Fantasy All's Fair

[Conifer]

Remin backed away when Cyeria pulled their hands apart, but stayed near enough that should something happen - it wouldn't, but should it - she was near enough to provide comfort and support and act if she had to. This left her just a few feet behind Cyeria, letting her see the cautious interaction. Had she known that the sight of Cyeria with a puppy would, for a moment, put a pause on the tension of the location and make her realise, so suddenly, /oh, yes. Alright. I still love her/? No, but she was grateful for it and winded by it all the same. There would be little time to dwell there here, but...but it was something good to know and to set aside for now. Later. She'd figure out what to do with that later.


"That depends on who you ask." Gregor interrupts her thoughts with a hearty laugh. "For her training? No. But yes, for other reasons."


"She likes you.' Remin laughs so softly, reaching out to set a hand on Cyeria's shoulder. Affectionate, for her, but possessive, hopefully, for Gregor. The young dog wiggles closer, trying very hard to be obedient, to remain sitting in her enthusiasm as she licks at the offered hand.

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia observed the ball of energy sitting at her feet, her lips curling up in a timid smile despite her own qualms. The puppy was the furthest thing from scary, really. One day, it would grow up to be large and bloodthirsty and powerful enough to snap someone's neck, but for now, it navigated the world with the kind of curiosity reserved for children. How... how endearing. Were they all like that as puppies? If so, how did they go from this to the beasts she had encountered? Surely, if the world treated them with kindness, there was no reason for their nature to change too much, was there? Cyreia may not have known much about... well, anything outside of the sphere of her expertise, but she did know that changes rarely occurred without reason. A catalyst was always there if you searched diligently enough. Even the worst men that had served under her very likely hadn't started out like that, depraved from the very moment they had crawled out of their mothers' wombs. Not that it excused their behavior, but that thought was something that had kept her awake at night before.

"You think so?" Cyreia asked softly, her image and sinister conspiracies momentarily forgotten. "So this isn't some sort of ritual to mark me as her dinner, eh?" Now she was clearly joking, though some of the hesitation never really went away. At this point, it seemed to be muscle memory more than anything else, but that didn't make it any less real or any less apparent. Even so, Cyreia bit her lip and scratched it behind its ears gently. That seemed to push the little creature over the edge. It practically wailed with happiness and rolled over and raised her paws. Was this the mental image people associated with dogs? If so, Cyreia understood a little better now why they liked them so much. Instinctively, she leaned closer to rub its belly.

"I apologize if I'm ruining her training, my lord," Cyreia said in a tone that indicated that she wasn't feeling sorry about it in the slightest. "Maybe we can get a dog as well?" she turned to face Remin. "Only if it's this sweet, though. I think I'd manage to deal with its presence in that case." Alright, that decidedly wasn't regal, but she just couldn't help herself. No amount of training could have prepared her to handle this.

 

[Conifer]

“Manage to deal.” She laughs. “As you manage to deal with mine, I’m sure.” It was hard to know how much they should show in front of Gregor - but she’d told Balin that she was gaining Avther’s trust. Influencing him. Seeming to care (despite the fact she truly did,) would be less suspicious than more, wouldn’t it? Gods, this was confusing. Was there a right way to handle this besides the smart but nigh impossible idea of simply leaving? She doubted it. No, she would...act as she felt she should. Whatever dangers befell them, they could handle, or they couldn’t, and then avoiding those dangers wouldn’t be their problem anymore. It was a terrible way to think of the whole situation, but there was little other way to. Either it would be fine or it wouldn’t, and either they’d manage it or they wouldn’t. That’s all they could plan for.

“I’m not opposed.” She smiles softly. A dog could be nice. The castle was quiet, now, not quite as full of life as it had been with the late royalty. They’d been far more social - at least her mother was - than Remin could ever hope to be. Yes, Cyeria was here now, but she doubted that meant that the castle would be any buisier. No, maybe a dog would be good. And could serve as some amount of protection for them both, if they trained it. “She seems awfully sweet, though. You may have just set yourself a high bar for your expectations.”

 

[Aerynth]

"What is that supposed to mean?" Cyreia chuckled. "Are you implying something, my queen? Because I have no idea." Would the day ever come when she'd be able to stick to her own resolutions? Probably not, as long as those resolutions involved Remin and not wearing her heart on her sleeve in her presence. Was her wife even aware of the effect she had on her? Somehow, Cyreia doubted it. Remin had never seen her not act like this, after all, if you didn't count those first few days. No wonder she had joked about her stumbling her way to the national hero status more or less accidentally. Had she exhibited the same kind of self-control - or lack of thereof - in Eupriunia, her career would have been over within seconds. For some reason, everything seemed both way more simple and way more complicated here at the same time. Would she ever get used to this feeling?

"All puppies are as sweet," Gregor interjected with a smile. "Getting them to stay like that is the difficult part. Or getting them to be like that," he gestured towards the other dogs, who watched them intently. Even if they didn't show a hint of aggressiveness, Cyreia wouldn't approach those if she had anything to say about it. The sweet, defenseless puppy squirming near her feet was one thing. Its adult counterparts, though? They appeared a little too fierce for her comfort. Those views, too, would likely shift in time, if she spent more time with them, but rushing those things often did more harm than good. No, Cyreia would simply observe them from afar now. "Generally," Gregor continued, "they can be shaped according to your will if you know what you're doing, though it also depends on their temperament. We'll see if we can make a proper hunting dog out of this one yet."

"Do you know how to raise a dog, my queen?" Cyreia asked, genuinely curious. "I think I could pet it and maybe bribe it with food, but that doesn't seem to be enough." Meanwhile, the puppy seemed to grow more interested in Remin; she got back on her feet and approached her, looking at her expectantly. One thing, if nothing else, seemed to be clear. Despite her relatively short life, the puppy had already refined her method of coaxing cuddles from strangers. Nobody with a heart could resist those eyes. "See? It's not enough even now. She's bored with me already," she laughed.

 

[Conifer]

Remin kneels easily, not caring for the dirt on the floor from dog’s paws and the state of her dress. It was already dirty from riding; she hadn’t bothered to change, if they were going hunting. That didn’t sound like the cleanest of activities either. “She’s not bored of you. She’s simply curious about more.” She says, reaching out to pet the eager dog, who performs the same attempt at obedience that she’d tried with Cyeria - though it lasts a much shorter time this go around before she’s simply rolling on the floor, tongue lolling from her mouth as Remin scratches at her belly with both hands, her smile soft and utterly delighted.

“Training a pet’s not difficult.” Gregor replies. “Animals deal well with routines. As long as you stick to one, don’t change up the rules on them...then you’ll have something manageable.”

“I don’t know how to do it myself,” Remin admits. “But surely someone in the castle does, or there’s books. We’re clever enough to figure it out, I’m sure.” She hates how devoted to the idea of a dog she is now - besides the protection it could offer, it just seemed...nice. She’d never had a pet of her own, really - she’d visited the kennels growing up, and had seen other children playing with the off-duty hearding dogs and such nearby, but it had simply never happened for her. Not for lack of wanting, but perhaps for lack of asking. She’d had enough, and she hadn’t really known loneliness - or hadn’t realized that’s what it was, at the time. Now she was spoiled for companionship, with Cyeria at her side, and that...changed a lot. Now she wondered if she could go back easily, to quiet rooms and words for business more than pleasure. She could go back, if she had to. But she hoped she didn’t have to.

 

[Aerynth]

"Right," Cyreia smiled as she watched Remin play with the puppy, her gaze full of fondness. Initially, the idea to get a dog had been little more than a whim; more of a what if scenario than a real plan. It hadn't seemed likely that they would have time for pets when they had a kingdom to govern. Now that she saw Remin interacting with one, though? Oh, they absolutely had to have a dog of their own. They would buy a dog and go for long walks together and spoil it terribly and-- there were so many ands that her mind couldn't even begin to cover them all. That was fine, though. She had the whole eternity to discover them all. "I'm sure we'll find a way." They always had so far, so why should it be different now? Besides, from what Gregor had said, this shouldn't be too difficult. She knew how to train humans, after all, and at least some of that knowledge had to be applicable to animals as well. Military drills were nothing but sets of routines, although more complicated ones than dogs could hope to understand.

God knew how long they would have stayed there if it wasn't for Maric's cough. "Are you quite done here, your highnesses? Because I have gathered the equipment you asked for. Although I do not wish to impose on you, inspecting them as soon as possible might be in order." That guy certainly knew how to ruin a moment. Technically, his words were nothing but polite, yet somehow he still managed to sound as if he was showing them a great mercy by just being there and talking to them. Cyreia decided that, for now, Maric might be her least favorite Marsh. Despite that, he had a point. The hunt would be starting soon and if they didn't like anything he had brought, well, they would have to give him some time to find more satisfying alternatives.

"Yes, that is probably a good idea," Cyreia said, even if the puppy seemed like a far more pleasant companion than Gregor's son. Unfortunately, life wasn't always about what was more pleasant. "Thank you, Maric." Thanking people for their service had always been her policy, even if she found them to be less than agreeable on a personal level. At times, a mere 'thank you' had motivated some of her subordinates to improve their behavior. Either way, it cost her nothing, and until Maric acted against them, Cyreia would show him basic respect. Maybe he was just grumpy and meant them no harm, as unlikely as it seemed.

When they stepped outside, an array of weapons was waiting for them. Remin's instructions - something small - had been rather vague, which meant that the weapons he had gotten for her varied a lot. Daggers, shortswords of varying sizes, even a few small maces; Remin could certainly choose from a vast, vast selection. "I was not sure what her highness would like," Maric explained. "What are you most proficient with, my queen?" In the background, Gregor looked to be amused by the whole affair.

 

[Conifer]

“A butter knife.” Remin says, as serious as she can manage, hoping to at least break some of the unsettling attention Maric’s trained on her - it drew a small chuckle from the older Marsh, but seemed to only annoy the younger one further. He makes a small sound that sounds thoroughly unimpressed.

“There’s plenty of butter knives at tea.” He says, and Remin looks up at him, eyebrows raised in a bit of challenge. /You doubt your queen?/ she says, without saying it, and he shifts, crossing his arms over his broad chest. She can’t even begin to read him. He’s a brick wall, sturdy and unyielding.

Gods, she does not like him. Even if she knew of no plot, even if she fully trusted that he was working in their favor, she’d dislike him immensely. Remin glances back down at the selection. “I think this one will do me fine, thank you.” She says, plucking a sharp, sturdy-looking dagger from the weapons. It was large, but it felt comfortable in her hand in a way that gave her just as much discomfort as it did comfort. Was this what it was like for Cyeria, carrying around that sword at her waist? The heft of potential, even if Remin didn’t know how to fully harness it? The fact that, if she did, she could harm someone with it? The fact that even not knowing what to do with it, she could still manage some damage if she needed to? Wanted to? It made her feel just as unsure as Maric did, but in a way that left her feeling...what, stronger? Was that what it was? instead of childish and unsure. It was a nice knife, at any rate. Modestly decorated, but not entirely plain. It would do.

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia watched the exchange between Maric and Remin, thoroughly unamused by the events unfolding before her eyes. What was he even doing? Was that his idea of subtlety? Because even she could do better and that didn't cast him in favorable light at all. God, Cyreia had to bite her tongue in order not to say something that would inevitably land them in trouble. The resulting pain did suppress her impulses, though not entirely. Not taking a stance while Remin was being insulted? Unthinkable. The guy should thank all the known and unknown gods that circumstances prevented her from acting in ways she normally woud have. "Maric," she began, her tone controlled and eyes cold, "thank you for your input, though I believe that my queen is aware of what she's doing." 'We don't need your opinion' was the actual message here, of course.

"That she doubtlessly does," he replied and shot her a strange glance. Wait, what? Clearly he meant something by that statement, but he didn't deem it worthy of an explanation.

"Silence, Maric," Gregor said, a shade of anger in his voice. "I've tolerated your eccentricities for long enough, but I won't have you antagonize our guests. Don't forget your place."

"I never do, father."

Alright, now it almost felt as if they were witnessing something they weren't supposed to. It was... eyebrow-raising, really, though Cyreia had no idea what to do with the situation. Did they put on an act to confuse them or was the tension between them real? Only they knew. In the end, she simply turned to her wife. "Allow me to take a look at that dagger, my queen," Cyreia smiled softly. Once Remin complied, she took the weapon and examined it carefully. It was a good, likely expensive tool; a single glance told her that much. The decorative engravings looked to be rather simplistic, yet the steel was spotless and the whole weapon seemed to be perfectly balanced. "A good choice," Cyreia praised her, even if she had no illusions about it likely being a pure coincidence. "Take a swing. Show me the way you'd use it if you had to." There wasn't enough time for any meaningful training, true, but some instruction was still better than none. Cyreia could, at the very least, help her adjust her grip on the dagger and teach her some basic moves.

 

[Conifer]

Remin didn’t relish the thought of showing the Marshes just exactly how clumsy and unskilled she was with weaponry, and Cyeria’s request would do just that. She’s not against the idea of an educated eye watching her, guiding her, but not when two people who could use it to see her failings are watching as well. There’s no easy way to say that, though, no easy way to offer explanation to only Cyeria. Better, though, to appear foolhardy and sure of oneself than incapable. Incapability scared off no one; foolhardiness scared off other fools. There was little chance that the Marshes were fools, but she could hope. Remin takes the knife back from Cyeria and slides it into its sheath. “I think I’ll manage just fine, my king.” She says, eyes flicking to the Marshes, hoping that Cyeria catches the reasons for her refusal of the help. She’ll explain later, if she doesn’t - perhaps they’ll have a moment on the hunt. Unlikely, but perhaps. She would manage regardless. “What will you select?” She asks, pushing on from that moment, hoping that even if Cyeria didn’t notice her reasons, she wouldn’t protest Remin moving past it. “There’s quite the admirable collection.”

“We have some of the best blacksmiths under our employ.” Gregor says, whatever that tone had been he was holding with his son dropped away. He sounded simply pleasant again. Welcoming and amusing. Remin’s trust of him dropped further away with every word. Gods, had they been too open? Too affectionate? Would he see it as proof of what she can only assume Balin told him, or would he see right through it for what it was? Or...or perhaps Maric had truly done something to warrant that sort of reaction, and Gregor was simply being firm with him. Whatever the answer, it didn’t matter. Neither of them could be or would be trusted.

 

[Aerynth]

Alright, Cyreia... had not expected this reaction. Had she somehow come off as too patronizing? Remin really did not know how to use the weapon, though. Why, then, refuse her help? Was it a pride thing? That didn't seem too likely; in other situations, her wife had accepted her assistance readily, without a hint of embarrassment. "As you wish, my queen," she said despite her own confusion. Whatever her reasons were, they existed and Cyreia would not disregard them. She would simply ask about them later when the Marshes weren't listening to their conversation. Perhaps it was something personal.

"As for me..." Cyreia turned to look at the weapons Maric had brought for her. She had been more specific in her request, so he had only gathered what she had asked for specifically: spears. They looked rather similar, really, aside from minor differences in length. Even the decorative aspects seemed suspiciously similar, which led her to the conclusion that they had probably been made by the same blacksmith. Often, the engravings served more as a signature than as something nice to look at. Not many warriors, after all, cared about such frivolities in the heat of battle. Blacksmiths, on the other hand, behefited from their handiwork being recognized. It could easily earn them new customers. Cyreia examined each instrument thoughtfully. "Your blacksmiths really do know what they're doing," she said, and it was one of the more honest statements she had uttered today. "It's almost difficult to choose." With all of them so well-made, it really came down to personal preference more than anything else. One of the spears seemed to fit into her hand more comfortably than the rest, so Cyreia simply went with it. "I'll take this one," she smiled at Gregor. "Once again, thank you."

"Ha! No need to thank me, my king. I wouldn't be a very good host if I made you participate in a hunt and then refused to provide the equipment. Nobody should be forced to hunt with a flimsy sword!" Flimsy? Cyreia took offense to that, but she also knew how to pick her battles. This really wasn't an argument worth getting into; not here, when so much was at stake.

"So, we've got the weapons covered. What about horses?"

"I'll ride my own horse," she decided immediately. Ehasham wasn't exactly well-rested after the journey, yet Cyreia had been careful not to exhaust him too much in case they needed to... retreat sooner than they had initially expected it. He should do. Besides, riding a mount used to her and her way of handling horses seemed like the superior option here. "What about you, my queen?" Gregor asked. "Shall I show you our stables?"

 

[Conifer]

Remin did take them up on their offer - she understood Cyeria’s want to ride her own horse, but there was no point to her also tiring her own further, not when she didn’t truly care. There wasn’t too much of their journey left, honestly, and it likely would have been fine for the rest of the trip, but she didn’t want to push any more than they had to. She trusted that she could trust a horse, even if she could not trust their handlers. “That would be appreciated.” She agrees, turning to him.

It wasn’t too long until she’d been saddled with a horse (a young brown one with a white stripe across its nose) and they were heading out into the woods nearby to begin the hunt. She fell into step with Cyeria. Gregor trailed ahead, guiding the path through the lands and then into the trees, and Maric tailed behind, which made Remin nervous. She tried to keep him in sight, but it was difficult without seeming like she was /trying/ to keep an eye on him. Her knife felt comforting against her waist, though, despite him having his own spear. Maybe she’d make a habit of being armed, as Cyeria did. Not with a sword, certainly, and maybe not even something as large as this knife, but something smaller that she could tuck away...another thing to add to the to-do list when they returned.

 

[Aerynth]

To be honest, Cyreia had never really liked hunts. They could be both boring and nerve-wracking, and not even the nerve-wracking parts had ever really felt all that amusing to her. Shedding of blood didn't bring her any special pleasure. Could it be because, in her mind, that act was so firmly associated with work? Possibly, though that wasn't all it was. The whole thing also seemed largely performative to her. These men didn't hunt out of hunger. No, they hunted because, for a moment, they wished to feel like heroes overcoming tremendous odds. Despite what they told themselves, though, there were no real odds to overcome; just terrified animals and everything stacked in their favor. Could they still die? Of course they could, but Cyreia wouldn't really call it a heroic death. For a death to be truly heroic, it had to be meaningful, not just... stupid. Yes, stupid. That's exactly the word I was looking for here. Not that Cyreia planned to voice her criticisms. The men surrounding her likely wouldn't appreciate it and, besides, she had different concerns now. Concerns like trying to keep Remin and herself alive.

Either way, now they had to deal with the boring part; tracking their prey. There wasn't much work for them to do at this stage, honestly. Since no glory could be extracted from this task, very few nobles bothered with it. It was no different here; while the servants did the tracking, their masters rode in closed formations and awaited the sounds of the horns that would signal to them that the boars had been discovered. This phase of the hunt almost felt like a social event, not too different from the tea party Remin had been meant to attend, with the main difference being that the men had somehow managed to convince themselves that it was a sacred practice. It baffled her, the way they were ultimately the same as their wives, sisters and daughters despite trying to distance themselves from them so hard. How utterly foolish. Cyreia watched her surroundings closely as her horse walked calmly, oblivious to her tension. Nothing stood out as too suspicious, though she hadn't expected it to be otherwise. If they were to attempt anything, surely they would try it when the danger reached its climax, not now. Squandering an opportunity before it fully emerged would have been downright idiotic.

Still, Cyreia would stay vigilant even now. Better to be safe than sorry, really, especially when Remin was present. She wouldn't be able to forgive herself if her inattentiveness led to her wife getting hurt or... or worse. No, that won't happen. I'll protect her. It was too bad that her attention was so consumed by trying to foresee every single threat because, under different circumstances, she would have likely enjoyed the ride. The forest looked gorgeous in all its greenery and many of those trees had to be ancient judging by their heights. Alas, worry had made her less than appreciative of the beauty of nature.

"You don't look like you're having fun, my queen," Maric, who rode closer, observed. His tone wasn't any kinder than before, but his words, at the very least, didn't sound as harsh. Perhaps he had taken his father's recommendation to heart and attempted to control his temperament. Perhaps there was something else, though. "If you're interested, you could ride ahead and ask my father to tell you stories of former hunts. He'd be happy to entertain you."

 

[Conifer]

The only thing she found herself less interested in than this hunt was stories of others, especially when listening to them would leave her unable to see both Maric and Cyeria. No good was going to come of that, not even a slight bit of entertainment. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to bother-”

“Nonsense,” Gregor chuckles, overhearing their conversation. “Come, ride with me, your highness.” Was it kindness that made him speak, or a want to get the king alone, out of sight, while she was entirely distracted? Nothing about this failed to ring an alarm; it was danger, all of it. Gods, they should have simply sent a letter ahead to the Marshes, explaining there was something urgent to tend to home, and skipped this stop altogether. Who cares if it would seem suspicious? They would be safe - or safer, in this moment, at the very least. Remin steeled herself, catching Cyeria’s eye. She had little choice now; refusal once was fine, but refusal twice.../Be safe/, she thinks, as if thoughts could carry from her head to Cyeria’s, before she moves her horse closer to Gregor’s.

She tries to position herself so that she can still at least see one of them, and manages it somewhat, even if the only result is the ability to Maric for a split second every once in a while. Anything will help, anything will give her some sort of knowledge of the situation.

Maric watches her go, straight in his seat and eyes unblinking until he’s sure that his father’s wrapped her up enough in conversation that she won’t overhear him. “My king.” Maric says, tones low. He doesn’t do so much as glance at Cyeria, trusting that she’s listening to him and not wanting to drag attention to the fact that they’re conversing should anyone glance at them. “You should know that you’re in danger. There is...a plot, that your wife finds herself in on.”

 

[Aerynth]

God, his desire to separate them was almost palpable. Just like before, Maric hadn't even bothered with things such as subtlety or tact; he just wanted Remin gone, manners be damned. Is that such a bad thing, though? Perhaps it wasn't. If he indeed intended to do something nefarious, wouldn't it be wiser to let Remin retreat to a safe distance? Cyreia would still see her from her position in the formation, as would the guards. Gregor wouldn't dare to lay a finger on her. Could the same be said about Maric? No, definitely not, and she would benefit from being able to focus on him entirely instead of dividing her attention between observing him and watching over Remin. This was a blessing in disguise, really. "Feel free to go, my queen. You wouldn't want to spend all your time with me when we're supposed to be meeting our subjects, would you? I'll still be here when you return." 'I'll be fine,' was what she had wanted to say, though circumstances had sealed her mouth. Remin would understand her, though; her wife was smart, probably smarter than she was when it came to things like this.

"That's the spirit," Gregor laughed. "Don't worry, my king, I'll return her to you in one piece soon enough. Maybe just a tiny bit annoyed, but what can I say? Sharing stories of past glory is an old man's only pleasure and I am not quite ready to give it up." When Remin approached him, though, Gregor had little desire to narrate. "I apologize for my son, my queen. He can be... fairly difficult to deal with if you aren't used to him, and I figured you'd appreciate an excuse to recuperate from his charms a bit. I won't bore you with stories, either. I know that the young ones rarely appreciate the ramblings of the old generation." Then, almost imperceptibly, something in his expression shifted. Was he still smiling? Yes, very much so, though the cheerfulness disappeared from the smile. It looked almost smug now. "You don't know this yet, my queen, but we share a friend, you and I. Balin. He told me some very interesting things yesterday and I have to admit that I had trouble believing them, but... you're doing very well. You have him wrapped around your finger."

Meanwhile, Cyreia couldn't help but stare at Maric. At least her surprise seemed authentic, even if she wasn't exactly shocked for the reasons he had likely expected her to be. Suddenly, his behavior made perfect sense. Of course that the idea of Remin being there had offended him so greatly; you just did not talk about conspiracies in the presence of those involved, especially if those involved were as powerful as royalty. Not unless you had a death wish. God, this possibility hadn't occurred to her at all. The possibility of finding an unexpected ally in what otherwise seemed to be a poisonous swamp. Was that who he was, though? Surely he must have told her for a reason. Cyreia didn't expect him to betray his family for... what? Honor? The good of an Eupriunian invader? Laughable. No, there must have been something more here. "Really?" she raised her eyebrow, sounding almost suspiciously calm for a person who had just been informed of being conspired against. That shouldn't throw him off too much, though. Avther was known for laughing in the face of danger, after all. "Interesting. What kind of plot? I'm listening." Cyreia wasn't about to say 'hey, thank you, but this is just one big misunderstanding.' His motivations had to be investigated first. What if him telling her was some elaborate trap to help them determine whether Remin remained faithful to their cause? If she had learned something in Athea, it was that revealing one's cards too fast could easily amount to death and Cyreia took her lessons to heart.

 

[Conifer]

Remin fights to keep her breath steady and to not fall off her horse. She should have expected this conversation to happen at some point in time, but in her worry for Cyeria, she hadn’t even considered that she’d be confronted about her part in the whole plan - her ruse of a part in the whole plan. She hadn’t prepared for this. Hadn’t thought of the right words to say, the right ways to interact, the right ways to reassure. Gods. She should have been smarter. But it’s fine; she managed this once, and she can manage this again. She schools her face into something she hopes looks proud of herself, or if not that, then simply neutral. “I’m a capable woman, my lord.” Remin replies, glancing at him. “Of course I have him wrapped around my finger. This sort of thing is what I was trained for. And he’s...not the most difficult. Soldiers, you know.” She laughs softly. It feels panicked, but hopefully he’ll find it to sound confident. Like this whole thing was plotted and planned like he thinks it was. “You show them any kindness, you show them something that isn’t war, and they’ll fold easily. He’s different, but not much.” That much is...dramatic, and reducing, but not strictly untrue. Not entirely. She’ll keep to truths as best she can, even if it is all a stretch. That had worked with Balin, it would work now - she hoped, at least.

Maric risks a glance at her, reading her expression for a moment before looking back away. “A plan to replace you with a lookalike.” He seems careful in his words, not wanting to reveal the whole plan, not when any word could be overheard by his father or Remin, who he entirely believed to be in on the plan. Cyeria’s reaction didn’t seem to alarm him too much, the surprise easy enough to apply to what he expected it to be from. “The plan’s stalled for now. Temporarily. They think they have you manipulated, but...You’re a formidable figure, Avther. I’ve done my research. I followed your career. Hadsberry. Your relationship with King Loran. The rest of it. You’re not the idiot she thinks you are.”

 

[Aerynth]

Gregor observed Remin carefully. If he considered her behavior to be suspicious, he didn't allow her to see that. On the contrary, he seemed to approve of what he had heard. "Ha! It's not just soldiers, my queen. All men are like that. That's why women don't need weapons to be dangerous." There was a brief silence as he inhaled, clearly thinking about something. "Soldiers can be dangerous in other ways, though, particularly if they're feeling slighted. If he ever found out, my queen-- I'm sure I don't have to tell you what he'd resort to." It was obvious, the kind of things Gregor imagined. Blood and broken bones, maybe even the cold embrace of a tomb. And really, was his way of thinking not justified? Eupriunians weren't known for their tendencies towards kindness and Avther even less so. "Allow me to grant you a sense of safety, my queen. I can spare a few men. I will give them to your husband as a gift, but they will be yours." Also undeniably Gregor's, though he didn't feelt it necessary to mention that. "You may not know this, my queen, but I promised to your parents that I'd protect you in times of need. I intend to do just that, and no Eupriunian will stand in my way."

Cyreia had to wonder how deep exactly he had gone into her past. What did he know? Probably nothing she didn't want the public to know. Before all the wars, Avther had been nobody and Cyreia-- Cyreia had been even less than that. It was likely, too, that he had to work with the rumors she had spread personally in order to support her image. The versions of events where her deeds were played up while her penchant for mercy, in turn, left out. He must have known her as a cold, calculating bastard; a man who didn't hesitate to step on people to get whatever he wanted. And yet, despite that, he had contacted her. Why? Was this indeed a trap or did he follow some mysterious agenda of his? Did he hope to win her favor by betraying his family, one ruthless man drawn to another? Or were his intentions somehow honorable despite evidence pointing to different conclusions? Too many questions and not enough answers. There never seemed to be enough answers and since they clearly wouldn't come to her on their own, she had to make them come. "Do you believe so?" Cyreia smiled humorlessly. "Maybe I prefer being thought of as an idiot, though. It makes things easier." God, this was a dangerous game she was playing here, wasn't it? Admitting to knowing something indirectly while tacitly agreeing with his premise of Remin being a traitor. It still seemed like the safest way to proceed here, though. The path of least resistance. She gave him something to work with - a tiny tidbit of information to encourage him - while, in reality, obscuring everything further. He couldn't know about Remin's involvement; not until she deemed him to be safe. Hopefully this little maneuver wouldn't endanger her wife further. "Your initiative in reaching out to me is... appreciated, Maric. I have to wonder, though. Why exactly are you doing this?"

 

[Conifer]

“I appreciate the offer, my lord.” Remin says, forcing a grateful smile onto her face. Gods, if only the scene was what they all imagined it to be. It would be...touching, almost, that there’s some that wish to protect her. Protect her to earn her favor, perhaps, and not done out of an honest care for her person, but...It might feel nice, instead of fill her with dread. “But I do not find myself in a time of need. My guards are more than capable, and I trust them to protect me from his potential wrath.” His wrath that would never come. “I feel safe. I promise. If that changes, I’ll reach out to you immediately, but for now, I think more people in the mix would only further complicate matters.” Spies in their home would make everything infinitely more difficult. Her tone goes soft, and honest in a way she hadn’t been able to before just now. “...I’m sure my parents would be grateful for your initiative, though. And I will take you up on your kindness without hesitation should I need to.”

“Admittedly,” He says. “It’s for rather selfish reasons.” Maric watches his father carefully. “...I have reason to think my father’s going to make an attempt on my life. Today, perhaps, though your wife may have put a wrench in that by her foolhardy insistence to come along.” He’s silent for a moment, giving Cyeria time to process his words, and giving himself time to sort out his next ones. “I was hoping that we could come to a deal. Protection for protection. If that’s not amenable, then take the information that I offered free of intentions. I’m no supporter of this plot against you, and while I can do little to stop it, you should at least know of it.”

 

[Aerynth]

Somehow, Gregor didn't seem too surprised by Remin's refusal. Looking her up and down, he burst out in laughter. "Damn that Balin, he was right. He told me you were too prideful to accept help directly. A royal through and through, eh? Well, no matter. I trust that you know what you are doing, my queen. And if it turns out you've bitten off more than you can chew-- the Marshes are there for you." For Gregor, the whole matter likely was personal; just as his family had never forgotten their roots, they had never forgotten who had lifted them up. They owed their success to Remin's family and, as such, continued to serve them. They were good subjects to have, all things considered. "Let us, then, speak of more pleasant things. How are you enjoying the hunt so far, my queen?" he smiled, and suddenly he was the same old friendly man from before. Seemingly harmless, even though Remin had had the chance to peek beneath that facade and see that he was anything but that. "I wager that it is not very exciting right now, but just wait and see. I can promise that you will remember this night for the rest of your life. Nothing beats the thrill of the hunt, nothing, I say! Is this your first one?" He gripped his spear as he spoke, his eyes leaving her face to look into the distance. There was nothing but trees; the forest seemed to be unusually quiet, as if all its inhabitants avoided them deliberately.

Well. Well, that changed everything by a wide margin. Cyreia had anticipated a lot of possible motivations, ranging from courtly ambitions to Maric simply hoping she would execute his father so that he could inherit his mansion and titles faster, but not this. Not mere self-preservation. It made it difficult for her to turn him down, especially when she knew that particular struggle all too well. The struggle of trying to survive in a hostile environment. God, what a situation. One of her subjects had sought her out, risking everything in the process, and asked her for help. Wasn't it a king's duty to grant him his wish? How could it not be? Of course, Maric could have lied to her, though Cyreia was mostly inclined to believe him. What he had said so far about the conspiracy was true, and only a blind man could have missed the coldness that hung between Gregor and his son. Clearly, something had happened between them. It just hadn't occurred to her that it could be this serious. "I cannot afford to act against your father now," she said after a few moments of silence. That would be a political suicide; antagonizing the Marshes openly would not only be an immensely unpopular decision, but it would also force the alliance's hand. In the worst case scenario, they were looking at a civil war. And the best case scenario? Unending assassination attempts. None of those outcomes looked appealing to Cyreia, really.

"That doesn't mean I'm not willing to help in other ways, though. I can remove you from the immediate danger for now. I can..." Do what? "... request your service at my castle, if you'd find that appealing." God, hopefully Remin wouldn't be too furious with her. Her wife didn't like the man, to put it mildly, and with good reason, but Cyreia saw no other solution at the moment. Her power didn't extend far enough to be able to protect Maric while he remained in his father's mansion. Hell, she could barely protect herself there. "It doesn't even have to be true; it's just that your father couldn't very well turn me down." It would actually be better if it wasn't true, really. At least Cyreia wouldn't have to come up with ways of defending her decision from Remin's wrath and, well, there was always the chance of him being a liar despite everything. Planting a potential spy into their own home would be unfortunate.

 

[Conifer]

She’s sure she would remember this night for a very long time, but not for the hunt, should it be an actual hunt. That would leave her mind by next month. No, she’d remember other things about this night; the strange tension, the ease at which Gregor was able to switch from cold and hard steel to nearly unsettling warmth, the way Maric looked at her, like he was a snake and she was a mouse. But-- also Cyeria with the dog, working her way past fears Remin was sure was founded. She’d remember that, too. That would be the one good thing she pulled from this evening. “It is.” She agrees. “My father used to go on them occasionally,” When he was forced to, to appease some visiting important person. She doubted he ever used a weapon on them himself. “I remember them all returning, with their catches in tow, and I remember them swapping stories about how it fell while we had it for dinner. But I never joined. Too many other things to do.” And it was about as interesting to her as it had been to her father.

“I wouldn’t turn down the offer.” He agrees. “He doesn’t know I know of his plans, to my knowledge. I overheard him talking to-” He pauses for a moment, not seeming to mind the gap in his speech. Maric looks to Cyeria, wondering how much to even say before any of her side of the bargain is held up, and then evidently decides to veer on the safe side. “-some of the others involved in this whole thing.” He looks away, back to Remin and Gregor. “By which I mean your offer wouldn’t be all that suspicious. He doesn’t know I’m not in favor of the plan, to my knowledge. If anything, he’d welcome me going.”

 

[Aerynth]

"Well then," Gregor smiled, "perhaps we should let you put that dagger to use and finish off one of the boars. That would only make it even more memorable for you, eh, my queen?" It was hard to tell whether he had meant it as a joke or not, though it probably didn't matter. Not when the long awaited sound of the horn cut through the silence like a hot knife through butter. "Ah, there we have it. Our boar, or hopefully boars. Go back to your old position in the formation, my queen. It's been a pleasure to talk with you, but this isn't the safest place to be right now." Did he condemn her for going in the first place? If so, he certainly hid his feelings well; he sounded more like a concerned parent chiding a beloved child than anything else.

"Alright," Cyreia agreed easily, deciding not to comment on his refusal to share more than absolutely necessary. It only made sense; trying to stay useful for as long as possible was a sensible decision. Would she have done the same in his situation? Very likely. "We shall discuss the details later." She had wanted to ask him whether he possessed any valuable skills - whether there was anything she could use to explain her sudden interest in acquiring his services - but of course that the damn horn had to ruin their opportunity to talk. Nevermind, there will be more of them. If he manages to survive, that is. That thought raised another question. Just how real was this threat he perceived? It certainly seemed real enough for him to turn to her out of all people, and that spoke volumes about his desperation. Paranoia could be at the root of his issue, Cyreia supposed, but ignoring his fears seemed deeply disrespectful. It wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on him as well. Better safe than sorry. So what if that meant that now she had to watch one more person carefully? Maric had decided to trust her and those who put their trust in her should be rewarded. Wasn't that the entire point behind offering someone your loyalty? She nodded in Remin's direction and smiled briefly in an attempt to signal that everything was fine, or at least as fine as it could get, before urging Ehasham to speed up. Hunting boars was just about the last thing on her mind, but the charade had to be kept up for Gregor to be satisfied. Besides, Maric followed the signal as well and she intended to stay close to him.

The wind in her hair would have been pleasant if her head wasn't so heavy with worry. God, this was the absolute worst set-up to defend anyone in. Focusing simultaneously on riding, herself, spotting the poor animal and Maric seemed distinctly impossible. Under different conditions, Cyreia might have admired Gregor for creating such favorable conditions for his plan, though now she was too busy trying to keep track of everything despite all odds. Perhaps nothing will happen. Perhaps Remin being there really did scare him off. In hindsight, she probably shouldn't have thought that. Such way of thinking always invited trouble, really. It wasn't different now, either. In one moment, Maric rode more or less by her side, and then he suddenly didn't. Panicked, Cyreia turned around to check what had happened only to see that his horse had stumbled over... something. It was hard to tell from the increasing distance. Then, all of a sudden, there was another horn blowing; this type of signal she didn't know, and that filled her with dreadful certainty. That certainty was only increased twofold when a silhouette moved in the underbush. Cyreia made Ehasham slow down abruptly, but she was too far by now, way too far to really do anything, and-- well. This time, she felt the wave of magic coming, recognized it by the familiar tingling, but she couldn't do anything to stop it. Two things happened at the same time: one, the person hiding in the underbush shot at Maric from a bow. Two, the arrow hit him, though with such agonizing slowness that it didn't even scratch him. Alright, maybe three things happened. The third thing was Cyreia falling off her horse immediately, utterly drained and unprepared for any of this. Something cracked.

 

[Conifer]

Remin was grateful that the horn cut her off before she was forced to reply about his offer, however jokingly it might have been made. She had no desire to do that, but-- honestly, if that’s what it took for him to trust her and trust that she had a handle on their perceived problem? She’d do it. She’d do most anything to keep Cyeria safe at this point, especially something as simple as finishing off a boar already doomed to its fate. She wouldn’t like it - gods, how she wouldn’t like it, but she’d do it. Instead of making any reply, though, she starts to fall back, as he suggested. She didn’t want to be near him if she didn’t have to be, and leaving Cyeria alone with Maric wasn’t something she wanted to do for longer than she had to.

She hadn’t even fully reached them, though, when the sound of a heavy thud onto the well-packed ground and the shocked whinny of a horse rang out. Remin glances back just as the second horn - two horns? Why two horns? That wasn’t right, surely? She hadn’t been hunting, but she knew the protocol of it - rings out.

Gods, it all happens so fast that it seems to wrap back around to being excruciatingly slow; something flies out from the underbrush - for Cyeria? Panic leaps in her throat at the sight of it flying in the air, but it’s too low, it’s too far back, it’s headed straight for Maric. A twist she didn’t have to process, because barely sooner than the arrow skitters off onto the ground, she sees Cyeria fall, and that’s where the true panic lies. Another arrow? One she hadn’t noticed? Had Maric been a distraction? Remin’s off her horse in moments, stumbling into the dirt. She lands strangely on her ankle, but it’s not given a spare thought as she clambers over to Cyeria, expecting to find an arrow lodged into the king’s chest, or neck, or-- or anywhere. “Avther--”
There’s blood - some amount of it, her hand comes away reddened where she reaches for Cyeria’s head, but there’s no arrow to be found- just as there’s no arrow to be found lodged into Maric, despite her seeing the arrow fly straight at him. He, if anything, simply looks equally as baffled as she does as he sits up, shifting off the form of his panicked and pinned horse before it realises that it’s stronger than he is and can stand up despite his weight atop it. Something wasn’t right here. /Everything/ wasn’t right here. Had they mistaken Maric for Avther? Surely not. Remin found herself useless, just trying to process the scene - she should get /away/, she should /go/, but the pain in her ankle was making itself known well enough that she knew that she’d be caught quickly, and she can’t leave Cyeria.

 

[Aerynth]

It didn't hurt. Distantly, Cyreia was aware that it should hurt if the cracking sound and sticky wetness on the back of her head were anything to go by, but it simply didn't. More than anything else, she felt empty; empty and so weightless that a gust of wind could take her away. The stream of her thoughts, too, slowed down to a crawl. Why had she been panicking mere seconds ago again? It seemed so pointless now. Everything did aside from the fact that she was tired, oh so tired, and the ground wasn't as uncomfortable as it had initially looked. Hadn't she been joking about sleeping on the floor at some point? Yes, a good idea. Cyreia would sleep. Her eyes closed on their own, her consciousness drifting away, and then-- Remin's voice. She sounded scared. Why? Was it something serious? Something for her to take care of?

The thought cut through her exhaustion and Cyreia opened her eyes. It took them a moment to focus - why was everything so blurred? - but when they did, she saw Remin floating above her, ghostly pale and worried and beautiful throughout it all. Her first instinct was to reach out, to touch her face, so she did just that, but the contact made her flinch. Oh, that explained the cracking sound. Her arm was broken. The realization felt strangely impersonal, more along the lines of 'good to know' than 'goddamit'. Almost as if it had happened to someone else. Cyreia struggled to stay awake, but she had to. Remin looked so distraught, after all. Remin, her love. She couldn't let her face this alone, whatever it was.

"What's... what's wrong?" she managed to ask through the dryness of her mouth. God, why did her tongue feel so heavy, her speech so labored? She must have sounded like an idiot.

 

[Conifer]

Gods. Gods, she doesn't know what to do. Give her lists and problems all day long amd Remin can come up with solutions easily - but put her in a crisis like this? Make the moment matter, make every second count? She can barely /move/, never mind come up with what to do. "Avther--" she stammers. She can /handle/ this, for gods' sakes. Maric's saying something beside her, and Gregor as well, but whatever it is isn't important. Gods. Okay. Cyeria's hurt - she can fix that. She'll be worn out, but she's already going to be useless. Remin settles her hands on her (one bloodied, one clean,) and starts to send whatever magic she can scrape together into healing her, focusing on the head wound. That seemed like the most important thing, despite pain crossing her face when she tried to move her arm.

Thankfully, Maric was a better caster than she was. He - mostly unharmed, as far as she can tell - settles a hand on Cyeria as well, pushing much more capable magic into the king. Remin can feel it mixing with her own, but there's...some sort of blockage for them both. It budges a bit, but it's like shoving rocks through mesh; only some of them will slip through.

"We were ambushed." Gregor sounds worried as he approaches, but his tone is off, his words are off, everything about this is off. "They're being handled, my queen, don't worry, and a healer's being fetched for the king." Did he have time for all that? For learning that information, for organizing a response? Gods. She has no idea. The magic's sapping her. This was a terrible idea. They were still in the woods with enemies, she needed to be alert. "My son, that was a terrible fall. Are you okay?"

"Fine." Maric says through gritted teeth. Something wrong there, too. Something wrong everywhere. She could almost piece it together, but not quite. It didn't matter right now, anyways.

"Stay with me, Avther.' She says quietly. Her voice is shaking, thick with panic and emotion. "Stay awake. You're hurt, you need to keep your eyes open, you need to stay awake."

 

[Aerynth]

There was a whole sea of voices now, a buzzing cacophony, but Cyreia couldn't be bothered to try and decipher what they were saying. It didn't seem important; nothing but Remin did. Hurt? That made sense. Now that she thought about it, there had been a fall. Maybe also a few moments of black nothingness, too, before Remin's words had brought her back from the edge of that abyss. Cyreia blinked a few times. "... alright," she said quietly, looking terribly disoriented, "alright. I can... stay awake for you." Staying awake was simple enough, or at least it would have been under normal circumstances. With her consciousness hanging on a thin thread, though? Not so much. Cyreia inhaled sharply, barely aware of the hands on her body. Stay awake. Stay awake. What could she do to stay awake? Ah, of course. Pain would do the trick. She raised the injured arm and then, despite herself, slammed it into the ground. Immediately, Cyreia wished she hadn't done that. The pain blinded her for a second and she couldn't suppress the agonized groan, but-- she was awake. It had worked. Not one to shy away from working solutions, Cyreia grit her teeth and did it again. There was another moan, even more pained than the last, and yet nothing suggested that she was about to stop.

"By the gods," an unknown woman said, "what is he doing?" The healer Gregor had promised, though of course Cyreia couldn't know that. "Stand aside, my queen. You too, Maric. I'll take care of him." She dropped on her knees, muttering something under her breath. Cyreia thought it sounded suspiciously like "do you not want that arm anymore" and "soldiers are the worst patients, I swear," but she was likely wrong. The woman wouldn't say that to the king, would she? The healer lay her hands on her and-- nothing happened. She looked at Remin and Maric in shock. "I can't get through. I don't know what's happening, but..." Quickly regaining her composure, she put her hand under Cyreia's bleeding wound instead. "Someone, anyone, bring me the medical supplies from my cart. It's all in my suitcase." Apparently the woman wasn't about to let such a tiny complication stop her; if it had to be done the old-fashioned way, that was what she would do. "My queen, do you have any idea what's causing this? You know him the best."

 

[Conifer]

Remin watched with horror as he banged his arm against the ground; that wasn't right, that wasn't what she should be doing. Remin reached for her to hold her arm into place as the healer rushed over. "I--I don't know.' She stammers as Maric goes for the suitcase; despite her earlier opinion of him, her opinion of him now was a little better. At least he wasn't as useless in a crisis as she was. At least he was able to act, instead of sitting dumbly. "I don't know him /well/, it's barely been two weeks. But he hasn't mentioned anything." She's so /tired/ from her own attempts at healing. Even if she'd known the answer, she wasn't sure she'd realize it was the answer. But magic didn't stop people from being healed, nor did her being a woman, and those were the only two things that Remin knew to be hidden secrets. Ones she certainly couldn't reveal here, anyways.

The healer doesn't seem to care, springing open the suitcase to reveal the various medical contents, and set to work. Remin watched, still clinging to Cyeria's hand of the clearly injured arm. To protect it, she would say, if anyone questioned it.