerous, and Eamon's influence in court would be diminished by her.
But only if Lucilla could get to her first. Or was it too soon? Should the Queen have to check Eamon's ambitions herself meanwhile?
Yes, probably. Zevran's missions and her own position would be jeopardized if she revealed her hand too soon.
One day, Alistair would know how she knew things, should know the extent of the reach of her dark half of the crown. Would know the midnight deals with the nobility and commoners alike. Would be expected to continue this network and continually gain their respect, high regard and fear, through bribes and the promise of more. Always, the promise of more. But not yet. Alistair was still too kind, too pure, too innocent in the ways of the powerful and influential. Let the man have a taste of power first, for him to appreciate it, before he found out its nastier side, the terrible burden of keeping power. But until then, Lucilla would protect him from it.
She owed her king that.