In an e-mail exchange, a friend and I were discussing the future imperial succession in the Federation. In response to a couple of Marian's ideas (Servalan's proposition and her fate), I wrote a scene (the wedding one), and she said I should expend on it, so I have. Blame me for Soolin's first name.
"If there are any left alive, space commander, kill them. And give me Orac."
Vila knew that voice. Servalan. He lay still, doing his best to look dead. Not that he wasn't far off it, shot in the back and him not even running away at the time. It wasn't fair. And he'd told Avon that the base computer room was a silly place to hide Orac.
"Well, well. I've struck gold the first time. Here's one. Corpses don't bleed, do they? Hello, Vila. And come to think of it, goodbye."
Travis? Vila couldn't help it—his eyes shot open. "You're dead."
"Nothing a few spare parts and a recondition couldn't fix. You are though." Travis armed his crystal and levelled his arm.
"Stop!"
Travis hesitated, looking back at Servalan.
"Are any other Scorpio males left alive? Avon?"
"No, commissioner. It was odd, he died with a smile on his—"
"Pity. Oh, well, never mind. He would have been difficult. Tarrant, then?"
"No, commissioner."
"Then it will have to be Vila. Get the medics and patch him up." Servalan knelt beside Vila and playfully placed her finger on the end of his nose. "We are going to be married."
"Eh?"
"That's right. Orac refuses to obey anyone but a member of the Scorpio crew. However, an archaic law states that a married couple are legally regarded as one person. So it will be a quiet wedding as soon as you are well, little Vila."
"Oh, no."
"Oh, yes."
"Oh, all right. But only if you leave my friends alone."
Servalan pouted. "Oh, very well." It was a small price to pay for Orac. She kissed Vila, quite thoroughly, and he fainted from pain and shock.
***
"Do you, Aston Vila Restal, take this woman, Eglantine Aphrodite Servalan as your bond-mate?"
Vila tried to speak but merely squeaked.
Servalan sighed and flicked her fingers. Travis rose from the front pew on the bride's side and strode forward to aim his armed arm at Vila's face.
"The word, Vila, the word!"
"Yes," Vila whispered. There was a rustle as the entire congregation leaned forward in an attempt to hear him.
"I'm sorry," Travis said. "We didn't hear the word, did we, Servalan?"
Vila gulped. "YES! TELEPORT! YES!"
Servalan smiled and stroked his cheek. He had been very good that time on Sardos. Very good and quite delightfully biddable, not to mention inventive. She was looking forward to carrying him over the threshold and having her way with him again.
The future imperial consort decided to make the best of it, sighed, and stamped on the traditional soma glass. "Ow! I've cut my foot!"
***
Servalan the Magnificent's reign lasted only three years before she died of a surfeit of Lampreys (a troupe of energetic circus acrobats). Her widower, the Grand Duke Vila, succeeded her, and not long afterwards married one of his bodyguards, Mary Soolin.
Later generations remembered the Emperor Vila I, more popularly known as Vila the Friendly, as one of the best emperors they ever had, a gentle, kind, and witty man, who lived to a ripe old age with his beloved Empress Mary and his fiercely protective personal bodyguard, the Countess Dayna Deva.
The end