His mother's ring was burning a hole in his pocket.
Lucien had not always been a patient man. In his youth, he was quite the opposite: hotheaded, brash, and impulsiveāall to his own detriment, of course. He could feel the echoes of those traits now, because it always grew harder to keep his head the more important things were to him, and he couldn't think of anything more important than this. Her. Their future. The best and worst part was that he could almost see it, time stretched out in front of him like space. The lines appearing on their faces, children with her golden hair and perhaps his steely eyes. Bright and strong and above all else kind, because that was what mattered most. Orlais and Kirkwall the way they should be, stable and prosperous and just.
That all of that was so close made patience a fragile thing indeed. Easier to maintain when it had been a more distant dream, a thing for a few years down the line, or even before it was really a dream at all, when he hadn't had the clearest picture of who would stand at the center of it.
But for all that, he couldn't afford to be too hasty now. It was important to him that he did this properly, and at the right time. His father had once told him he lost his courage in situations like thisāhe might well have been right about that. In any case, sitting around recovering from his wounds wasn't going to accomplish anything, so Lucien stood, testing his weight on the leg the behemoth had broken. A shattered kneecap wasn't the easiest of injuries to deal with, but what healing could be spared and regular doses of Rilien's potions had ensured it mended properly. It was still a bit sore, but that was all.
Shuffling to the armoire, Lucien pulled a clean blue tunic from it, shrugging it over his head and letting it settle. He seemed to be fresh out of anything he could use to tie his hair, so loose it would have to remain. He'd left home somewhat too quickly, but he'd at least remembered his straight-razor, and he spent the few minutes it took to shave his beard off trying not to think too hard. When was the last time he'd felt this nervous about anything?
Running a hand over his bare jaw, he decided he just hadn't. Perhaps that was how it should be. He'd spent his life preparing to lead, and though becoming Emperor had never been in his plans, he knew he had what it took to navigate the politics of his homeland from a throne. But this was something completely different. Anyone who knew him could say easily that he hadn't spent much time preparing to share his burdens with anyone else, especially not from love. He doubted it could be prepared for. Exhaling a heavy sigh, he elected to leave Everburn and his armor behind, taking only a long knife at his belt. This wasn't anything he should do as an Emperor. This was something he had to do only as a person, who loved another he could not do without.
What was formerly the Viscountess's office now belonged to someone with a weightier title, he supposed. Naturally, there were already opinions on the change back in Orlais, but he saw nothing to object to. It was the same office in any event, and Lucien knocked softly before turning the handle, stepping inside. "So," he said, a smile tilting his mouth. "I hear it can be very difficult to get an audience with the Queen. Any chance she might have some time for her most adoring subject?"
The Queen hmmed from behind her desk, signing a sheet of paper with a slight flourish. "The Emperor of Orlais is still a citizen of Kirkwall. I suppose I can spare a moment." She smiled, betraying the fact that she would spare as long as he wanted for him. It was difficult to say she looked her best; she'd obviously found little sleep if any at all during the battle, to say nothing of wounds sustained during it. It seemed unlikely anyone had pushed themselves harder in the defense, and there was only so much a modest amount of cosmetics could cover up of the physical toll it had taken on her. And even still she'd only allowed herself scarce hours of sleep, intent on being alert and dutiful to her people in one of their greatest times of need.
The crown was not in sight, but Sophia still looked the part of Queen. There had been a time once when she'd dressed as a mercenary more often than not, but those days appeared to be gone. Burgundy was the color of her dress for the day, a simple Marcher style lacking in the grandeur an Orlesian woman calling herself Queen might prefer. She pushed her chair back and stood, wincing slightly at an obvious pain in her side, her own still healing injury. Sophia's victories and defeats had always been worn on her sleeves, etched into her skin and reflected in her eyes. She was worn down at the moment, by how much she cared and how hard she worked. And every bit as beautiful to him as she'd ever been because of it.
She crossed the distance between them, standing slightly on her toes to offer a brief kiss in greeting. "I've done what I can here for the moment. There's... still a lot of information to be gathered." Likely she referred to things like death tolls, the costs that would be required to rebuild, the grim business of piecing together Kirkwall after the siege. "Have you come to whisk me away? I could use a moment to get away from all this. Like the best of dreams."
"I was rather thinking I would," he admitted, letting his fingers trail along her jaw as he dropped his hand away. "It's much easier when the guards are occupied." They surely were now; there was still much to be done, and not all of the work could be hers. "I supposed you might like some fresh air. A ride out onto the coast, perhaps? A slow one," he amended, smile turning faintly wry. There was still a twinge in his own side, the remainder of what had been a spear-point between his last two ribs. No doubt he didn't look his best at the moment, either, but such was the way of things.
"I'd like that very much," she answered, softly touching her fingers around his hand before she peeled away, towards a corner of the room. "If we stick to the trails and off of the road, we should be able to avoid most of the patrols." The Inquisition army had been sending patrols of regulars to perform passes along the coast and the roads north of it, watchful for any lingering red templar presence, but thus far none had been found, the enemy's army thoroughly driven out. They'd been assured they were following their tracks at a safe distance, however, intent on locating wherever it was they meant to retreat to.
Sophia sank down into a chair, pulling off her shoes and retrieving a pair of sturdier boots fit for riding from the shelf behind her. The weather was enough to warrant a cloak for comfort, but Sophia didn't seem intent on gearing up in any other way. No armor, no guards. Her blade rested on a rack on the wall, below the picture Lucien had painted himself, that of Sophia's mother Vesenia. For once, they could ride out with no wariness, no need to be threatened, for the battle was done, the enemy routed.
And that they did. Lucien had to borrow a horse, but that was no object, really, and it didn't take them long to navigate the familiar path to the coast. He had a specific destination in mind, but he wasn't in any hurry to get there. The more important thing at the moment was that the air was fresh, the surroundings were calm, and for a little while at least, they didn't have to worry about anything else in particular. He knew he needed the break, and if that was true, Sophia surely must as well, given just how much more was on her plate at the moment.
It was strange, almost, being able to do something as simple as this after so long with nothing but letters to connect them. Years, it had been, since they'd last been face-to-face, and yet it all came back as naturally as breathing. The easy comfort of it. The effulgent happiness. It only confirmed what he already knew very well, but he relaxed into it anyway, letting the contentment settle over him like a cloak.
Eventually, though, he did start steering his horse with slightly more purpose, keeping to minor trails and crossing the main road only once. His destination was intentionally somewhat remoteāthe first time he'd been here, it was on suspicion that someone was using it to hide, after all. Situated at a natural dip in the landscape from the city-side, the promontory jutted out into the water, waves lapping up against the elevated sides of it periodically. Sparse vegetation grew near the edges, but for the most part it was as the rest of the Wounded Coast wasāsandy.
It, of course, bore no trace of former events; they had been so long ago now that he'd have been surprised if it were otherwise. "Come to think of it, I was on a loan horse the first time I came here, too," he observed, swinging down from his saddle with a bit more care than he'd usually take and offering a hand up to Sophia, mindful of her injuries as well. "Back in my ill-advised farming-implement days." Personally he'd thought the scythe worked just fine for his purposes. But he could see why it wasn't exactly standard-issue for anyone's army, to be sure.
"I would have recommended a more tried and true weapon, of course," she said, taking his hand and slipping down from her side-saddle position, boots landing softly in the sand. "But I can at least understand why you chose not to wield the sword." She hadn't back then, of course, and even when it was explained she had trouble coming to accept it. But then, that was the way with both of them, to think more highly of each other than they thought of themselves, always.
Her hand remained in his as they started down, walking over ground they'd tread many times before. The Wounded Coast had changed as much as the city since then. Once it served as a haven for bandits, Tal-Vashoth, the Coterie, blood mages... every one of those groups had been driven out, one by one, the networks of caves now all but abandoned according to what Sophia had relayed to him. Now they were only the homes of spiders, and not even the frighteningly large kind.
"It's been over twelve years," Sophia said, the statement seeming to take her breath away. "It feels like we were different people then. And yet, even after it all, some things still feel just the same."
It was reassuring, that constancy. The fact that some things didn't have to change. "I miss it," he admitted. "Orlais isāI miss the way things were. Simple. Not easy, but simple." Shaking his head, Lucien lifted one hand to Sophia's back, carding his fingers through the ends of her hair. "I always felt like what I was doing here was good. Helpful. Worthwhile."
Not that what he was doing now wasn't, but it often seemed to end up muddied. His intentions the same, but the paths to take less clear. Cause and effect mediated by dozens of other forces, complications that simply didn't exist when it was them, their friends, and their blades.
"And this was the place it started. Perhaps it's an overly poetic way to put it, but I feel like this is where our paths joined, the first time." It was here that they'd gone to rescue Saemus, who turned out not to be very much in need of rescue. But the chain of events that it had set in motion turned out to be so much bigger. The memory was not untaintedāthe trajectory they'd walked was bloody and grim at points, but that would have been true of any he'd let himself walk.
"It's true," Sophia said, letting a bit of levity slip into her tone. "For all I knew, you were just an unusually polite sellsword. A handsome one, admittedly, but even then I tried not to let such things cloud my judgement too much." No doubt she had great experience dealing with people being more polite than normal, given her status. Everyone in positions of power had to be wary of false kindness concealing hidden motives.
Her expression grew more serious. "But you're right. It wasn't until we stood on this spot that I glimpsed just what sort of man you were, and still are. I'm... I can't even describe how happy I feel that the better parts of us were able to endure those years. And not just endure, but grow stronger. Unbreakable." There had been times when Sophia had teetered on the edge of something darker, when her greatest strengths were almost twisted by her defeats. Her passion, her faith, her desire to protect both the city and her friends. But every time she wavered, she did not break.
It was a sign, he thought, of the most admirable strength of character. To never feel tempted towards something darker, easier to bearāthat was one thing. But to feel the full force of those alternatives and choose rightly anyway took more fortitude still. "I feel as if our routes have diverged," Lucien said, speaking more quietly now. "And that was necessary, for a time. I had my duty, and you had yours, and I'd never want to keep you from it." He swallowed thickly, trying to quell the unease at the pit of his stomach. Find the exact words. But they were slow to his tongue, and for a long moment, he was silent.
Pulling in a breath, he shifted away from her side so that he could turn to face her straight-on. He'd never have the right words for this. He had to try anyway. "We can never belong solely to one another," Lucien murmured, taking both her hands in his. "We will always have the burdens of our lineages and nations to bear, and we will always belong at least in part to our people." Unromantic as it was compared to other things he might have said, it was the truth. And part of why they understood each other so well in the first place. That commitment of hers was one of the reasons he loved her.
"But I can no longer stand the thought of bearing those burdens separately. I want to shoulder yours, and to ask you to carry mine as well. Then neither of us will ever again have to choose between duty and love, because they will be one and the same." Lucien slowly lowered himself to one knee, squeezing her hands gently in his grip. His voice, customarily strong and sure as the rest of him, wavered, whisper-thin and soft. "It's less than you deserve, but it's everything I have to offer. Sophia Dumar, light of my world, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
There were a thousand complications that probably should have been factored into Sophia's response. For people such as them, marriage was something far more complicated than it ought to be, something that brought with it effects on cities and nations. There was always more behind the marriage than what it publicly stood for: an expression of devotion between two people in love.
If any of these complications passed through Sophia's mind as the question was asked, she didn't show it. "Yes," she said, the tears already falling freely as she smiled. "A thousand times, yes."
His eyes weren't dry, either, honestly, but he saw no shame in it. Lucien grinned broadly, pushing himself back to his feet and wrapping both arms around her waist. She lifted from the ground as he stood, spinning them around just once before he set her back down. There were injuries to be considered, after all, though his own were the furthest thing from his mind.
Relief and joy were a torrent, and he didn't mind being swept away by it, leaning down to kiss her soundly and then drop his forehead against her shoulder. "Once would have done, but I'll happily take the rest."
He couldn't be bothered to think of implications and symbolism and nations right now. All that concerned him was that their paths were once more the same, and would never need to diverge again.
Lucien had not always been a patient man. In his youth, he was quite the opposite: hotheaded, brash, and impulsiveāall to his own detriment, of course. He could feel the echoes of those traits now, because it always grew harder to keep his head the more important things were to him, and he couldn't think of anything more important than this. Her. Their future. The best and worst part was that he could almost see it, time stretched out in front of him like space. The lines appearing on their faces, children with her golden hair and perhaps his steely eyes. Bright and strong and above all else kind, because that was what mattered most. Orlais and Kirkwall the way they should be, stable and prosperous and just.
That all of that was so close made patience a fragile thing indeed. Easier to maintain when it had been a more distant dream, a thing for a few years down the line, or even before it was really a dream at all, when he hadn't had the clearest picture of who would stand at the center of it.
But for all that, he couldn't afford to be too hasty now. It was important to him that he did this properly, and at the right time. His father had once told him he lost his courage in situations like thisāhe might well have been right about that. In any case, sitting around recovering from his wounds wasn't going to accomplish anything, so Lucien stood, testing his weight on the leg the behemoth had broken. A shattered kneecap wasn't the easiest of injuries to deal with, but what healing could be spared and regular doses of Rilien's potions had ensured it mended properly. It was still a bit sore, but that was all.
Shuffling to the armoire, Lucien pulled a clean blue tunic from it, shrugging it over his head and letting it settle. He seemed to be fresh out of anything he could use to tie his hair, so loose it would have to remain. He'd left home somewhat too quickly, but he'd at least remembered his straight-razor, and he spent the few minutes it took to shave his beard off trying not to think too hard. When was the last time he'd felt this nervous about anything?
Running a hand over his bare jaw, he decided he just hadn't. Perhaps that was how it should be. He'd spent his life preparing to lead, and though becoming Emperor had never been in his plans, he knew he had what it took to navigate the politics of his homeland from a throne. But this was something completely different. Anyone who knew him could say easily that he hadn't spent much time preparing to share his burdens with anyone else, especially not from love. He doubted it could be prepared for. Exhaling a heavy sigh, he elected to leave Everburn and his armor behind, taking only a long knife at his belt. This wasn't anything he should do as an Emperor. This was something he had to do only as a person, who loved another he could not do without.
What was formerly the Viscountess's office now belonged to someone with a weightier title, he supposed. Naturally, there were already opinions on the change back in Orlais, but he saw nothing to object to. It was the same office in any event, and Lucien knocked softly before turning the handle, stepping inside. "So," he said, a smile tilting his mouth. "I hear it can be very difficult to get an audience with the Queen. Any chance she might have some time for her most adoring subject?"
The Queen hmmed from behind her desk, signing a sheet of paper with a slight flourish. "The Emperor of Orlais is still a citizen of Kirkwall. I suppose I can spare a moment." She smiled, betraying the fact that she would spare as long as he wanted for him. It was difficult to say she looked her best; she'd obviously found little sleep if any at all during the battle, to say nothing of wounds sustained during it. It seemed unlikely anyone had pushed themselves harder in the defense, and there was only so much a modest amount of cosmetics could cover up of the physical toll it had taken on her. And even still she'd only allowed herself scarce hours of sleep, intent on being alert and dutiful to her people in one of their greatest times of need.
The crown was not in sight, but Sophia still looked the part of Queen. There had been a time once when she'd dressed as a mercenary more often than not, but those days appeared to be gone. Burgundy was the color of her dress for the day, a simple Marcher style lacking in the grandeur an Orlesian woman calling herself Queen might prefer. She pushed her chair back and stood, wincing slightly at an obvious pain in her side, her own still healing injury. Sophia's victories and defeats had always been worn on her sleeves, etched into her skin and reflected in her eyes. She was worn down at the moment, by how much she cared and how hard she worked. And every bit as beautiful to him as she'd ever been because of it.
She crossed the distance between them, standing slightly on her toes to offer a brief kiss in greeting. "I've done what I can here for the moment. There's... still a lot of information to be gathered." Likely she referred to things like death tolls, the costs that would be required to rebuild, the grim business of piecing together Kirkwall after the siege. "Have you come to whisk me away? I could use a moment to get away from all this. Like the best of dreams."
"I was rather thinking I would," he admitted, letting his fingers trail along her jaw as he dropped his hand away. "It's much easier when the guards are occupied." They surely were now; there was still much to be done, and not all of the work could be hers. "I supposed you might like some fresh air. A ride out onto the coast, perhaps? A slow one," he amended, smile turning faintly wry. There was still a twinge in his own side, the remainder of what had been a spear-point between his last two ribs. No doubt he didn't look his best at the moment, either, but such was the way of things.
"I'd like that very much," she answered, softly touching her fingers around his hand before she peeled away, towards a corner of the room. "If we stick to the trails and off of the road, we should be able to avoid most of the patrols." The Inquisition army had been sending patrols of regulars to perform passes along the coast and the roads north of it, watchful for any lingering red templar presence, but thus far none had been found, the enemy's army thoroughly driven out. They'd been assured they were following their tracks at a safe distance, however, intent on locating wherever it was they meant to retreat to.
Sophia sank down into a chair, pulling off her shoes and retrieving a pair of sturdier boots fit for riding from the shelf behind her. The weather was enough to warrant a cloak for comfort, but Sophia didn't seem intent on gearing up in any other way. No armor, no guards. Her blade rested on a rack on the wall, below the picture Lucien had painted himself, that of Sophia's mother Vesenia. For once, they could ride out with no wariness, no need to be threatened, for the battle was done, the enemy routed.
And that they did. Lucien had to borrow a horse, but that was no object, really, and it didn't take them long to navigate the familiar path to the coast. He had a specific destination in mind, but he wasn't in any hurry to get there. The more important thing at the moment was that the air was fresh, the surroundings were calm, and for a little while at least, they didn't have to worry about anything else in particular. He knew he needed the break, and if that was true, Sophia surely must as well, given just how much more was on her plate at the moment.
It was strange, almost, being able to do something as simple as this after so long with nothing but letters to connect them. Years, it had been, since they'd last been face-to-face, and yet it all came back as naturally as breathing. The easy comfort of it. The effulgent happiness. It only confirmed what he already knew very well, but he relaxed into it anyway, letting the contentment settle over him like a cloak.
Eventually, though, he did start steering his horse with slightly more purpose, keeping to minor trails and crossing the main road only once. His destination was intentionally somewhat remoteāthe first time he'd been here, it was on suspicion that someone was using it to hide, after all. Situated at a natural dip in the landscape from the city-side, the promontory jutted out into the water, waves lapping up against the elevated sides of it periodically. Sparse vegetation grew near the edges, but for the most part it was as the rest of the Wounded Coast wasāsandy.
It, of course, bore no trace of former events; they had been so long ago now that he'd have been surprised if it were otherwise. "Come to think of it, I was on a loan horse the first time I came here, too," he observed, swinging down from his saddle with a bit more care than he'd usually take and offering a hand up to Sophia, mindful of her injuries as well. "Back in my ill-advised farming-implement days." Personally he'd thought the scythe worked just fine for his purposes. But he could see why it wasn't exactly standard-issue for anyone's army, to be sure.
"I would have recommended a more tried and true weapon, of course," she said, taking his hand and slipping down from her side-saddle position, boots landing softly in the sand. "But I can at least understand why you chose not to wield the sword." She hadn't back then, of course, and even when it was explained she had trouble coming to accept it. But then, that was the way with both of them, to think more highly of each other than they thought of themselves, always.
Her hand remained in his as they started down, walking over ground they'd tread many times before. The Wounded Coast had changed as much as the city since then. Once it served as a haven for bandits, Tal-Vashoth, the Coterie, blood mages... every one of those groups had been driven out, one by one, the networks of caves now all but abandoned according to what Sophia had relayed to him. Now they were only the homes of spiders, and not even the frighteningly large kind.
"It's been over twelve years," Sophia said, the statement seeming to take her breath away. "It feels like we were different people then. And yet, even after it all, some things still feel just the same."
It was reassuring, that constancy. The fact that some things didn't have to change. "I miss it," he admitted. "Orlais isāI miss the way things were. Simple. Not easy, but simple." Shaking his head, Lucien lifted one hand to Sophia's back, carding his fingers through the ends of her hair. "I always felt like what I was doing here was good. Helpful. Worthwhile."
Not that what he was doing now wasn't, but it often seemed to end up muddied. His intentions the same, but the paths to take less clear. Cause and effect mediated by dozens of other forces, complications that simply didn't exist when it was them, their friends, and their blades.
"And this was the place it started. Perhaps it's an overly poetic way to put it, but I feel like this is where our paths joined, the first time." It was here that they'd gone to rescue Saemus, who turned out not to be very much in need of rescue. But the chain of events that it had set in motion turned out to be so much bigger. The memory was not untaintedāthe trajectory they'd walked was bloody and grim at points, but that would have been true of any he'd let himself walk.
"It's true," Sophia said, letting a bit of levity slip into her tone. "For all I knew, you were just an unusually polite sellsword. A handsome one, admittedly, but even then I tried not to let such things cloud my judgement too much." No doubt she had great experience dealing with people being more polite than normal, given her status. Everyone in positions of power had to be wary of false kindness concealing hidden motives.
Her expression grew more serious. "But you're right. It wasn't until we stood on this spot that I glimpsed just what sort of man you were, and still are. I'm... I can't even describe how happy I feel that the better parts of us were able to endure those years. And not just endure, but grow stronger. Unbreakable." There had been times when Sophia had teetered on the edge of something darker, when her greatest strengths were almost twisted by her defeats. Her passion, her faith, her desire to protect both the city and her friends. But every time she wavered, she did not break.
It was a sign, he thought, of the most admirable strength of character. To never feel tempted towards something darker, easier to bearāthat was one thing. But to feel the full force of those alternatives and choose rightly anyway took more fortitude still. "I feel as if our routes have diverged," Lucien said, speaking more quietly now. "And that was necessary, for a time. I had my duty, and you had yours, and I'd never want to keep you from it." He swallowed thickly, trying to quell the unease at the pit of his stomach. Find the exact words. But they were slow to his tongue, and for a long moment, he was silent.
Pulling in a breath, he shifted away from her side so that he could turn to face her straight-on. He'd never have the right words for this. He had to try anyway. "We can never belong solely to one another," Lucien murmured, taking both her hands in his. "We will always have the burdens of our lineages and nations to bear, and we will always belong at least in part to our people." Unromantic as it was compared to other things he might have said, it was the truth. And part of why they understood each other so well in the first place. That commitment of hers was one of the reasons he loved her.
"But I can no longer stand the thought of bearing those burdens separately. I want to shoulder yours, and to ask you to carry mine as well. Then neither of us will ever again have to choose between duty and love, because they will be one and the same." Lucien slowly lowered himself to one knee, squeezing her hands gently in his grip. His voice, customarily strong and sure as the rest of him, wavered, whisper-thin and soft. "It's less than you deserve, but it's everything I have to offer. Sophia Dumar, light of my world, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
There were a thousand complications that probably should have been factored into Sophia's response. For people such as them, marriage was something far more complicated than it ought to be, something that brought with it effects on cities and nations. There was always more behind the marriage than what it publicly stood for: an expression of devotion between two people in love.
If any of these complications passed through Sophia's mind as the question was asked, she didn't show it. "Yes," she said, the tears already falling freely as she smiled. "A thousand times, yes."
His eyes weren't dry, either, honestly, but he saw no shame in it. Lucien grinned broadly, pushing himself back to his feet and wrapping both arms around her waist. She lifted from the ground as he stood, spinning them around just once before he set her back down. There were injuries to be considered, after all, though his own were the furthest thing from his mind.
Relief and joy were a torrent, and he didn't mind being swept away by it, leaning down to kiss her soundly and then drop his forehead against her shoulder. "Once would have done, but I'll happily take the rest."
He couldn't be bothered to think of implications and symbolism and nations right now. All that concerned him was that their paths were once more the same, and would never need to diverge again.