Fantasy All's Fair

[Conifer]

It was easy enough to slip out of the storage room unseen - luckily no one was passing by when they opened the door, and so it was as easy as simply leaving it, and shutting the door again behind them. Remin watched Avther wander off towards the guest wing before starting in the opposite direction. Where would any of her staff be, at the moment? That was going to be the trickiest part of her side of this whole matter.
A few minutes of searching ended up with her stumbling across Tirsi, who had shucked some of her armor in favor of comfort and was halfway through a plate of dinner, tucked up on the wide windowsill down some hallway.

“My queen,” She’s greeted, and Tirsi sits up more formally from where she’s leaning against the stone when she spots her.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Remin says apologetically. “But could I ask a brief favor of you?” She could simply tell her everything that was going on, but they didn’t have time for that, not really, not yet. She would later - they could only do their jobs if they were well-informed. “I...need to know which room Balin Aramac is staying in, for reasons that I don’t have time to go over now. It’s a matter of safety. We have it handled, it’s just- a matter of safety.”

The guard doesn’t seem entirely sure where she’s trying to go with this, but sets her plate aside. “...How can I help, then?”

“Speak with one of the staff who might know?” Remin says, more a question than the statement it should be. “Just - something arrived for him, and you’d like to deliver it to his room. That’s all.”

Tirsi shifts off the windowsill, landing back onto the ground with a soft sound. “I’ll return shortly, my queen. I know just who to ask.”

It was, thankfully, an honestly short time to wait. It was just minutes (though, any amount of them is too many when they have this little time) until Tirsi returned, a scrap of paper with directions to the requested room in hand, which was quickly turned over to Remin’s possession. She thanked the guard and then left her back to her own devices, hurrying off down the hall towards the guest wing (and, luckily, stopping to pick up a small, gleaming egg tucked into detailed woodwork above a door - something to show for all their ‘searching’).

She managed to catch Avther when he was in the hall, and she smiled bright at him, showing the paper. “Your plan worked wonderfully.” She says, crossing the space to him and shoving the scrap back into her pocket - she’d read it enough on the walk over here that she knew where they were going. They’d have to destroy that soon, but hopefully the fire in his room was burning, or if not, hopefully the one in their own. “It’s this one, here,” She leads him down the hall a short ways - it’s a good thing that this had worked, since their chances of reaching this door before they were expected again would have been slim.

 

[Aerynth]

Wait, are those footsteps? Cyreia paused for a few seconds to listen, every muscle in her body painfully tense. She did not need witnesses right now; explaining what exactly she was doing with the lock would be rather complicated. The nobles may have been sheltered, but they weren't stupid. Thankfully, it was just Remin. Remin who returned with the directions. "Good," Cyreia smiled in response, relief written all over her face. "This was getting very old very fast. Thank you for handling it so quickly." She would have liked to say more, but there was no time to lose. Later. We'll talk later. "Be so kind and pay attention whether someone is coming." The whole process of unlocking the door would be sped up significantly if she could focus on it fully. That had been the worst part of the whole ordeal; dividing her attention constantly, torn between wanting to get the door open as fast as possible and caution. God, Cyreia was so happy to have Remin here. It may have been selfish, but... well, selfishness was only human.

The lock couldn't resist her gentle prodding for long, and the door opened within a minute. "See? I'm getting proficient at this. Maybe I should have become a thief," Cyreia grinned as she gestured for Remin to come with her. Staying outside could be dangerous for her and, besides, an additional pair of hands to rummage through Balin's things meant that they would proceed faster. It didn't really matter that they had nobody to keep watch. The silence in the hallways was so vast, so stiffling that they could probably hear whether someone was approaching anyway. Hell, even her picking of locks had been overwhelmingly loud against such deep stillness. Surely they would notice footsteps.

The room looked similar to the one they had been assigned, except that it was smaller, with a single bed. The furniture seemed very nice, as did the decor, but she wasn't really in the mood to admire it. "Alright, I'm not sure what we're looking for," Cyreia began, "but I'll start with his drawers." That seemed like a logical place, didn't it? Except that it contained just clothes, clothes and more clothes. "How long is he planning on staying? This is ridiculous. I didn't pack nearly as many clothes for two weeks and you know I tend to destroy it at an alarming speed." Everything was folded carefully, too, so she had to take extra caution not to mess it up. A person this neat would have noticed. Cyreia wanted to move onto something else, but then she sensed something solid under the clothes. "Hmm, what do we have here?" It was a small wooden box, seemingly ordinary, yet something felt off about it. Distinctly off; the air around it was practically crackling with energy in a way that felt eerily familiar. Vestat, Cyreia realized. Well, not him, of course, but her mind jumped at the association because the the air had felt just like this shortly before he had tried to set her on fire, too. God, what a disturbing turn of events. "I think this is enchanted," she said quietly. "What do you think, is there a safe way to open it?"

 

[Conifer]

technically been doing anything wrong - but this was, and it made her nervous. She shouldn’t be here, and neither should Avther, and it was going to go terribly for them if they were caught.
There wasn’t time to focus on that, though. There was only time to search.

As Avther moved to one side of the room, she went to the other. There wasn’t much to look through, thankfully, but that meant that there were fewer chances for them to find something.
“I’ll remind you that /you/ didn’t pack a thing.” Remin teases quietly as she searches through his belongings - some unimportant papers, some hair gel, some discarded clothes neatly set over the edge of a chair. Nothing. There was nothing. She hadn’t expected evidence in hair gel or dirty clothes, but it was frustrating all the same, and her heart pounded in her chest with the risk of it all. And not in the fun way that came along with proximity to Avther. “Maybe he means to stay here a short while.” Was that suspicious? Was that worthy of being added to their list of evidence against him? If he were working with the older Everbright, perhaps. It would give them time to talk, to plan. Her thoughts were pulled away from that with mention of the box, though, and she crossed the small space to examine it.

“Disenchant it,” She replies, taking the box into her hands. It had an amount of heft to it, but it was hard to tell if that was result of its contents or its construction. “Which is simple enough. I could manage that, but it’d...take a lot, and we wouldn’t be able to re-enchant it.” She examines it for a moment, running her fingers over the wood, but very carefully avoiding touching the latch. “Trick boxes like these aren’t rare. Most children have one, in varying forms. They’re cheap, easy to learn magic, but...but the enchantments on them differ greatly. Especially if he’s changed it, which I’m sure he has.” It was unfortunately solid construction, but she expected little less. “However,” She murmurs softly, setting the box down on top of the dresser and finding the hinges - this was magic she could manage. It would still wear her down, but not to the point disenchanting it would. Remin’s hands find the thin metal pole that runs through the hinge - it’s simply capped at each side, and it’s easy enough to drag one of those dull ends into a point that slips easily out of the mechanism. The metal clatters quietly onto the dresser as she sets it down and moves onto the other one, doing the same there. “The magic’s usually on the latch itself. So if we simply don’t touch the latch…” She lets herself trail off as she carefully pulls open the lid, bracing herself for whatever bit of magic might come surging out - but there’s none. All that they find is the contents of the box. “...then we can get in.”

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia watched Remin wordlessly as she worked, worry apparent in her eyes. Whatever her wife had said, this didn't look like a toy. The magic surrounding it was real, practically tangible, and Balin clearly trusted the mechanism enough to use it. It was dangerous, it simply had to be, and yet Remin touched it without a hint of fear. How brave of her. Cyreia just hoped that it wasn't the kind of bravery she herself demonstrated so often; bravery that was, more than anything else, a complete disregard for her own well-being in disguise. (It was okay when she did it, but Remin? No. Unacceptable.)

Fortunately, that wasn't the case. Remin had a good head on her shoulders and knew exactly what to do. And to think that Cyreia had originally wanted to go alone! How would she have solved the issue? Certainly not as effectively. Essentially, there would have been two paths for her to follow: to open the box anyway or to steal it. Both choices were, of course, less than optimal. "Damn, you're good at this," she said, not attempting to hide her admiration. This was no time to gush over her wife, though. They had to act quickly.

There were a few things in the box; mostly letters and other documents, but also a silver amulet that was, too, pulsating with magic. Not knowing what to do with the amulet, Cyreia reached for the letters first. Her eyes scanned their contents quickly, and they grew wide as they did so1. "I think we found what we came for. Look." The letter described a deal the Rovells and Balin had struck; he would put himself in danger by approaching the queen with the offer and the Rovells would, in turn, take care of his family. That was likely the reason he even kept the correspondence, Cyreia realized. Some of it looked almost like a contract and, well, if things went awry, at least he could hope to sell his accomplices out and lessen his own punishment. They had known about the Rovells already, so that wasn't too surprising, but there were also other names mentioned; names she didn't recognize. "Do you know who these people are?" she asked Remin quietly.

 

[Conifer]

Remin can’t help the small burst of pride at Avther’s soft outburst. What she was doing wasn’t impressive in the least bit to anyone who anyone who knew next to anything about magic, but she wasn’t going to protest. She couldn’t remember the last time someone (besides him, she supposed,) had thought what she’d done with magic had been impressive. It wasn’t a sore spot, really - she didn’t have a lot of magic, and that’s just how it worked - but it was still nice. It would wear off when he could work his own magic more, but it was nice.

She looks through the papers, frowning softly at some of the names. There weren’t a lot, but there were more than she felt comfortable with. Maybe a couple dozen, give or take a handful. An alarming net, stretched out over the country. “Lady Everbright’s sister,” not a huge surprise, considering. “Some people at Olyviere, I think,” She says, to some of them. Nothing stands out as people she truly recognizes of those names - some teachers, maybe that’s why she knew them? The rest of the list is more or less in the same boat. Some names ring a bell - a few louder than others (One of the members of the council which...was far less surprising than she wanted it to be, some impressive names in the war effort, etc,) though others were mostly unknown to her. She relays that information quietly, trying to commit some of the larger names to memory. They don’t have much time, and they certainly can’t take these. “Some people who were involved in the war, and others I don’t know. A council member. The one with red hair, remember him?” The names run through, she sets the papers aside to look through the rest of the box. The rest of the documents were barely important, so she abandoned them quickly and turned her attention to the amulet. Touching it proved itself to be an immediately bad plan - as soon as she touched the surface of it, two voices in hushed conversation clattered through. She pulled her fingers away, and the sounds stopped before the conversation they were having was understandable. “...I’ve heard of those, but haven’t seen them.” She frowns softly. “Don’t touch it. It’s enchanted to transmit speech when it’s activated. They’d hear anything that happened on this side. But-- that means that the rest of these people will likely know what I’ve told Balin as soon as he returns to his room.” Which wasn’t comforting.

Remin covers it back over with the papers that had been sitting on top of it, hoping to avoid any accidental contact, before she looks back over the list of names again. “Gods. We’re staying with this one - the Marshes - on the way back. Cancelling would be suspicious, so we’ll have to be careful there. Arrive late, leave early. Avoid eating or drinking anything we didn’t see served.” If they didn’t trust her...there was little saying they simply wouldn’t drug them both, take what they needed, and replace him in the hopes she wouldn’t notice. That was a whole new worry that she didn’t realise she needed to anticipate until just now.

 

[Aerynth]

God, there were so many people on the list. Of course, Cyreia had had no illusions about being accepted easily, but all of it had been abstract until now. Seeing the names black on white somehow brought it closer to the reality. It stopped being just theoretical, in a sense. At least now we know who to be wary of. Silver linings were important in a time of crisis. A straw to grasp at, no matter how flimsy, had prevented her from giving up more than once. "I should just contact all of these people and challenge them to a duel," she tried to lighten the atmosphere with a joke. "Who knows? Perhaps they'd appreciate the transparency." The exact kind of transparency they had refused to employ when dealing with her. Not that she didn't understand their motivations behind that, but it was still infuriating. Was it a common practice here to sentence people to death without even speaking to them? Without confirming whether the rumors surrounding them were true?

Well, I did cultivate my image carefully. Can I really blame them for believing me? The answer was no, not really. What to do about them, though? Ignoring the conspiracy would be short-sighted; even if Remin had managed to convince Balin that she wasn't dangerous, this group of powerful nobles willing to resort to murder at any given moment still existed, and that was a problem. At the same time, though, acting against them would be inadvisable. The public would eat them alive for getting rid of their beloved leaders, supposedly for no reason. Once again, there seemed to be no satisfying solution. Did all rulers feel like this? As if they were balancing on the edge of a very sharp knife?

"I don't want to keep running away from my own subjects," Cyreia heard herself saying. "I mean, I know that I need to be careful here. I really do. Yet on the other hand, what will I gain from avoiding my enemies? What will we gain? A little more time, certainly, but it will be a time spent worrying about the presence of assassins in every single shadow." She sighed and put the box back where they had found it, hopefully matching the original position well enough to avoid Balin's suspicions. "I want to get to know each of them, personally, and let them see who I am. I want to treat them fairly." Maybe she was naive, stupidly and dangerously so, but Cyreia believed you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Once they saw that she meant well, that she would take care of them like a king should, at least some of them would have to change their opinion of her. Right? "They don't know me, Remin. I can't even fault them for planning to get rid of me because, well, I know what they say about me. Perhaps they really think they're doing all of this for the good of the realm. For you." Some of the letters mentioned the fate of the young queen as well, after all. They painted her as a victim, as a sacrifice to the enemy, and Cyreia didn't doubt that those words had been chosen for the dramatic effect. It could be genuine as well, though. The royal family did seem to be fairly well-loved. As long as they didn't actually hurt her, Cyreia was quite willing to give them a second chance.

 

[Conifer]

Remin gently corrects the hinges once again - sliding the small pegs into place, dragging the points she’d pulled them into back into blunt ends. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but not something he’d notice unless he knew to look for it. Which, if they covered their tracks well enough, he wouldn’t. She watched in silence as Avther settled it back into place, and glanced around the room to double check that they hadn’t left anything else disturbed. No, it looked like they’d never been here at all.

Avthher was right. It was dangerous, but right. These people - or few of them, at least - weren’t acting out of malice. The names she had recognized were ones that her family had trusted for decades. They weren’t intentionally enemies. They didn’t understand the complexities of all of this. “...Honestly,” She admits, so softly. “Had this been proposed to me before our wedding, or the day of- I can’t say that my feelings would have been so opposed to it as I am now. I wouldn’t have allowed it to happen, but I understand where they’re coming from.” She doesn’t want to think about that, though. That’s not a nice line of thinking. As much as she’s confident in her abilities to not doom an innocent man, would she have seen Avther as innocent then? No. No, she didn’t think she did.

She shuts the drawer that held the box, and looks to Avther. “I don’t know that we’d have to win over all of them. Just the larger names. If we convince them - doubt’s a dangerous thing for something like this, I’d guess. There’s always going to be people who’d prefer us dead, but as long as we convince the ones who can actually do the killing that you’re worth being alive, then you’re safe.”

 

[Aerynth]

"Oh, I don't doubt that," Cyreia smiled sadly. "And I don't blame you for it, honestly. If I were in your position, I'd probably feel the same, except I'd be a lot less gracious about it." It baffled her to this day how well Remin had held together during their wedding; she hadn't shown her a hint of fear back then, even if it must have been terrifying. God, their wedding had been a miserable affair, hadn't it? That, among other things, would probably always haunt her. Not because of her - Cyreia had never really enjoyed parties in the first place - but because of Remin. Her wife deserved to have nicer memories of that day than those of crying on the floor. It wasn't like that could be fixed, though.

"Yes," she nodded. "We will be safe then. And I don't think that we even need to convince all of the big names. Sowing dissent among their ranks should work well enough." Conspiracies, after all, depended on cooperation. If one or two of the key players faltered in their role, everyone would be affected. It wasn't even about the ability to kill her, either; more like about the possible betrayal from their former compatriots. With a real chance of being exposed by them, surely the group wouldn't dare to act. "We should probably get out of here, though." Cyreia doubted that more secrets could be uncovered by inspecting the room further. Really, at this point, they were just asking for trouble by continuing to linger here. She listened for a few moments and only opened the door when she was reasonably sure that the corridors were empty. After that, it only took a minute or two of concentration to lock the door again. When Balin returned to his room later, everything would appear normal to him. "And to think I only learned how to do this because of a stupid bet," giggled. "I was convinced I could go five days without sleeping. I lost, which meant that I had to steal additional equipment from the military storages for my friends. Some of the scars I have are the result of what happened when the storage warden caught me. God, that was not fun."

It didn't take long for the smile to disappear from her face, though. Their situation wasn't exactly cheerful, after all. "Do you think that it's a good idea to approach the older lady Everbright and try to win her for our cause?" She was conveniently there, so talking to her would be easy, but was it also worth it? Who knew. Certainly not Cyreia. How much power did she have in comparison with the other names on their list? Would her allyship - if they could convince her, which was a big if - be valuable? Cyreia wanted to meet her regardless of that, of course, but getting Remin's opinion first couldn't hurt.

 

[Conifer]

Avther’s story certainly wasn’t one that Remin would say, at first, was amusing. But the way he talked about it made her smile all the same. Despite that they stood outside Balin’s room, despite that they were facing a conspiracy like this, despite everything, he still managed to pull a smile from her. She doubted she would ever get tired of that. “I’m starting to suspect that you simply stumbled your way into national hero-hood, with all these stories of what you did when you weren’t fighting.”

There was an unfortunately small amount of time to linger in happier thoughts, though, and so the conversation turned more serious quickly after that. Remin nodded as they walked through the hall - keeping an ear out for footsteps, but not wanting to be caught somewhere hear where they had no purpose being. “It’d be remiss to not even introduce you to her, even if we do nothing else with that interaction. And I’d wager that she and Balin are close enough to influence each other. If we get even any of her liking you, that might prove well for us.” There wasn’t much they were going to be able to do, honestly, not with the short amount of time they were here, but anything would do something. Something good or bad, it was hard to tell, but it was better to do something than nothing, wasn’t it?

Thankfully, their room was nearby, and Remin led Avther into it. There was still too much to talk about to stand in hallways and simply hope no one would listen in. And she wanted to write down some of those names before they slipped her mind. Was leaving an evidence trail a good idea? Absolutely not, but it was better than knowing who they were up against before she forgot entirely. Remin found a scrap of paper, scratching down the notable names quickly. “We could throw a celebration, when we return home, in honor of us taking the throne. Invite a lot of these people. Even if they don’t come, an invitation goes a long way.”

 

[Aerynth]

"Who says that national heroes have to act the part all the time? We're just people, you know," Cyreia offered her a cheeky smile. "Besides, I think I was maybe sixteen when that happened. I believe one is entitled to bouts of stupidity at that age." Not that she was much more sensible as an adult, but oh well. A little bit of silliness made life a lot nore bearable, even in its darkest hours, and Cyreia wasn't about to give it up just because people might judge her for it. They already did so anyway, so why take them into consideration at all?

When they finally arrived in the safety of their room, she plopped down on the bed. Despite it not being their own room, it kind of felt like a sanctuary; nobody would disturb them there, that much she was sure of. Perhaps I should tell her now. They were alone, after all, and Cyreia had promised to herself to come clean today. It was strangely tempting. Also completely terrifying on all conceivable levels, but those two emotions often seemed to go hand in hand. God, wouldn't it be nice to finally tell someone? To share the burden? It would be so easy to just look at her and... speak with her honestly, as they had so many times before. She toyed with the idea for a few seconds before discarding it. No, now wasn't a good time. Cyreia was still expected to function for the rest of the evening and... well, she didn't know what the admission would do to her. More importantly, she didn't know what it would do to Remin, either. It would be better for the two of them to face the head of the household in a relatively composed state. I'll do it when we head off to bed. Hopefully the long hours of the night would allow them to process it all. To deal with the fallout. "I can't say I'm looking forward to yet another celebration considering the fact that something always seems to go terribly wrong during one of those, but... yeah, that's a great idea. Let's go for it," she agreed. Trying to make more friends could never hurt. Even if they did not succeed at swaying the opinion of these people in particular, perhaps they could find new allies there.

"Before we get back, I'd like to ask you a few things. Namely, what do the Everbrights actually do? Is there anything they take a special interest in? If so, perhaps I could use it to try and get closer to the older Everbright. Somehow, I doubt I can charm her with the stories from my military days as I did with her sister." Actions spoke louder than words, especially when the speaker in question was as clumsy as her. Cyreia probably couldn't earn her approval with flattery and such, but perhaps she could get it through supporting lady Everbright in her endeavors somehow.

 

[Conifer]

The names written, and the paper tucked away into her luggage, difficult to find all wrapped up in the pocket of a robe unless you knew exactly what you were looking for, and the scrap of paper with directions to Balin's room tossed into the quietly burning fire and absolutely burned to the point of nonexistence, Remin joins Avther on their bed. Perhaps they shouldn't linger here long - their joint absence may be noticed, and if anyone saw them coming from the room...but honestly, she didn't care. They'd just risked far more. They could handle feeding some enthusiastic rumors that would exist either way. The chance to sit, and to relax, for even just a moment appeals far more than not having to come up with excuses.


"The Everbrights deal in a lot," she says as she settles against the blankets with her husband. "It's mostly old money that they're maintaining. But they own some businesses in various places - a few breweries, a good number of inns, the like. They contributed a good amount to the war effort. As most of these wealthy families did." She laughs softly. "So, no, my soldier. Regaling her with tales of your military might would probably not win her over, no matter how ridiculous the story.

 

[Aerynth]

"Alright," Cyreia chuckled and put her arm around Remin's waist to bring her a little closer. "I won't try to impress her with stories of me stupidly risking my life. Although that could potentially work, too. There's always a chance that she would come to the conclusion that attempting to kill me is just a waste of resources because I'm bound to do it myself at some point." What would she try to impress her with, though? With her extensive knowledge of commerce? Except that she didn't have it. Cyreia knew nothing about this topic. The closest thing would be her experience with logistics, which was probably similar in some regards, but distinct enough to be considered a separate field. Besides, the Everbrights seemed to focus on... tourism, she guessed, tourism and catering, and that was completely out of her depth.

"Actually, I think I won't try to impress her at all." Lady Everbright didn't need to consider her an authority on anything. Cyreia sincerely doubted that all the kings before her had been scholars well-versed in every aspect of the inner workings of the country. That just wasn't realistic. Most of them had probably known more than her because that was a rather low bar to pass, but ultimately, her subjects likely didn't expect counsel from their king. And why would they? They had been doing just fine even without her. "I'll just... show her that I'm more than willing to tend to my duties. I'll ask her how their businesses are doing, whether the kingdom can do anything to support tourism in the area, things like that." It wouldn't surprise her if these people viewed her more as... some kind of a warlord rather than a real king. Well, she would prove that they were mistaken. That they could rely on her, provided that they actually bothered to communicate with her and state their needs.

"Well. Is there anything else we should discuss before returning?" Cyreia asked before kissing Remin on the forehead softly. "Because we probably shouldn't be absent for too long, as much as I'd like that."

 

[Conifer]

Remin moves easily into the hand at her waist, finally finding herself breathing easy after what seemed to be an entire evening of worry. There was no worry here, though. Not in the privacy of this room, or the comfort of his touch, freely given and with no motive but to be nearer her. It was strange how different this sort of touch felt from his hand on her waist as they'd danced before - they were practically the same, but this felt so much...more. More, in every way it could be. "If this trip and the state of your wardrobe's any sort of indication, I'll be a widow within the month." Remin says softly, amused. "I'm sure I'll have half the names on that list clamoring to replace you before you've even grown cold - and I'd really not like that, for many reasons. So I will need you to stay alive. Queen's orders."


She shifted a bit closer - she's have to fix her hair after all of this, but honestly, she didn't care. It wasn't a particularly complex updo, and all she wanted to focus on right now was catching her breath. Remin reaches out to take Avther's free hand in hers, loosely tangling their fingers together as he continued to speak. "Competency," she agrees softly. "But not the sort that disrupts anything for her, and makes you being alive and yourself more of an asset than it does a risk. Clever." She praises, lightly squeezing his fingers. "For as much as you were never trained for this, your impulses are good. Though I suppose it's still just strategy, in different form." A duel of a different sort.


"I don't think there is," Remin admits, though she's of most a mind to come up with something just so they have an excuse not to leave this bed. But she has a feeling he's just as reluctant to leave as she is, and so speaking plainly carries little risk. "We still have nearly an entire half an hour before we're expected back, though," she points out, tracing her fingers across his jaw. She'll never tire of the novelty of simply being able to reach out and /touch/. "And I don't know about you, but I couldn't care less for treasure hunts. At least, not this one. I'm sure there's some terribly exciting ones out there in the world, but this one lacks the thrills they might provide. We could stay. Rest for a bit. Another few minutes, at least, and then make a halfhearted attempt to be noticed searching for the silly things before the time's up."

 

[Aerynth]

"Well, if it is an order, I have no choice but to comply, don't I?" Cyreia smiled, relishing her closeness. The heat emanating from her body, her softness, her everything. God, how had she ever been able to convince herself that it wouldn't end up like this? That she wouldn't fall in love? Men stronger than her wouldn't have stood a chance. "That's what we soldiers do. Obey orders." She had always done that, no matter how little joy it had brought her in the past. It might be different here, though. Might? No, I know it will. It already is.

Strangely enough, Remin's approval caused her cheeks to heat up a bit. The thing was, Cyreia wasn't used to receiving compliments. At least not from people who actually mattered to her. Sure, there had been those who showered her with praise, but it had always felt superficial. More like an attempt to manipulate her than a real acknowledgement of her skills. "Thank you. It just... felt like common sense, really." All relationships were transactional in nature; that was something Cyreia had understood very quickly. Money in exchange for goods, loyalty in exchange for protection. Always something for something, never something for nothing. A king seemingly had the power to bully his subjects into abandoning that basic premise of self-interest, but that power was illusory, as many tyrants in the world history had learned. No ruler could rule his country for long without the consent of his people. Something Cyreia didn't have and likely wouldn't have for a while, either. She was working on it, though. Now that they had an actual plan in mind for how to deal with lady Everbright, it seemed true. Remin, however, was right. They certainly didn't need to leave immediately. Cyreia wasn't all too eager to return and let her ears be filled with more vapid rumors. God, her head hurt just imagining it.

"I guess we can stay a while," she smiled softly and caressed her hair. "The events of this evening have been rather intense. I think that we deserve a break." Now that she thought about it, Remin did look awfully tense. It was no wonder, really. Her wife wasn't used to committing crime, and it showed. "Would you like me to massage your shoulders?" she offered. "I feel like there should be some compensation after what I've roped you into, my dear queen. I bet you didn't think we'd spend the party breaking into other people's rooms." Of course, getting to touch her some more had absolutely nothing to do with it. Okay, maybe it did, but it was just a pleasant bonus. Cyreia did have her well-being in mind.

 

[Conifer]

"It's not my most anticipated party activity, no." She agrees with a soft laugh. "Though I can't say it's worse than trying to keep the Lady entertained with poorly embellished stories." She presses a soft kiss to his wrist. Gods, she loves him, and it should be more terrifying than it is, but it's just...not. Terrifying was everything outside this room. He's a chance to escape from it all, and that would never be terrifying when they were tucked away in places of safety. The knowledge that she loved him was far more daunting when it was combined with the fact that other people might notice if she failed to be subtle in her affections, but there was no one here to notice besides him. "If you're insistent on compensation, far be it from me to accept it."


She shifts to allow him access to her back, laying against the bed. "Maybe that's the celebration we throw when we return. Everyone just breaks into everyone else's room." She teases lightly. "No music, no dancing, no games. Just entirely unexpected activities for a party." What a terrible riot that would be.

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia shifted as well, sitting next to Remin. Honestly, it would have been more comfortable to sit on her, as she had used to do with her compatriots when they had needed a massage after extensive physical activity. She wasn't heavy and the position would have allowed her to put more weight into the movements. It would have looked conpletely ridiculous, though, and Cyreia didn't dare to suggest it. The idea of sitting on Remin... no, this would have to do. Besides, force wasn't even necessary here. Remin hadn't exercised, so she didn't need to have her spine rearranged. This was meant to be just relaxation. Nothing more, nothing less. Why, then, did it feel strangely exciting to touch her in such a way? Probably because it showed her how much Remin trusted her. Letting her do something like that? Just a week ago, it would have been unthinkable.

"Yes, and the climax of the party would be a giant cake battle. The one who wins would get to coat their political opponents in tar and feathers. Everyone would talk about it for the years to come," she smiled as she began to work on her back, her touches firm and steady. "Tell me if it hurts. It's not supposed to, but... well, everyone has different limits and I don't know yours yet," Cyreia shrugged. She tried to be gentle with her - genuinely did her best to do so - yet it would be kind of pointless if she just caressed her back. Nobody in their right mind would call that a real massage. Some amount of force had to be applied; it was just about determining how much was too much. It occurred her in that moment that informing Remin about her negotiations with magister Tyforth would probably be a wise course of action. She should know what exactly had happened.

"I almost forgot about it because of that conspiracy, but I think that I did well with magister Tyforth. We talked about a lot of things, including some reforms, and he seemed to appreciate my input. I actually ended up telling him about my magical talents and we arranged lessons, sort of. I made it clear that I intended to support the university, so it didn't seem too unsafe to reveal that." Still, Cyreia wondered whether she had gone too far. Would Remin consider her actions to be foolish?

 

[Conifer]

Remin’s eyes slipped closed nearly as quickly as he began his work, dropping away the unimportant information of the room. No, all that mattered was him, and her, and the practiced presses of his hands. This was nothing short of mostly innocent - they were both fully dressed in ridiculous party attire, and there wasn’t any truly indecent touching going on. And yet, it became increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything besides his touch as soon as he started working his hands across her. They weren’t even the gentle caresses from moments before - each touch had purpose. It wasn’t simply touch for the sake of touch - but this whole process was for the sake of touch. She wasn’t a fool, and she wasn’t complaining. His hands were more than welcome on her, anywhere he’d like them to be, with purpose or without, especially if his attention was so focused on her.

She did, despite her focus on Avther’s hands, pay attention to what he was saying. It was difficult to respond, when the time came, his work quickly slipping her into a content daze, but she managed it well enough. “It does sound like you did well,” she agrees with a murmur. “I don’t know him well, but I don’t know him to be an enemy. Telling him is probably safe enough if you found yourself trusting of him.” She fades into silence for a moment or two. “I honestly am impressed with you this evening.” Remin admits softly. “After the tailor’s, I had...worries that tonight was going to go poorly. But you’re doing very well. I know it’s a lot - these events are a lot, even for me, and even when plots don’t invite themselves as guests. But you’re handling it. More than handling it. Making allies, arranging lessons, managing to not insult anyone yet…” She laughs so softly, more a rush of air brimming with amusement at her own teasing than anything else, “If there was doubt that you’d make a wonderful king before now - which there hasn’t really been in days,” Days, gods. It was always remarkable how short a time they’d known each other so far. “Those doubts are gone.”

 

[Aerynth]

It didn't take long for her to slip into an easy rhythm. A press here, a press there, then a circular motion. Cyreia could go on like this for days. Truth be told, there were... more interesting things they could do, especially with no prying eyes involved, but rubbing her back felt nice, too. Remin seemed to like it and she, in turn, liked pleasing Remin. It was a self-sustaining cycle, really. Cyreia didn't understand how it worked, yet it did and nothing else mattered.

"Don't tempt me, Remin," she teased with a grin. "The night is still young and opportunities to ruin everything will be plentiful. Especially when it comes to insulting someone. Never underestimate my abilility to choose the worst words possible for any given situation. But," Cyreia began and her tone grew softer, "thank you. It means a lot that you believe in me. Frankly, I'm not nearly as confident. True, things are going surprisingly well today, yet there's still so much I don't know and I'm not even sure whether I can learn everything that is expected of me." Perhaps she really was too old to grasp some things; to attain Remin's mastery over self-control, for example. It seemed that you had to be raised in a certain way for it to become like your second skin. Cyreia's mind simply wasn't flexible enough to change so radically anymore; hadn't been for a long time now. "Sometimes I still wonder what king Loran was even thinking. I mean, I was far from the best candidate. Even so, I'm glad that it happened, and not just because I got to meet you. That's a large part of it, of course, but... I always wanted to be powerful enough to really make a difference. That's why I chased after all those promotions in the first place. I knew what it was like to have incompetent or cruel leaders, and I wanted to shield my comrades from that. I wanted to change a lot of things, at least before I found out that working within that structure had its limitations." Like civilian deaths. No matter how hard she had tried to prevent them, how harsh the punishments had been, they had always occurred. It was an inevitability in every conflict; almost a natural law. The army certainly had a way of breaking one's idealism. "Perhaps I can do more good here."

 

[Conifer]

“You can.” she agrees, reaching blindly out to touch him - she wants to hold his hand, wants to kiss him, but both of those things would require moving far more than she’d like to right now, and him stopping, which she also doesn’t want. A hand settled against his knee is enough. “You /are/. You have been.” Remin points out gently, running her thumb against his knee in soft, lazy circles, mirroring the work her was doing on her back. “I can’t wait to see what you’ll do when we properly have the time and resources and support to do it.” Remin knew there were dozens upon dozens of things that Athea could improve. Her parents had tried, of course they had, and the leaders before them and before them again, but there were always ways that things shifted, always things that changed, always new opinions and ideas and wants and needs and never enough time to work with them all. Beyond that, even, there were issues that her upbringing had made her blind to. The country hadn’t had a rule with the sort of perspective that Avther did in generations, and now, fresh out of the chaos, it needed one. Perhaps King Loran had Athea’s best interests in mind - she doubted it, she truly did, but there was always the chance. “What’s he like?” She asks. “King Loran? I...truly know far littler than I should, considering. I know the facts of him, but little of the public opinion. Of what sort of person he is, beyond one that declared war on us.”

 

[Aerynth]

What a question. Remin never failed to make her think, even if she probably wasn't aware of it. What kind of person was her former king anyway? "I'm not sure myself," Cyreia admitted after a moment of deliberation. "I don't know him that well. We used to meet to discuss strategy because he was very interested in the mechanics of war and the like, but as a person? He was an enigma more than anything else, really. I could never tell what he was thinking, mostly because he didn't speak much. He just... tended to listen to me. It was awkward." Cyreia had been secretly dreading those meetings. His eyes, cold and sharp, had always made her uncomfortable; it had felt as if she had been a specimen to be studied rather than a person. "What I liked about him was that I didn't have to mince my words in his presence. He just didn't care, so I could be myself, more or less. I suspect, though, that I could get away with more than most people because he was interested in what I had to say." Well, that, and she was also a hero in her country. A powerful tool of propaganda. Giving that up because of a few clumsily chosen words would have been unwise and king Loran was nothing if not pragmatic. "Generally, he does have the reputation of being quite stern and unapproachable. That's the way the Eupriunian nobility works, though. They aren't supposed to associate with the commoners much." Probably because, if they did so, the smallfolk could notice that the aristocrats were just people as well. That they were not that different. "As far as I can tell, he's rather popular. People view him as... a protector and a conqueror, which is pretty much what they want from a ruler." It probably sounded strange to Remin, it had to, but that was how it went in Eupriunia.

"What were your parents like?" she asked, unable to stop herself. The topic could still be painful for Remin, but... there was always a chance that she would welcome the opportunity to talk about them. Was there a better way to honor your loved ones than to speak of their past deeds? To remember them with fondness? "As rulers, I mean. Or even as people, if you don't mind talking about it. You don't have to, of course." Cyreia would have liked to meet the people who had raised Remin. She wasn't sure whether she could have looked them in the eye - not after that disastrous wedding - but perhaps it would have been nice, eventually. Perhaps they could have been a family.

 

[Conifer]

She wonders, as Avther talks, what thought had gone into giving him the throne. Had King Loran seen what she did now? He must have - it had only been such a short time, and she was sure that Avther would make a good king. She could only imagine what confidence years of conversations would give her. Or had it simply been a matter of loyalty? Did he see Avther as safe? Was he? What did King Loran even want with Athea, now that they’d been conquered? She would, she supposed, find that out eventually. For now she was simply grateful to have Avther at her side, through whatever reasoning had brought him here. Perhaps, some day, she should have a proper conversation with King Loran. That thought was terrifying, but honestly, it would likely happen whether she wanted it to or not.

Avther’s description of the king did sound somewhat strange to her - but not truly, with what she knew of Eupriunia, and with what she knew of rulers. People always wanted a protector - and a conqueror? If someone could conquer, it only proved them better protectors. They’ll seek the fight, and win it. She was sure that even in Athea, with its cultural differences, there were people pleased to be under his protection now. Especially since, after all, their previous protection hadn’t done a wonderful job of protecting them. She carried that. Not entirely, but somewhat. Remin knew little of the outcome of the war had anything to do with her besides the fact she’d been a pawn in it ending, but it was still her country by the end of it, and she still faced the wounds it was healing from.

“They were…” She’s quiet for a moment, lost in the patterns of pressure and her thoughts. What should she tell him? What could she, and still be presentable in a few minutes, when they had to face the rest of the world. “They were complicated. Better rulers than parents, I’ll admit, but so would they. They-- they made time for me, when I was old enough for it to matter and young enough to care, and when there was time to make time.” She’s quiet again, trying to wait out the wetness in her eyes. She won’t cry over them. She didn’t have time to. Not here. “But they were well-liked. Good people. My mother was wonderful with words - any speech my father made was likely written by her, and gods, she didn’t let anyone forget it. And my father was a much quieter man than any of those speeches would let on. He would have been happy if he could sit in his study, or the library, and be seen by few, and simply do all the correspondence required of him with my mother as the messenger. She wrote most his letters for him, admittedly, but that fact’s kept much more private than the speeches. They worked together well. She cared for the complicated parts of ruling, but not to the level he did, and he cared for their image, but not to the point he did.”

“They’d have me sit with them, often, when they were trying to solve problems. Just the three of us, over cake or tea or whatever. It was training, of course, but I rarely saw it as that. I didn’t understand the depth of the things - they were simply puzzles to be solved, and sitting with them trying to solve them was just...time spent with them. Rarely did I say anything worth listening to until I was older, but it was still…” Bittersweet, when she had grown to realise that she wasn’t there to just be there, as their daughter, “...nice. It was nice.”

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia half-expected her to just... refuse to talk. To give her a response that said absolutely nothing and move on. Remaining guarded wouldn't be strange at all; her wounds still needed time to close properly, especially after the affair with Vestat. God, did she make it even worse for her by asking? If that was true, Remin didn't allow her to see it. Instead of that, she opened up and Cyreia found herself feeling more and more sorry for her with each word. Perhaps that wasn't an appropriate emotion to feel here. From what Remin had said, they had seemed to be good people, they really had, and her needs had been taken care of. Had they truly been there for her, though? Had her mother ever kissed a bruise on her knee to make it heal faster? Had her father ever told her bedtime stories? Of course, Cyreia had known that Remin's life had been lonely. The depth of that loneliness still shocked her, though.

What had it felt like, being sidelined by her own parents in favor of duty? Never being the priority? That wasn't something Cyreia had ever experienced. For all of their arguments, for all of their bickering, her mother had always made it clear that she had been the most important thing in her life. Not work, not anything else, just her. That's how I want to make her feel, too, Cyreia thought as she pressed a soft kiss on the back of Remin's neck. Her wife deserved to feel treasured for who she was, not just for what she represented. Loved and wanted.

"I'm sure they must have enjoyed those moments with you, even if it was partly work as well," she murmured into her neck. "I can't imagine it being otherwise." Not when she was so lovely anyway. "I'm also sure they would have been proud of you. It's clear they taught you well." Perhaps a small solace, though hopefully a solace nonetheless. It had cost her her childhood - which was sad and unfair - but at least Remin could stand on her on two feet now. Could deal with every obstacle in her way with grace. That was her parents' legacy. Wasn't that a proof of love as well?

 

[Conifer]

“I think so, as well.” She agrees softly. That was the one thing that had made everything leading up to the wedding to be manageable: they’d have been proud of her for it. For placing the country above herself, for taking her duties head on and fixing the problem. It didn’t fix the war, obviously, but it kept it from getting worse, and kept it from drawing out until they were utterly devastated by it. It might not have all gone the same way had they still been alive, but...but it went this way, and she wasn’t upset by it. Especially not now that Avther had turned out a husband she truly wanted to have rather than one thrust upon her by fate and duty.

She shifts on to her back, wanting to face him. She’s sure she looks half a mess right now - eyes damper than she’d like them to be, hair a bit of a mess, lightly flushed from his touch and the emotion - but he’s seen her in far worse of states and he’d see her in worse even still, she was sure. Remin doesn’t say much for a moment, just looking at him. She admiring him, admiring the way his robes settle, admiring the way the light falls him at this moment. They’d have been proud of her, certainly, but. “I wish I could tell them about you. I wish they knew.” She finds his hand and takes it, holding loosely. “They were chosen for each other as well. I don’t think they ever loved each other like we- like you’d want to love your partner, but they loved each other deeply all the same. They were best friends. All three of us always knew that my marriage would be arranged for me, but they’d hoped I could at least find what they had. I wish they knew that I managed to do that.” She smiles softly, sadly, this little speech doing little to make her eyes any less damp. “They’d have liked you quite a lot, I think.”

 

[Aerynth]

Remin was beautiful. Not that she had ever been anything but that in her eyes, but Cyreia treasured those rare moments when she looked like this; a little messy, distanced from the usual perfection her role demanded of her. It made it seem like she was finally able to let go, if only for a little while, and... just be herself. Oh, how Cyreia wanted that for her. Wanted it so much that her chest hurt. Maybe it also hurt for other reason, though. Remin's little slip didn't escape her attention. I don't think they ever loved each other like we? It wasn't hard to guess what exactly she had meant to say before correcting herself. Like we do. Did Remin really love her, though? She seemed to love Avther, certainly, but what about Cyreia? Could she ever find it in her heart to forgive her? To learn to like her, let alone love her? What if she even didn't fancy women in the way Cyreia did? God, there were so many questions. Well, I suppose I will find out tonight. For now, though, Cyreia wanted to stay in this sweet limbo where everything seemed uncomplicated, or at least as uncomplicated as it could possibly get for them. Where they loved each other, but didn't have the courage to admit it just yet.

"I would have liked to meet them as well," she said and caressed her face, her own eyes suspiciously wet as well. "It's also a shame you'll never meet my mother. God, she would have been so nervous about getting to know you. A real princess. In the end, though, I think she would have treated you just like me, which would have likely involved force feeding you at every opportunity. She always thought I was too skinny and I doubt it would have been different with you," Cyreia laughed softly. "But maybe she knows about you. You know, in Eupriunia, we believe that the dead watch over their relatives. Well, sort of. More like observe you and judge your choices. The point is, you're never alone because they are with you." Cyreia didn't really believe it herself, definitely not in the literal sense, but it was a nice thought and maybe Remin would appreciate it as well.

 

[Conifer]

Remin smiled softly at the thought. The dead were dead once they were laid to rest in Athea, but it was nice, to think that her parents might be able to see - or judge, were that the case - the result of their work to raise her to be someone who could handle the weight of a country. "That's nice." She murmurs, leaning into his touch. "I imagine I would have liked her a lot. From what you've said…" from what he's said, she wouldn't have known how to act around her, honestly. Her own mother was never cold to her, never anything like that, but she also certainly wasn't the sort of person to be that warm. Remin's glad that Avther's upbringing was different than hers - he deserved that sort of care.


Remin sighs, sitting up reluctantly. "We really should prepare to go out there again, I guess." She doesn't make any move to leave the bed, though, not eager to spill out into the hall and into the party and have to laugh away admittedly earned gossip. She would, but she wasn't eager for it. "Thank you, for the massage. It was wonderful, and if you're not careful, I'll be asking it of you far more often than you'd like. But I'll find some way to reciprocate, I'm sure," she presses a kiss to his hand. "Even if my own skills in that exact matter aren't up to par. We're clever. We'd think of something."