Lucilla did not receive the welcome she expected from Vigil's Keep. Not that she expected to be as warmly received as she would be in Highever, Denerim or Redcliffe in Amaranthine, the ancestral homeland of the Howes. She had few friends in this region; after the massacre of her family, she doubted all the oaths of fealty and allegiance of the banns of this area. But the lack of any welcoming party whatsoever, and the dark tingling sensation that burned through her even as she saw the dark silhouette of the Keep, told her that something was terribly, terribly wrong with Amaranthine.
Lucilla dealt with the darkspawn, deftly hiding her immense fear at the threat of the intelligent new breed that attacked the Keep with a mixture of haughtiness and disgust that that Keep had allowed itself to be taken at unawares. She rescued the seneschal, a man called Varel, and then chastised him for the lack of proper defenses. In her heart, she scoffed at the Orlesian Wardens for having allowed themselves to die at the ambush, but was somewhat relieved that with their deaths, all fears of foreign influence over the arling were eliminated.
She was thankful that she reached the Keep a day ahead of the soldiers from Highever, and thus spared them from an almost certain death, but she felt a twisted elation that the last of Howe's men had died in the darkspawn attack.
In the coming days, Lucilla discovered that the arling was not much of a mess, if one removed the darkspawn attack and the deaths of the Orlesian Wardens and the Denerim recruits. The former was probably for the best, but the latter bothered Lucilla greatly. With Oghren as her only new Warden, Lucilla contemplated recruiting the apostate Anders, the fugitive Nathaniel Howe and whatever other castaways she could find buffer the dwindling number of Wardens without putting the ridiculously small number of soldiers Amaranthine still had or the forces from Highever in danger of dying from the Joining.
Lucilla had promised Leliana and Alistair that she would only be gone for three months, and she had honestly thought she could do it in even less. She was a strong Queen born to solve problems of administration, could have handled disgruntled nobles and malcontented farmers, trade troubles, racial divides between elves and humans, even civil unrest and warfare, not with ridiculous ease, true, but with ruthless efficiency.
But sentient darkspawn? This was totally unexpected and they terrified her: these inhuman monsters were now intelligent, could concoct plans as devious or even more than any humanoid foe, whose blood was poison... She resented the way that her missives to other Warden outposts went unanswered, and was terribly displeased with Mistress Woolsey and the First Warden giving her aid in form of coin only. As if the Queen of Ferelden did not have the resources of her own country at her disposal!
One week passed, and Lucilla found herself clutching a glass of whiskey as she sat in her bed, assuring herself that she could end the darkspawn threat as surely as she could manage the arling and the Grey Warden order. She would never admit it, but she felt particularly lonely. Everyone in the Keep was either far beneath her rank or she distrusted.
Maker, did she miss Leliana. Lucilla's beloved could have brightened her up at any time of the day, no matter how horrible things could get. Leliana certainly did not have the answer to the darkspawn threat, but she did calm the Queen's soul with her voice.
She drained her whiskey and closed her eyes.
"Hush, sweet lady," Lucilla imagined Leliana's voice as she lay in her hard cot, a far cry from her luxurious bed in Denerim. "Sleep. Tomorrow you shall find the answers, but tonight you need rest. Tonight you have me. Tomorrow does not exist."
Lucilla's hands travelled between her legs as she thought of Leliana. Mmm. She summoned the image of the most beautiful woman in the world, playful and mischievous, clad in black lace lingerie, and then removing it agonizingly slowly…
The seneschal interrupted her thoughts with an urgent knock.
"Pardon, my Queen, but I think you need to know that guests are arriving shortly," Varel said reverently, fully aware of the lateness of the hour. "Very important guests."
Lucilla felt irritated. "Who is so important as to rouse me from my sleep?"
Varel need not have answered.
Lucilla's libido was replaced with the familiar dark tingling sensation that she had know for every single day in Denerim. Alistair had come to her.
Lucilla barked instructions to Varel to assemble the guard and rouse the servants. She was not displeased to hear that it had been done, but she grumbled at the fact that she couldn't very well go out in barely a nightdress. So she quickly wore the finest dress from her small wardrobe, donned a rich fur cloak over it, and fixed her hair in a neat bun.
She shut the doors to her room and was glad that no one noticed her brisk strides towards the gates. She scanned his company, and suppressed a scowl when she did not see the familiar head of red hair or the slim silhouette in stylish leather armor.
She descended from the steps and greeted her husband.
Lucilla alone did not bow to the King, and among his large entourage only he did not bow to her either. They were equals, and warmly received each other as such.
"I'd ask why you swooped in on me here, but I won't look a gift horse in the mouth," Lucilla whispered to him as she embraced him.
"Then don't," Alistair said, his voice light despite his exhaustion. "We need to discuss things." He offered her his arm, but instead she interlocked her fingers with his.
Lucilla had never felt so alone until this point, when she realized how comforting it was to have loyal, steadfast Alistair at her side.
What had she done to deserve such a good man? she thought. And where was the love of her life? Why had Leliana not so much as written a letter?
Lucilla's study in the Keep was spartan, with an austere chandelier which she lit herself, her and Alistair's portraits tacked to the wall, a small bookshelf, an unlit brazier, and a modest table and two chairs five feet from the window. The full moon, however, cast a soft, almost ethereal light in the room.
If it were not for the distressed state of Amaranthine, she would have been very angry indeed at coming to her now. Lucilla knew the state of things with the Bannorn and its core problem: there were precious too few citizens to work and provide for the needs of the country. Many Fereldans had sought refuge abroad, and the lands to the south were reportedly poisoned by the Taint. Alistair needed to address those as surely as Lucilla needed to address the darkspawn threat in Amaranthine.
Alistair made Lucilla recite on the problems of the Keep and the city, without omitting a single detail. He wanted to verify from his wife the reports that came from their northern allies as well as Lucilla's agents in Denerim. Though she was not pleased that Alistair made her agents report to him, she was nevertheless impressed at his cunning and resourcefulness.
Perhaps he was a good king, Lucilla mused. Perhaps it was the right decision to put him on that throne.
"I can spare you the soldiers I brought," Alistair said finally. "Some coin, too. And Master Wade to help you outfit your forces better. Before you ask, no, I have adequate forces at home, ready for whatever disaster even you could think of, short of an invasion of Orlais."
"Orlais would never dare such an open act," Lucilla said out of instinct. But she saw the worry in her husband's eyes. "Thank you for coming here, my husband."
"If that happens, you and your forces would be called straight home, you know that," Alistair said. "But as things are, they're yours to command. I wish I can do better, I wish I can be here—"
"No, they are more than sufficient," Lucilla said stoically, never betraying her elation at this addition. With additional troops loyal to the Crown, money and Master Wade's arms and armors, her chances in Amaranthine were better. Yes. Her mind was already reeling at what she could do with these additions: she could perhaps finish everything within three months.
"You're welcome," Alistair said, smiling. "I want you home soon. You know how I fall apart without you, right?"
Lucilla chuckled. "Yes, I do. And I am a wilting flower here in Amaranthine. I need the comforts of my palace, not this keep."
Alistair looked at Lucilla. She had a lot of things on her mind, a lot of plots and things that made him sometimes regret being king. But he trusted her: after all, she did get results. Denerim was crime-free. The nobles kept in line, and despite the Blight, many areas still produced a decent enough harvest for the rest of the kingdom. Circle Mages were sent with their Templar guards to the Bannorn, healing what they could of the land and the people. Militias and mercenary groups were disbanded, and instead absorbed into the Royal Army directly under the command of the Crown. How Lucilla managed to secure their fealty was beyond Alistair, but it certainly did not hurt that she had dealt with most of them and saved them during the Blight.
"Our policies earn enemies," Alistair warned. "But you're especially vulnerable here, because you're a Cousland... Be very careful, Luce. Zevran thinks an entire cell of the Crows would be hired to get you soon."
"If the local banns had that kind of money then rebuilding the entire Arling would not be a problem," Lucilla said dismissively, so that her husband would cease worrying. "Thank you for telling me that, my husband. I will be back home soon."
She meant it as a discharge. But her actions implied otherwise—she sought his hand and deftly interlocked her fingers with his, searching for the warmth and solid comfort only someone she trusted could bring.
Lucilla suppressed her tears—of relief that she was not without allies in her herculean task, and of the comfort that Alistair was there, to ward off her loneliness, at least for this night. Alistair, instead of Leliana. Where in the Maker's name was Leliana, when Lucilla needed her the most? Why was Alistair here in her place?
She had resolved that Alistair would never know of her tears, if and when they should come. She kissed him to distract him from her weakness, which she thought was already written all over her face. She held him tight, as if afraid to let him go, and he held her back just as strongly.
"Let me go now, dear wife?" Alistair said, a playful lilt to his voice that belied his intention to leave. "I must return to Denerim."
"No point waking up your guard now, husband, you need to spend tonight in the Keep," Lucilla answered breathlessly, kissing him again. But this time, she was unable to hold the single trickle of her tears from her eyes.
Alistair wiped her cheek, and noted that as he did so, she cast her eyes downward in shame. But he tipped her chin and forced her to look at him in the eye.
"Never be ashamed in front of me, Luce," he whispered. His desire was overwhelming, but he had to let her know, lest she think of this encounter as nothing. "I love you. I'll always be here for you."
Lucilla pressed her head against his chest. She had never felt more vulnerable, or more protected.
"Spend the night in my bedchambers." It was not an order, but a request, even if Lucilla said it in her usual authoritative tone: she had to mask her longing for companionship, with the familiar steel of her heart and voice. And in the pale moonlight that illuminated her study, she thought again how handsome her consort looked.
"Luce, are you sure?" he asked.
"No," she breathed, never caring about anything at this point. She wrapped her legs at his waist, fully aware that this way, he would not be able to resist her. "But do it anyway. Love me, my king. I am yours for as long as you are mine."
There was a desperation in Lucilla's voice that Alistair had never heard before. It increased his desire for her, his longing to know her intimately.
But the king would not consummate the royal marriage in a mere table, where they would be uncomfortable. He insisted on a room, in a proper bed, and she acquiesced. He would dearly like to hold her.
Lucilla was frenzied, which surprised him. She removed his armor with alacrity, throwing them to the floor and never caring that the loud clank of metal against the stone floor echoed noisily throughout the keep. Finally, she allowed him to remove her own clothes.
"I care not if they hear," Lucilla said defiantly, inflaming them both. "We are married."
Lucilla pushed Alistair on her bed—more of a cot than a bed, really, with its hard mattress, heavy sheets, a fur blanket and two stiff pillows. It was a far cry from their respective four-poster beds Denerim, but this lowly thing would have to do in the urgency of the moment.
Her eyes feasted at the sight of her naked husband. He was well-formed and well-endowed, and his years as a warrior certainly did him favors.
"Like what you see?" he teased her, as his hands caressed her breasts. "I know I do."
Lucilla had never felt this aroused before. Not even with Leliana. She could feel her excitement enhanced when her husband touched the inside of her thighs but not her womanhood. Impatient, she grabbed his hands, and only then did they work their magic. He was inexperienced, but he picked up from her quick instructions. She gasped at the size of his finger and its strength—it was deliciously different from the love of a woman, and she found that she liked his audacity immensely.
His finger went deeper inside her. Lucilla gasped, kissing him desperately, her hands playing with his member in turn.
"Take me, my husband," she commanded him, fire in her eyes.
Alistair complied. He removed his finger from her slick wetness, never removing his eyes from Lucilla's. And with a haughty smirk, he pinned her to the bed and plunged deep inside her, causing her to moan his name in ecstasy for all to hear.
Alistair would have had climaxed much earlier than Lucilla would have wanted, had it not been for a certain vigor he did not know he had. He kept on pounding and touching as Lucilla cried in bliss. Her orgasm was also a very pleasant surprise for him: though he had imagined this a thousand times, nothing compares to actually seeing her in ecstasy and hearing her breathless gasps.
Lucilla had never looked more beautiful. Her long dark hair was draped elegantly on her pillow, her face was flushed, her eyelids were half-shut. She pouted her lips seductively, as if beckoning for a kiss.
He indulged her, first kissing her lips and then moving to her neck, her ears, her nape. It made him swell with pride, the way his wife held him and mewed in pleasure. But soon, Lucilla's eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed into an evil grin. She climbed atop him, as if asserting her dominance, sating her passion and her pride. Alistair could only grasp at her hips, letting her have her way with him, until both of them were truly spent and Lucilla collapsed at his side.
Alistair had never felt this utter contentment before, and doubted that he would ever feel this way again if he was not with her. Lucilla was truly his other half: it was only with her that he felt whole, complete. And he had felt how much Lucilla had needed him, had depended on him. Lucilla would always come back to him—or he to her, because they were two halves completing each other, the two halves of the undivided crown.
The cot was narrow. He did not mind. It was his excuse to hold her as they slept.
"I love you, Luce," he whispered as he kissed her lips softly.
"I love you too, Alistair," Lucilla answered sleepily, her eyelids fluttering, her lips forming a smile.
Alistair watched Lucilla fall asleep. With his wife in his arms, loving him because of his strength, and because she could rely on him, he decided he would assert himself more, both in matters of court and in matters of the heart.
Lucilla kissed Alistair goodbye in the morning, and the look that she gave him implied that everything between them had now been changed.
"I love you," Alistair had told her. "I'll be waiting for you at home."
Lucilla knew she had to settle things in Amaranthine swiftly.