Fantasy All's Fair

[Aerynth]

Not rushing into the fun parts? Was that how she perceived it? It was all fun. The smiles she had managed to coax out of Remin despite her better judgement, the way they had danced around each other in careful circles, the small touches. Or at least it had been fun until the reality had gotten in the way, as it tended to do. Until her past had caught up to her. Suddenly, Cyreia didn't really feel hungry. She hadn't felt especially hungry even before, to be entirely honest, but the small appetite that had been there was completely gone now. The food in her mouth tasted like ash. Still, she had to sit at the table, laugh at Everbright's remarks and come up with something witty to say from time to time. What a life. No, I can't mope around. This-- this is practice. Yes, practice. Training. Cyreia needed to get better at pretending if she wanted to last more than a few months in her new position, so all of her energy into learning. It was also a distraction, which looked even more appealing at the moment.

"I'm sure you can find someone who is worthy of you. He doesn't even need to be a soldier. Just between you and me, soldiers are an awful lot. Believe me, I know everything about that. They drink and eat far too much, care about manners far too little and they absolutely refuse to read poetry. Very few soldiers would recite verses to you, my lady." Or do anything terribly romantic, really. Cyreia didn't know what exactly Everbright imagined to be a typical soldier, but-- most of the men she knew from the army were just that. Normal men, mostly from rather poor backgrounds. That didn't make them unworthy in her eyes, certainly, but the same might not be true for lady Everbright.

"You do not drink much, though," Everbright pointed out, "and judging by the state of your plate, you aren't a big eater, either, my king. So what is the truth?" she asked playfully.

"I have other vices, but unfortunately, that's a state secret," Cyreia said, thinking about the fact that Everbright was more observant than she let on. Not many people would have bothered to notice that her wine had stayed mostly untouched throughout the evening. Did it come naturally to her? Probably. It didn't seem likely that this girl, this child was some secret mastermind.

"Aww, come on," the lady laughed. "You have to share something, my king. It will only make you seem more human when I tell all of my friends!" Alright, that was actually... surprisingly honest, and Cyreia had to chuckle. "My queen, perhaps you could tell me about some of the bad things your husband does! There has to be something, otherwise we'd all die out of jealousy."

 

[Conifer]

“If he has vices, I haven’t made their acquaintance yet.” Remin smiles, surprising herself with its genuineness. As much of an annoyance as this was, it was...kind of nice, in this moment. Rarely could she be honest with anyone besides herself about her feelings. It was a nice change for someone to expect the romanticized best from them their relationship, some fated lovers who lucked into this, instead of someone expecting them to be little more than business partners forced into cohabitation. “Besides his tendency to rush into danger as if it can’t affect him. And his dreadful dancing, before I taught him better. And he snores.” She teases, glancing at Cyeria. “Only lightly, but he does.”

Strategically, this was good. Her social circle was wide, and Remin had no doubt that she’d be telling stories of the new king to all of them - her inadvertently taking on part of their quest to make him more than some war hero, some soldier...it would lighten the load considerably of doing that work themselves. But this moment it felt more like gossiping with a friend over a new love than an act of politics, and that left Remin feeling strange about it all. This wasn’t something she was familiar with. It was nice, it was, but it was-- it was strange. That’s all.

“Is that so,” Everbright grins. “And what of our queen, my king?” She turns to Cyreia. “We all know her to be an excellent leader, of course - and a wonderful tutor, judging by your dance last night - but surely she has some of her own vices. What makes our beloved queen human?”

 

[Aerynth]

"What!" Cyreia half-laughed, half-snorted. "Stop with this slander, my queen. I do not snore. Do you know how close to other people I've slept throughout my career? Surely at least one of them would have told me, or thrown a pillow at me, but I never received a word of complaint. And rushing into danger is a valid strategy if you're more dangerous than the thing you're rushing at. I categorically refuse to acknowledge this as a shortcoming." Cyreia didn't even mind that she showed Everbright an actual flaw in the process - her inclinations towards childishness - because this, this felt fun. The banter with Remin. That was what this was, wasn't it? There may have been a middlewoman, a witness, but ultimately, they were just... teasing each other. A wave of nostalgia washed over her. Of course, thinking of anything related to nostalgia was stupid since they had only known each other for about two weeks, yet it felt longer than that. Yesterday had changed so many things between them that the period of carefree joking seemed more distant in her mind. Painfully distant. Still, Cyreia would indulge in this small pleasure. She would take what she could get.

Remin's faults, though? "That's a difficult question. Let me think for a moment, my lady." Cyreia rubbed her chin, considering what was safe to share and what was not. So many of the things she could say would land Remin in hot water and that would be less than optimal. It would be the last thing she wanted, really. Finally, after a few moments, Cyreia grinned.

"Alright, this is rather scandalous, so please keep it to yourself," she started, "but our queen is actually shockingly comfortable with committing crime. When she fell sick during the journey, I offered to steal a dessert for her and she gave me the permission. Just like that!" A slightly altered version of events, perhaps, but close enough to the truth that Cyreia felt justified in saying it. "She can also be way too competitive for her own good." Like in that washroom, for example, except that nothing could make her say that aloud. Not in front of Everbright at the very least. The way she glanced at Remin, though? Surely her wife knew what she had meant by that particular statement. "But aside from that? She's perfect." Hopefully that didn't sound too much like flirting. It could be interpreted like that, certainly, yet it was also well within the realm of jokes. Safe enough, right?

 

[Conifer]

“The dessert was no crime.” she protests. “I’m sure it would have been freely given if I’d asked.” Gods, that felt so long ago. It was hardly more than a week, but it felt ancient by now. There was just so much that had happened even in the past day that even the dealings with Vestat felt like months had passed. No. Just days, really. A number of them, but still only days. That was little more than a passing thought, though - this banter and teasing was far more fun than it had any right to be. Would it translate to their private moments? Were those preserved the way these interactions were, when Cyriea was able to drop the mask of Avther? “But I will admit that I’m dreadful to play most games with.”

“Save for last night, it seems.” Everbright teases. Remin’s glad that’s what she caught on, instead of the faint bemused embarassment that crossed Remin’s face at the look that Cyreia shot her way. Would they get that again? Would they have evenings like that? Remin supposed it was up to her. Gods, she had no idea. Only time would tell “Not even all of the eggs were found!”

“Save for last night.” Remin agrees. “Again, I apologize for that. But stains are dreadful things.” Whether or not she’d believed that excuse last night, she seems more or less content with it again, letting the conversation slip back into watching Remin and Avther banter with unrestrained amusement. “And-- anyways, I /am/ the one who found the egg, so if were a competition between the two of us, then I won it.” She grins brightly at Cyreia. “And who’s the one starting bets of how quickly it will take you to ruin your clothes?”

 

[Aerynth]

"Alright, alright, I'm terrible at locating eggs. You win. Happy, my queen?" Cyreia raised her arms in a fake defensive gesture. God, their plans to appear distant had gone out the window again, hadn't they? The thing was, Cyreia didn't care. In this moment, it felt as if yesterday hadn't happened at all. As if there wasn't the problem of her not being what Remin needed. It would resurface again, that much she was sure of, but, but. If nothing else, Cyreia could have this. They both could. It wasn't difficult to see that Remin enjoyed their banter as well, which filled her with all kinds of feelings. Mostly good ones. Just how much of what they had shared had been lost? Just how much of it could be salvaged? Perhaps more than what she allowed herself to hope for. Perhaps less. Perhaps Remin only put up a front to amuse lady Everbright and lead her away from asking invasive questions. Her wife certainly could pull something like that off. Did she, though? God, existing in the state of perpetual uncertainty was exhausting. No, Cyreia wouldn't overthink things. Focusing on the present felt like the more pleasant option, so she did just that.

"That was a perfectly rational decision. I tried to motivate myself to be more careful with my clothes. There was no competitiveness involved at all," Cyreia lied through her teeth, and it was obvious and she didn't care about that, either.

"I sense a story behind that," lady Everbright immediately perked up.

"Not a very interesting one, though. I ruined one of my robes when I took on those bandits my queen already told you about, then my other robe was burned when--" when Vestat set me on fire "-- when I leaned too close to a fireplace for my own good and then I destroyed my other shirt while helping with some construction work." The thing with the fireplace sounded a bit contrived to her ears, but luckily, lady Everbright focused on a different detail.

"... construction work?" Perhaps for the first time ever, their host seemed genuinely baffled.

"I, uh. I helped some people repair some of the damages done by the Eupriunian army," Cyreia admitted, shame leaking through her voice. "The point is, if I don't learn how to take better care of my clothes, the kingdom will go bankrupt. Do you have any tips for that, my queen? Somehow, you always manage to look spotless." Cyreia certainly did not feel like talking about Hadsberry; not with this little lady who knew nothing about hardship. Maybe that was a bit unfair, but she couldn't help her feelings surrounding the matter.

 

[Conifer]

“Unfortunately not,” She says quickly, hoping to fill the pause in conversation quick enough that Everbright doesn’t have a chance to drag them back to construction. As noble as that all had been, it almost felt like a defeat of its purpose if that was included among the things to brag about. Cyreia seemed to have little interest in discussing it, so Remin would help keep that from being a topic as best she could. “But perhaps we’ll just have to keep making bets with increasingly difficult stakes - You’ve proved a quick learner. Maybe you just need some motivation.” The thought of what those bets would be -- so much of her wanted to be with her alone, right now, to truly test what had shifted. Because this hadn’t. This was so precisely the same that it was terrifying in how easy it was. Perhaps, though, only terrifying because it may only be in open rooms that they’re able to do this.

“I’m sure you’d think of some very worthwhile stakes, my queen.” Everbright teases - the earlier admission that they were taking things more slowly than she was implying seeming to do very little to dissuade her innuendo.

“Or perhaps we’ll just find you some cheap things to wear on the daily, and keep the things that it matters if you destroy to special events.” Remin moved past that. This was, after all, the actual solution to that whole matter.

Everbright mock-pouts, giggling. “Oh, but that’s far more boring! And a man in nice things is always a much better sight, don’t you agree? No, no, my vote is on the bets."

 

[Aerynth]

"Maybe I do," Cyreia agreed smoothly. "It would have to be something interesting, though. You know by now how fickle my attention can be." God, what was she even doing? Hadn't she promised Remin that she would be given time to deal with the situation? All of their promises of restraint had been pretty flimsy so far, but she really wanted to do this right. Wanted to give her some space to breathe without... without flirting with her, for god's sake. It seemed, though, that it came to her naturally in Remin's presence. That was just what they did. Simply stopping looked like an impossible task. I will have to do exactly that, though. Remin apparently had a similar idea because it looked like she tried to move away from the topic of bets, but Everbright wouldn't let her. Of course she wouldn't; it just seemed too juicy.

So she wants bets, eh? Cyreia could give her just that. The bets she would suggest couldn't be construed as romantic scenarios, though. "Oh, I have an idea or two. I kind of feel like I'm contributing to my own doom here by giving you tips, but... well, I know myself. I know what would work." She didn't, not really, and that was the entire point of her little speech. Stalling for time while trying to think of things that were both outrageous and had zero romantic connotations. It proved to be surprisingly difficult, mostly because her mind was flooded with the pictures of intimacy. Kissing Remin, making her feel good, giving herself to her entirely. Cyreia shook her head as if trying to clear it. "You could confiscate my sword. I would probably take that pretty badly, though, and I cannot promise that I wouldn't try to steal it back. Or you could make me drink. Apparently I do amusing things when I'm drunk, so it might be worth it."

"Like what?" Everbright asked, happy to grow another rumor to her ever-growing collection.

"Like climbing a tower just to replace our flag with someone's dirty cloak." Cyreia had actually been sober back then, but blaming it on drunkenness was easier than trying to explain why exactly it had seemed like a good idea to her. Besides, not sharing too many details would be the wisest course of action here. This particular story was entirely harmless, of course; a mere mischief. What if she got too comfortable with telling Everbright things, though? Who knew what could slip past her defenses then? No, she had to keep her distance. Amuse her, but carefully.

"Gods," Everbright laughed, "my queen, it looks like you will have to learn how to restrain your husband. His highness seems dangerous."

 

[Conifer]

“His highness is dangerous.” She agrees, far more meaning falling to the words than surely Everbright intended. “But I’ve managed to contain his urge for danger thus far - but perhaps I should hide the mead when we return home, just in case.” Remin teases, knowing that that truly wouldn’t be much of a danger. As Everbright had noticed, Cyeria seemed wont to avoid inebriation. Or perhaps that was just protection, to keep her secret safe? Remin would find out, perhaps.

“”I believe in you, my queen.” And then, finally, sighs. “I’d best check in on some of the others,” Everbright says, regretfully, sobering a bit (as much as they’d ever seen her calm). “I happen to know that Yvette and Lady Marelda entered the same room last night and didn’t emerge until morning, and if the way they danced last night…” She trails off, laughing softly. “Maybe my seating them together panned out as intended after all. I’ll have to find out. They’re sweet together, I think, and gods know that Yvette could use someone after the whole mess with her brother last year.” Remin had utterly no idea what she was talking about, and utterly no desire to ask. The thought that Everbright thought herself a matchmaker was interesting, though. Interesting for what purpose she had no idea, but interesting all the same. “It was sincerly an honor to have you both here. Please - don’t be strangers? You always have a friend here. The both of you.” She smiles softly, and the earnestness of her words is honestly endearing to Remin. “And please, if you meet any handsome, charming bachelors, you know where to send them.” She says more specifically to Remin, and then with a small delighted laugh, she looks to Cyeria. “And if you know any handsome soldiers who /would/ read me poetry, you also know where to send them. I don’t even mind if they’re Eupriunian, if they’re dashing enough.”

 

[Aerynth]

Somehow, it didn't shock Cyreia that Everbright's nosiness applied to everyone and not just them. Despite herself, though, she was actually beginning to like her. So what if she acted like a brat at times? The lady probably did mean well, which was more than most nobility they had met so far could say about themselves, and when she wasn't being annoying, she could be utterly charming. Perhaps age would remove the more irritating aspects of her personality on its own. Perhaps not. That remained to be seen. "If we find ourselves with some free time, we will be sure to pay you a visit," Cyreia said and it surprised her how much she meant those words. Then again, the condition of 'finding themselves with some free time' likely translated into not seeing each other for ages. Well, they could, at the very least, invite Everbright to the feast they were about to hold. Maybe her presence could even be utilized somehow. Surely she knew many things about the people they intended to charm there; knew many things and wouldn't hesitate to share them. Employing her as an unwitting spy would have its benefits. "It's been a pleasure to meet you as well. And if I meet someone dashing enough, I'll be sure to send them your way." More parting words were said, but Cyreia mostly tuned them out. Empty pleasantries, nothing more and nothing less.

After a few minutes, Cyreia and Remin found themselves alone in their room. They had to leave soon, so packing their things was in order, but somehow, she didn't feel like doing that. Not when they could relish this final moment of privacy. After they left, they would be surrounded by the guards again, and who knew what the conditions would be like with the Marshes. Still, though, what could she possibly hope to do with that intimacy now? Kiss her? Hardly. Cyreia had already gotten used to kissing her whenever she wanted and her entire being positively tingled with want now, but... no. That would be low of her. Lower than usual. Besides, it wasn't like she couldn't enjoy spending time with her without physical contact. Talking to her freely, without the constraint of their roles, was nice, too. More than nice. Maybe that would turn sour as well now with Avther gone, as many other things had. Or at least bittersweet. Still, though, Cyreia was willing to try. "Honestly? That wasn't nearly as terrible as I expected it to be," she chuckled as she turned around to pack her things after all, although at a rather leisurely pace. "And do I really snore? I refuse to believe that."

 

[Conifer]

As much as she was eager to leave this place and its replacement plots and its chatty hostess, Remin kind of dreaded being alone with Cyreia again. This had been so...normal. This cheerful not-not flirting, this teasing, this pretending like everything was utterly fine.She just wanted this to keep going.
But there was...really no reason it couldn’t. Avther was Cyeria. Alright. A name, that’s all, that’s all it really was. There were no lies beyond that. Nothing had changed. Her gender, yes, but that hadn’t /changed/. And she hadn’t truly been lied to. At no point had Cyeria declared the sex of her body - it had only been assumption. Lies by omission, at best, which were more clever strategy than anything else. All this was was clever strategy. (Or-- or desperate strategy, resorting to last-ditch efforts to save herself, which was more noble, even if the whole thing had grown more elaborate and complicated than she’d intended.)
And it had been no act she’d been performing in front of Lady Everbright. Yes, she’d reached more eagerly for drama, but it hadn’t been an act in that any of it was forced or faked.

Things felt differently when they were alone, but...not bad differently. She shied away from taking her hand, from kissing her in the way she would have kissed Avther once they were safely tucked away, but she’d done that with Avther, too, only a few days prior. They were a few steps back. That’s all. A few steps back, and she’d simply take the next ones carefully, to be sure they were still the same steps she expected them to be. Nothing was different, besides a name. She just knew the whole matter. The steps would be the same.
(Honestly, Remin wonders what she might have done had this reveal come in the washroom. What would she have said? What would she have done? She had been filled with so much simple want then that honestly, it was hard to be sure that she would have done anything less than ask for more. Remin’s glad it didn’t come then, of course, but it might have just been...easier. Simpler. Something to grow used to before she had to think of it, instead of the other way around.)

At any rate, they were in no washroom now. Maybe someday they’d cut away that tiny piece of safety again, but this room wasn’t it, even if they wanted it to be. No. One step at a time. Test them, to be sure. She moves past Cyreia, a gentle hand skimming against her back as she reaches past the other woman to reach for something of Remin’s just past her. “Only a little,” She teases softly, smiling. “I’m not even sure it would count as a snore. Maybe it’s just -- passionately breathing from your nose while you sleep, with a tonal quality similar to snoring.”

 

[Aerynth]

"Passionately breathing through my nose," Cyreia repeated, faintly amused. "I think I can live with that. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I kept you up at night." That wasn't entirely true, though she had hoped to do it with different things. Still did, as inappropriate as it was. God, she loved her so much. Revealing her true face to Remin only accentuated that; finally, finally she could be truly herself in front someone, anyone, and it turned out that that came with... well, increased honesty towards herself, too. Avther had kind of distorted things. There had been the weight of expectations, the weight of having to conform to them or risk being found out. Affection for her wife may very well have been a part of that, too. Subtly, in a way that would be hard to notice among all the other lies. Cyreia, though? Cyreia saw everything clearly. It really had been her the entire time. Doubts, if there had been any, were completely gone now. Her anxiety very much wasn't and probably wouldn't be for a long time, but... Small victories. Tresure the small victories, remember?

She wanted to wrap her in her arms. Wanted to do much more than that, actually. Wanting something, however, didn't make it right. That much was obvious. Nothing else seemed to be, though. Where, exactly, was the divide between treating Remin warmly (which she absolutely intended to do, no matter what happened) and seducing her? Intruding on her personal space? How to determine that reliably? Well, communication had done the trick before, so Cyreia decided to try again.

"Is this fine?" she ended up asking softly as she folded her clothes and put them in the trunk. Her technique wasn't perfect and a lot of it would inevitably become wrinkled before they reached their destination, but that hardly mattered. Other things were on her mind right now. "I mean, the way I act around you. I know you asked for time and I don't have a problem with that, but... well, sometimes I struggle with recognizing what is alright and what is too much and I don't wish to make you uncomfortable. So, if you think I'm being too... too direct with my affections, say a word and I'll back off." Trust was a fragile thing, after all, and her little escapade must have damaged it to a point. Restoring it to the former state required complete transparency.

 

[Conifer]

“It doesn’t keep me up.” Remin assures her, dropping her hand from her back as she retreats back out of her space, the item grabbed. Her things were mostly packed still, not having needed to take too much from the luggage, and she makes short work of re-packing the rest of it neatly. “It’s... quite honestly, it’s comforting.” Remin admits. “There’s no doubt that you’re still in our bed without me even having to open my eyes.” Her not being there...it wasn’t a worry that had any ground, but it was the smallest little worry all the same. Remin doubted that she would ever stop existing on that tiny scrap of doubt that Cyeria’s motives were dishonest, even before last night’s admission. She trusted her, and with every part of her that wasn’t programmed royalty, she knew that Cyeria wouldn’t harm her. The parts that knew to expect the worst, though, didn’t agree so easily. She would continue to ignore them, but they were still there, all quiet and constant.

With her things packed away, Remin moved to sit on the edge of the bed, watching Cyeria work. Absolutely everything was going to wrinkle. It didn’t matter. “I will.” Remin promises quietly. “But that doesn’t seem to be an issue.” She hesitates, for a moment, not wanting to say things that weren’t true. But it was. Gods, it was. It was strange and shifting, but this was still true: “My own affections towards you remain. They’re just-- this is all just complicated.” Was it, though? Was it as complicated as she tried to say it was? She’d been convincing herself it wasn’t all morning. No. Cyeria was being honest with Remin, and Remin would attempt honesty with both Cyeria and herself. “...or strange. More strange than complicated, I guess, and I hate that it’s so strange. It should just be simple, shouldn’t it?” Things rarely were. Especially if you counted on them to be.

Remin stands, lingering by the bed for a moment before moving to besides Cyeria, and beginning to re-pack her luggage so things were less likely to wrinkle. The wrinkling didn’t truly matter, but it was an excuse to be near her that she now felt like she needed. It also had the added benefit of allowing her to talk quieter, just in case anyone did happen to walk past their door, but that wasn’t even an intentional benefit. “You don’t need to change anything. Just be yourself. That’s all you’ve been this entire time with me, even with the omission of the entire truth of who that was. And I, against all my better judgement, happen to like you being yourself quite a lot.” Remin reaches out to Cyeria’s hand, briefly squeezing it before setting back to work unfolding and re-folding. “I promise, my feelings haven’t changed. I think nothing short of honest, intentional betrayal would change them at this point.”

 

[Aerynth]

Where else would I would be? Cyreia almost said it aloud, but a strange tightness in her throat prevented her from speaking. Would she just end up crying every day now? Was that going to become their new tradition? God, and to think there had been times when she had genuinely thought all of her tears had been burned away. The ease with which Remin managed to get under her skin every time was downright pathetic; almost as if she knew all the weak spots in her armor and targeted them exclusively. The thing was, her wife probably did all of this completely unintentionally and Cyreia didn't even dislike it. Feeling so vulnerable with someone could be nice, too. All of this was fresh and new and she would savor it, for as long as it lasted. For as long as circumstances allowed her to. And, despite everything, it seemed that these circumstances were actually much more favorable than they had initially appeared to be.

"Well," Cyreia said when she found her voice again, "this being strange isn't necessarily a bad thing. At least you won't get bored of me and... and maybe, one day, we will get to the point where it starts being strange in a pleasant way. Although, thinking of it now, you probably wouldn't call that strange. Fascinating would be the better word here. Not that I don't find you fascinating now, of course. Just-- well. You know what I meant." Was she rambling? Almost definitely, but the relief felt too immense for her to care. Remin still held her dear. God, was there a limit to her kindness? There had to be, though Cyreia never wanted to discover it on her own. She would do everything in her power to ensure that that wouldn't happen. "I can stay myself for you," she said, smiling softly as she watched Remin work on her clothes. "That is a promise I can actually keep, I think. Thank you, Remin, really. I know that I thank you a lot these days, but I mean it every single time I say it."

After saying goodbye to both sisters, it was time to head for the Marshes' mansion. They did so immediately, taking advantage of the nice weather and wind blowing in their back. As always, Cyreia welcomed the opportunity to return back to saddle, even if only for a few hours. The castle walls seemed almost claustrophobic at times while horse-riding was the exact opposite of that; a much-needed antidote. It would have been a nice trip, really, if it wasn't for their destination. From what Cyreia had heard about the Marshes, they weren't an old family; similarly to her, they had been exalted for their service to the kingdom two generations ago. In a country where most of the noble families could trace their roots centuries back, that was less than a blink of an eye. They had never forgotten what exactly had earned them their titles, too, which meant that they devoted a lot of energy to war efforts. Many of them led their armies personally, too. It was too bad that they wanted to get rid of her because Cyreia had a feeling that they would actually have a lot to talk about. Well, who knows? Perhaps there will be some unexpected sympathies. That was the entire reason behind not dodging their invitation, wasn't it? To try and change their opinion somehow, as they hopefully had with Ossia Everbright. Either way, Cyreia showed little anxiety during the journey, mostly because she didn't feel a lot of it. Sure, nothing about this would be easy or uncomplicated, but panicking in advance wouldn't get her anywhere. It made no sense to worry about invisible threats. Instead of that, she returned to her usual chatty self and spent most of the time with Remin. They wouldn't get to speak with each other freely while staying with the Marshes and Cyreia wanted to seize every opportunity to do so.

When they arrived, a stern-looking man welcomed them; the lord's eldest son, as they learned. His name was Maric. "I am afraid that father is currently unavailable," he said after they exchanged basic pleasantries, "but he will greet you shortly. He has some pressing business to attend to first." Was it really pressing business, though, or a thinly veiled insult? Cyreia couldn't imagine affairs more important than meeting one's king and queen, but perhaps she was being unfair. There could have been some sort of emergency, as contrived as it seemed. Accidents rarely cared about timing. "I hope that you like hunts, your highness, because one will be taking place today in your honor. My queen," he proceeded to turn to Remin, "would you like to join as well? If not, you can attend a tea party with the rest of the ladies instead." It was apparent from his tone that he expected Remin to choose the latter; queens didn't tend to join hunts very often, after all.

 

[Conifer]

Remin had honestly little desire to accompany the Marshes on the hunt - a quiet day, tucked away, one of the last few she’d likely have for a good while sounded kind of nice, and she was no hunter. But there was no way that she was going to allow one of the families who she knew was actively against the king be alone with her. Not on a hunt, of all things. Too many ‘accidents’ could happen, and she’d have no true way of proving that it wasn’t an accident. Maybe it was foolish and they’d be just as eager to deal with the both of them, but that at least was an easier thought to both bear and count as unlikely than them simply doing away with Cyeria. “I may not participate, but perhaps I’ll tag along to witness?” She suggests. “We’ve been cooped up far to much despite all this riding - some time in the woods and fresh air sounds appealing.” This, however, offered more risk. She knew Cyeria could defend herself well enough - but what if the Marshes did intend to turn on them? Could Cyeria defend the both of them just as easily? She was overthinking this, surely, but underthinking could leave them in a poor spot. But...no. She’d prepare herself as best she could and accompany the hunt. Nothing would happen, and if it did, she would trust in Cyeria.

Maric’s expression did little to hide that, for whatever reasons he had, he wasn’t exactly pleased with this turn. “Very well.” He agrees anyways, waving over one of the women waiting nearby. “This is June. She’ll tend to you on your visit. Should you need anything, simply ask her, and she’ll be able to provide for you. She’ll show you to your rooms now, so you may rest from your trip, and in a short while will bring you to meet my father in the tea room.”

The woman who was June looked innocent enough, but that didn’t do much to settle the hesitance that filled Remin as they followed her down the dark-wood halls of the manor. Were they to be observed nearly every moment of this visit? It seemed that way. She didn’t enter their room when they arrived (large and warm, decorated in deep red and golds) but stood outside it all the same, just by the door. She didn’t hear footsteps as it closed behind them. They’d have to be careful of what they said. Remin had little doubt that she would report whatever they said to the Marshes, and that wouldn’t do them any good.

“I hope you don’t mind me attending the hunt.” She says carefully, grateful that at least June cannot see them through the door. She shuffles through her things, searching for something to write on and with. “I know it’s not the most ladylike of activities, but…” She writes as she speaks, covering any sound of pen against paper and suspicious silence, before sliding the paper over to Cyeria. She doesn’t doubt that she’s already caught on, but it’d be best to be careful. ‘Speak carefully anywhere here. She’s definitely listening in. I wouldn’t trust that we’re truly alone even if it seems we are while we’re anywhere here.’

 

[Aerynth]

A hunt? How awfully convenient. In theory, Cyreia might have actually welcomed this development. While she didn't have a lot of experience with hunts, participating in one still sounded better than sitting in some lord's hall and listening to fake compliments. In this context, though? The idea just seemed suspicious. Also mildly insulting, if she were to be completely honest. When setting up a trap, any hunter worth his salt made it look appealing with the help of tasty bait, or at least hid the cold steel so that the prey couldn't spot it. The Marshes, on the other hand, didn't even have the decency to try and look nonthreatening while asking her to participate in a sport that could easily result in death. Did they consider her to be completely stupid? In a way, Cyreia supposed, this was actually refreshing. Not many people dared to underestimate her at this point in her life. How strangely fun.

What didn't amuse her, though, was the way Maric looked at Remin when she insisted on joining the spectators. It looked like a mix between surprise, contempt and annoyance; not a good combination, and one that made her blood boil when directed at her wife. "I'll be honored to attend," Cyreia said nevertheless, her tone just a little bit colder than it had to be, "though I'm afraid that I won't impress anyone with my skills. My training did not focus on animals." It had to be the faintest of threats in the history, but it was there; the implication that it hadn't focused on animals because she had always fought people. People like him. Did he catch it? If he meant them ill, then most likely yes. People who plotted something tended to observe their targets and over-interpret every single reaction. There was no way the man would miss it in that case. If, on the other hand, his intentions were pure, then her message probably went over his head. Either way, Cyreia couldn't read his expression; whatever his motivations were, Maric didn't even flinch. I guess I will find out soon enough anyway. God, the atmosphere felt so chilly that she almost regretted not wearing something warmer despite the nice weather.

Wordlessly, she let June lead them to their room. As most of the rooms they had stayed in, this one was nice as well; too big for two people and full of animals hides. The Marshes, it seemed, truly were passionate hunters. "Well, it is certainly... a decision I didn't expect you to make, my queen," she said, speaking just loud enough to conceal the sounds of writing. Clearly, it didn't take her too long to notice what was going on. 'Are you sure about joining us?' Cyreia wrote down under Remin's reply, her handwriting large and inelegant in comparison with hers, but still perfectly readable. Not that she didn't understand why Remin wanted to be there, not that she didn't appreciate her concern, but still. There were situations non-combatants simply shouldn't place themselves in and this seemed to be one of them.

'It may be dangerous. You'd have to stay close to me the entire time if I am to watch over you, but that could be dangerous in itself, depending on what they intend to do.' "I do not mind, certainly, but what about the ladies? Surely they've been looking forward to meeting you and your absence will wound them greatly. Do you not wish to reconsider?" Cyreia hoped against hope that they wouldn't be forced to have these dual conversations for long because she could see it getting really confusing really fast. For now, though, it felt that she managed to convey her sentiments well in both of them. 'You don't need to worry about me. I will have my guards. I'm sure everything will be fine, one way or another.'

 

[Conifer]

“I’m not entirely convinced one way or another,” Remin admits as she writes her reply. There were probably ways they could say all of this tucked between nice, unassuming language, but that wasn’t a skill she was sure that Cyeria possessed in enough to be comfortable relying on it for something like this. She didn’t doubt that could, if it came to that - Cyeria /was/ clever, and it wasn’t as if this conversation would be masking much, but Remin honestly didn’t trust in her own ability to pull off being clear and vague at the same time right now. “Tea could be appealing. It would be a chance to relax, gods know I could use it after Lady Everbright.” Not that she was sure that these ladies would be terribly much better - they were all like that, to an extent, and Remin never claimed to be entirely free of that herself. ‘I don’t like how he looked earlier. I don’t trust it. But you’re the better strategist when it comes to matters like this - I’ll follow your lead.’

There wasn’t much of a right answer here, Remin was sure enough of that. Whatever way they went, if there was danger, there would still be danger. Unless the made some excuse to leave now, which would be terribly suspicious, there was little chance of avoiding it. But how was it best to face it? That’s all they could begin to control. Apart, with her perhaps safer, unless they intended something with the tea? Or together, with a more united front against any dangers that confronted them? Whatever he chose, she would trust him.

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia hesitated, her hand hovering over the piece of paper. What would be the best option here? Worry about the immediate danger of the hunt had driven her to try and convince Remin to step back, but was that actually a good idea? It wasn't like staying in this mansion would be free of dangers. Balin had very likely managed to relay what had happened at lady Everbright's through that communication device of theirs. What if they had found Remin's behavior to be suspicious? What if leaving her there, practically unguarded, only increased the chances of this going south? What if, what if, what if. Cyreia hated situations like that; there just wasn't enough information to make that decision responsibly. Still, it had to be made and her wife trusted her with it. She took a deep breath.

"I'm positive that it would be a lot of fun, my queen." Did her tone sound free of tension? Cyreia doubted it, but it didn't matter much; June probably couldn't hear all the nuances of their conversation through the door anyway. The barrier muted their voices to an extent and she had to focus on what was being said, not on the little details, to actually understand everything. Unless, of course, she used some kind of magic suitable for spying. God, magic could be such a complication at times. "Then again, I do not wish to make it seem as if I don't want you there. Ultimately, it is up to you. If you'd like to attend, you can always make it up to the ladies later."

'I'm not sure myself,' Cyreia wrote down as she spoke. That statement likely did little to fill Remin with confidence, but it had to be said. She refused to pretend that the situation looked clear-cut to her when it was very much not true. 'Too many variables. Perhaps it would be better to have you there after all. At least I could keep an eye on you.' And maybe, with Remin there, the Marshes wouldn't dare to act. Cyreia had been aware of that from the very beginning, but she resented the thought of using her as a pawn. Of endangering her in the process. God, this was going to be stressful no matter what they chose to do. 'We'd need to develop some non-verbal means of communication, though.' Cyreia didn't doubt that they'd be surrounded by Marshes' men at all times and they couldn't exactly whip out paper and quill while on a hunt. 'Is there a way to make it easier with magic or do we stick to gestures?' Remin had complained of the toll it took on her body before and she had no desire to make her go through that again, but anyone could pick up on gestures. Magic would be safer, as much as it bothered her. It would also allow them to send more complex messages; with gestures, they could only hope to convey simple things such as 'hide' or 'stop'. And who knew? Perhaps it was one of the things that didn't consume a lot of energy.

 

[Conifer]

“I’m sure I’ll find a way to.” She agrees, racking her mind for anything that might help them. There were ways to communicate silently - at least she’d heard of them - but was there anything within her own skillset? Not that she’d ever come across. ‘There may be magical communication you can do, but I don’t know it. I wouldn’t know how to teach you, and couldn’t use it myself.’ “And I’m sure they’ll understand, at any rate.” She adds, trying to cover the sound of her writing. It was hard to know if it would reach past the door, but that wasn’t a risk she wanted to take when staying with people bold enough to invite them on a hunt as suspiciously as they did. ‘Gestures will have to do.’It wasn’t ideal, but none of this was.

Once she was sure that Cyeria had read her reply, she moved with the paper to a candle that was burning. No fireplace, but any fire would hide the evidence well enough if the hunt was just an excuse to get them away from their belongings to snoop. Was there anything to hide? There wasn’t anything she could think of.
The paper caught quickly when she held it above the flame, burning away their words. Before it reached her fingers, Remin kicked away a corner of a wide rug that was strewn across the floor and dropped the burning paper onto the stone of the floor beneath it. It was easy enough to cover up what she couldn’t clean of the ash that resulted by simply moving the rug back over the spot - what she could sweep away was quickly put out the window.

“It sounded as if we have some small amount of time before the hunt and our audience with Lord Marsh, my king.” She says, finally looking back to Cyeria. “Should we simply rest, or is there anything you’d like to do?” Not that there was honestly too much they could do, all things considered, but the silence was suspicious even to her ears. This was going to be an infinitely long evening if they weren’t able to let their guard down at any point.

 

[Aerynth]

The situation wasn't ideal, but Cyreia had never really expected it to be. Experience had taught her that such expectations were rarely met. If anything, her asking about the magical solution to their problem had been a rare stroke of optimism. Of course they had nothing to rely on but their wits. Was that a bad thing, though? All things considered, their wits had gotten them pretty far. The past two weeks had been so fraught with stress that it wouldn't surprise her if she discovered some grey hair after their return from the trip, but they helped to prove one thing; that she and Remin actually worked well as a team. It was a strange thought, really, since Cyreia had almost forgotten what that felt like. Genuinely cooperating with someone on equal terms instead of just giving out orders. Somehow, it gave her the impression that the two of them would manage. The Marshes had no idea who they were going against.

Oh, there were many things she would like to do, but none of them seemed like a good idea. They wouldn't be considered good ideas even under normal circumstances, much less here where they had to watch their every step. "Not really. I wouldn't know what to do here," Cyreia said, which wasn't far from the truth. They could go for a small walk, she supposed, but how were they supposed to relax when surrounded by enemies? It was unlikely that anyone would try to assassinate them here, especially if the Marshes had gone out of their way to arrange that hunt, but still. Cyreia simply refused to drop her guard on a principle. "Maybe we should rest for a bit. Hunts tend to be drawn-out affairs, so we would do well to conserve our energy," she said as she smiled at Remin gently and squeezed her hand. Did it get her message across? The message of trying to reassure her that everything would be alright? Hopefully it did; with her tongue tied, Cyreia couldn't do much else.

Thankfully, they didn't have to exist in this strange state of talking and not talking at the same time for long. Maric appeared relatively soon, his eyes as icy cold as before. Did the man ever smile? It didn't look like that, though it was just as likely that he simply didn't waste his affection on Eupriunian invaders and their wives. "My lord father is ready to meet you now, your highnesses," he explained as he led them to what Cyreia guessed was the main hall. It turned out the lord, Gregor Marsh, looked like a spitting image of Maric, except (of course) older. His hair was closer to grey than his son's brown now and wrinkles lined his eyes, but their features were so similar that it felt like looking into Maric's future. It seemed, though, that the similarities ended with their appearances. Unlike Maric, Gregor smiled at them warmly.

"It is an honor to meet you, my king, my queen," he bowed. "Come, sit at my table. We have a feast to take care of before we go slay some boars. I apologize that I wasn't able to meet you initially, but my youngest daughter got hurt and I had to watch over her as the healer took care of her injuries. For some reason, she's terrified of them. Silly thing, wouldn't you say? Of course, I love her nonetheless. Anyhow, my queen, I heard that you wished to attend as well?" In contrast with his son, he sounded merely amused at that prospect. "I am not sure whether we have a weapon that would fit into your lovely hand, but you are free to inspect our armory."

 

[Conifer]

The contrast between father and son put Remin further on edge than she had been even before. She knew she couldn't trust Maric - that much was clear - but what of his father? But anyone could be warm and welcoming and still mean them harm. Tristan had been evidence enough of that, with the way that he had looked at her, they had spoken...She would not make that mistake again. No, no one would be trusted here, regardless of status or warmth. She had herself, and she had Cyeria. That was all. That was enough. All the same, she smiled pleasantly at the lord, exchanging pleasantries as they joined him at the table. "No mind. It was pleasant to have the time to refresh ourselves for a few minutes, anyways. How is your daughter now? All's well, I'm hoping?"


It...perhaps wasn't a terrible idea to arm herself, even if she had little intention on hunting anything. The thought of felling anything…she was no stranger to the knowledge that things died for her meals, but there was little want to actually participate in that herself. She would if she ever had to, but honestly, this was sport. Not life and death. (Well, perhaps life and death, but for entirely other reasons.) But she could explain away a knife for protection - from people, and not animals, perhaps, but protection. Gods, if this was her life now, maybe she really should allow Cyeria to teach her some use of a sword. Even if the knife came in useful, she wasn't entirely certain that she could protect herself with it well. She could try, and perhaps get a cut or two in, but...these people knew how to wield something. She didn't. "I don't fully intend to hunt, honestly. Getting out of walls just sounds pleasant." She admits. "Though perhaps something small, just in case? I'd hate to be faced with an angry boar and have no defense but my legs." Angry boar, kingslayer...same thing, here.

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia had no idea what to think about any of this. She had had a few scenarios in mind, but none of them had included this overly friendly man acting as if they were long lost friends. Were Maric and Gregor trying to confuse them by acting like polar opposites? Or did it simply come down to differences in personality, with no deeper meaning to be extracted from the situation? Even if it did mean something, Cyreia lacked the necessary puzzle pieces to complete the picture, so she let it go. Devoting too much energy to solving an unsolvable mystery would have been wasteful. No, she would simply remain guarded and observe the situation. Perhaps the answers would come to her later on their own, unprompted, as they often did. And if not? Well, not every question had to be answered.

"Yes, she is quite alright," Gregor said, apparently pleased by the queen's concern. "The healer took her injury upon himself, so she can go back to doing whatever earned her that injury in the first place. I don't doubt that she already has, but that's youth for you, eh?" he raised his eyebrow playfully. "I wish I could be that careless, too, but my bones grew too brittle and my blood too cold."

"And yet you are organizing a hunt," Cyreia pointed out with a tiny smile. She didn't trust the man, but that didn't mean that she had to be hostile towards him. Not unless he gave her a reason more tangible than her suspicions. "To me, that doesn't seem like the type of entertainment for men who have lost the thirst for danger."

"Ha! I've seen so many hunts, my king, that it is about as dangerous for me as putting on my socks. And you, my queen, shall have your weapon. I can promise you right now that you will never find yourself in such situation, but we'll find you something suitable despite that." The look in his eyes made it incredibly obvious that he considered it to be a silly idea, but he wasn't about to criticize his own queen. Not that Cyreia blamed him for finding it silly, really. Fighting a boar with something small? There were quicker and less painful ways of committing suicide. Even a small blade could be helpful with human-sized enemies, though, and Cyreia had to admire Remin's courage. Her wife knew nothing about handling weapons and yet she did not hesitate to take one up in a time of crisis. How commendable. Of course, she would do everything in her power to neutralize any threat before Remin actually had to use it, but still. It made her feel proud of her in a way that was difficult to describe.

"I'd like to look inside your armory too, if you don't mind," Cyreia interjected. "My primary weapon isn't suited to hunting, so I was thinking of borrowing a spear." Technically, she probably could make do with her sword somehow, but it wouldn't be ideal. When hunting boars, you generally wanted to stay as far away as possible and the long reach of a spear allowed its wielder to do just that. Besides, using her sword against an animal as strong and fierce could damage it, which was even less desirable than usual since Athean blacksmiths probably didn't know how to restore the types of enchantments Eupriunians worked with. I'll have to employ a Eupriunian blacksmith, Cyreia decided. She needed to distance herself from her heritage, true, but this one tiny act wouldn't tarnish her reputation much, would it? It wasn't like people had to know.

"Not at all. I was about to make that offer, actually. And while we're at it, would you like to visit our kennels before the hunt? We keep purebred bloodhounds. Beautiful animals. They're smart, too, and it might be good to get familiar with them."

 

[Conifer]

“That sounds wonderful.” Remin says, as their plates are filled with food. After the admittedly self-inflicted meagerness of her breakfast this morning, it should be appealing, but certain dinners at certain dinners and the memory of that puts a damper on her eagerness. Both the men are eating comfortably, and it’s all the same food, but she trusts none of this. She can’t trust any of this. “We’ve been meaning to re-stock our kennels, honestly. Our own hounds were devoted to the war effort, and…” Few returned, honestly, but that feels too much to say. Besides - unofficial decree was to let them run free if danger seemed too much. They were dogs. They didn’t know what they were fighting in. Hopefully they had settled as farmer’s companions or something kinder than other fates. “...I feel I don’t need to speak to that. But perhaps you could put me in touch with a good breeder.” It was unlikely that she’d actually follow any leads he provided, but...anything to make herself seem like a friend, rather than a foe. Anything to give them reason to hesitate for a moment, if for some reason, they did have an ill-advised notion to target her as well. Gods, she could only hope that Balin had believed her.

The meal fell into complicated companionship - everyone seemed guarded in their own ways, and it was impossible to truly try to read the room. She didn’t, at least, feel the effects of poison seeping into her. No wooziness, no unexplained exhaustion, no nausea, nothing. Just the taste of well-prepared food. That, somehow, made her even more on edge. Gods. She’d wanted to be home before, but now she triplely wanted to be. (When was the last time she’d been away for this long? Had it been ever, really? When she was young, they’d taken a trip to the coast, and there had been a few times over the years that they’d been away, but it had never felt like it had stretched on like this. Gods. Home soon enough, if they could make it that far without being killed.

 

[Aerynth]

It didn't sound wonderful at all, at least not to her. Dogs were nice as a concept and Cyreia understood why people liked them. They provided companionship, most of them looked sort of cute and they could be taught basic discipline, which was honestly more than could be said about some humans. Getting close and personal with them, though? God, no. As a rule, she didn't tempt fate by trying to cuddle animals that could potentially rip her apart. That was just asking for trouble, really. Kind of like grabbing your sword by its blade or jumping off a cliff into the sea. Sure, everything might turn out to be fine, but you might also lose your limbs and get nothing in return. Cyreia generally preferred not to play such stupid games, but it seemed that she would have no choice today. They're just dogs, she told to herself, though that was exactly the problem. Dogs made her nervous, mostly because the Eupriunian army didn't use them, but many other armies did. The only dogs she'd gotten familiar with so far had been used as weapons, and those weapons had been turned against her.

"I'd be honored to, my queen," Gregor smiled. "A friend of mine is an expert. Remind me to give you his address after the hunt. He'll be most pleased to receive your letters." After that, they didn't talk much; there was food to be eaten and it consumed the lord's attention almost entirely. As for Maric, he never spoke a single word. His actions consisted of eating and, from time to time, shooting a glance at his father. Cyreia welcomed it. It gave her the opportunity to be herself, if only for a moment. God, was this trip exhausting. Would it always be like that, with her having to walk the thin line between being too formal and too cordial while wondering whether the person she was talking to planned to plunge a knife in her back? Ugh, this almost makes me miss the military. At least the threats there were straightforward, more or less. Sure, your enemies did try to kill you, but you expected them to. They didn't hide behind the mask of friendship and hospitality.

Once the food disappeared off their plates, Gregor escorted them to the courtyard and from there, to a smaller building that stood just a few metres from the manor itself. Apparently the Marshes preferred to live very close to their dogs. That usually wasn't the case, at least in Eupriunia; the nobles there tended to build their kennels far from their homes, probably in an attempt to escape the smell. "So, what's the protocol here?" she asked, hoping not to sound too tense, but knowing at the same time that Remin at the very least must have noticed. Remin knew her, after all. Knew her better than anyone else at this point, as strange as it seemed after such a short period of time. Gregor didn't, so perhaps it didn't look that evident to him. "I... haven't really interacted with dogs a lot," she admitted. At least not with friendly ones.

 

[Conifer]

Remin had indeed noticed. While Remin had been eager enough to visit the kennels, the look on Cyeria’s face at the possibility had been...admittedly hard to read, but certainly not entirely in favor of the idea, if Remin had to guess. That hadn’t improved much as they followed the Lord off to the kennels. Maric to stay behind to pull some select items from the armor for the two of them to look at when they returned from interacting with the dogs.

“First tailors, and now dogs.” Remin teases lightly. It’s strange to tease her now - they were so obviously being listened to, and it felt almost like she was trying to put on some form of show with her words, but they weren’t for the purpose of that however much it felt like it to her. The whole thing was putting her on edge, and she wished for the openness that was Lady Everbright again. If she had intended them harm, she wouldn’t have been able to keep it to herself. Even her sister had been more manageable - she’d been clear in what she wanted from them, and Remin had some hopeful feeling that would be enough to keep her from actively working against them. Here, she had no idea if she could begin to provide anything that would temper this whole scene. “Someday you’ll look back on all of the things you were hesitant of and laugh.” Remin continues as they enter into the building.

It was a modestly sized space - mostly one room, with a few closed doors leading off to gods know where, and a few fenced-off sections where a few dogs lay sprawled and asleep or sitting and watching the scene. Others were simply loose, lounging in the open area or gnawing away at animal bones or wandering. There was maybe a dozen, give or take a few, of the beautiful hounds in the space, and they were hunting dogs through and through. Muscled, sleek things, with muddy-dark or black fur. They looked powerful, undeniably so. Well cared for, too, judging by the appearance and the state of the room.
Few of them even bothered to look up when they entered, used to people slipping in and out of the door, but one of them - a younger thing, by the looks of it, prances over.

“This is our newest,” Gregor explains, chuckling at the big-eyed look the dog turns on all of them. “She’s still being trained. Too much puppy left in her yet. The energy’s good, but she’s struggling to direct it. The trouble she gets into...” He shakes his head, amused at the thought. “And requires absolutely too much attention. I’ve half a mind to move her into the house and give up on dreams of her hunting, I’m sure she’d take to it better. But we’ll work a bit more.”

Remin grins brightly, leaning down to pet the puppy. “She’s sweet, certainly.” She murmurs, stroking over her soft ears as the dog wiggles, unable to fully sit still, but desperately trying. “Avther, here. She won’t harm you.” She takes Cyeria’s hand with her free one, guiding it to the dog. She’s loose with her touch, not wanting to stress Cyeria too much. It’s simply a dog, and if she doesn’t wish to interact with it, then there’s no need to truly.

 

[Aerynth]

"That's what they said about military food as well," Cyreia muttered, her tone more light-hearted than worried now. The traces of tension were still there, clearly visible for anyone who bothered to search for them, but Remin's teasing lessened it a bit. It... distracted her, for one, though that wasn't truly the main aspect of it. Seeing how comfortable Remin seemed to be with visiting the kennels, Cyreia simply couldn't let herself be outdone so easily. A matter of stubbornness more than anything else, really; stubbornness and pride. After everything she had gone through throughout her exceptionally eventful life, a couple of trained dogs wouldn't scare her. It just would not happen. Cyreia simply wouldn't think of the strength of their jaws, or the ferocity they had exhibited on the battlefield, or the way the teeth had sunk into her flesh in the past, and everything would be alright. Simple enough, was it not? "You'll get used to it, they said. It'll be fine. Many years later, I still have nightmares." Gregor chuckled at that exchange and Cyreia wondered whether they had shown him too much, but honestly? There seemed to be nothing terribly incriminating about this. The man certainly couldn't be trusted, that much was true. That didn't mean, though, that she had to pretend to be entirely free of emotions. If anything, showing a tiny amount of fear may serve to humanize her a bit in his eyes. Just like Ossia, he didn't know her. Perhaps Gregor's opinion could be swayed as well, one way or another.

As they entered, her first instinct was to avert her gaze, which was the reason she forced herself to look directly instead. Fear often stemmed from ignorance, from imperfect understanding, and in order to truly understand, she had to look. The first thing they had taught her about swordfighting? To never look away from your opponent, no matter how terrifying he was. A single lapse in concentration could result in death. Cyreia had taken this advice to heart and applied it now as well. The dogs, she had to admit, were... pleasing aesthetically. Beautiful animals, really. Despite not knowing the first thing about them, even Cyreia could tell that a lot of care had been poured into keeping them. They seemed to be well-behaved, too, as they didn't really react to the presence of the two strangers. That made everything considerably easier. Her heartbeat still accelerated and she felt far from comfortable, but she didn't panic. A good start, as far as Cyreia was concerned. Now if only she could somehow get rid of the wild energy pulsating through her veins. "These are... rather nice," she said, feeling a bit stupid at the lack of eloquence. "I'd say something more relevant to the topic, but I'm afraid I'm not an expert, so I have to stick to my own impressions."

There was a jolt of panic as Remin led her closer to one of the dogs, but... well, a puppy really wouldn't hurt her. Backing away would have been pathetic, as much as she would have preferred it in this situation. Cyreia gulped before dropping to her knees. "I know she won't," she uttered and it was true, except that didn't mean much. What she felt wasn't really based on logic and thus couldn't be defeated with reason alone. Perhaps it could be defeated if she decided to take the plunge, though. It often worked that way. "Let me do it alone," Cyreia said gently before freeing her hand from Remin's grasp. Her wife's touch was generally appreciated, but not now. There were things you had to do on your own. She extended it towards the puppy hesitantly, her breath bated. God, it must have looked ridiculous, with her being so obviously uncomfortable over one tiny dog. The famous Eupriunian hero, ladies and gentlemen. The puppy sniffed her hand excitedly, wagged her tail and, to Cyreia's complete surprise, started licking the hand with great enthusiasm. "This is... a good thing, I suppose?"