Fantasy All's Fair

[Aerynth]

"Well then, I'll just have to manage somehow." The healer worked quickly, her movements precise and experienced. It didn't take long and the wound was bandaged, the whiteness of the gauze in sharp contrast with her black hair. The broken arm still had to be taken care of, though. She supported Cyreia's head so she wouldn't choke before making her swallow some kind of liquid. It tasted bitter, similarly to the antidote Sarah had forced her to drink earlier. God, that seemed so long ago. Was Sarah doing well? Cyreia certainly hoped so. "For the pain," the healer explained before straightening the broken arm and fixing it to a splint. "It isn't a terrible injury," she said as she worked, probably out of concern for Remin's obvious panic. "A bad fall, yes, but most of this is likely due to shock and blood loss rather than something more insidious." Also due to magic strain, though the healer couldn't be blamed for not knowing that. It wasn't exactly a hypothesis one would normally consider when it came to Eupriunians. "He'll live, though he should rest. Ideally for a few days. Come on, help me with him. There is enough space in my cart. I'll drive him back to the mansion." A few men, some of them Gregor's and some of them theirs, lifted her now limp body carefully and carried her to the cart. There must have been some sleep formula in the anaesthetic as well because Cyreia's eyelids felt even heavier than before. Or had she simply reached her limit? Well, it didn't seem to matter anyway. The woman had said something about resting, hadn't she? That was all the justification she needed to let go of everything and allow the darkness to take her.

Meanwhile, Maric looked just as confused as Remin, if not even more. Gregor had disappeared before the healer had even arrived, probably to take care of something important. Nobody paid them any attention in the ensuing chaos; men were talking to one another in panicked voices while desperately trying to make it seem like the situation was under control. "That was his doing, wasn't it?" Maric asked as he eyed Remin carefully. "He saved me." For the first time since they had met, he watched her with something that couldn't be described as annoyance or concempt.

 

[Conifer]

She helped - mostly uselessly - load Cyeria into the cart, mostly still just clinging to her hand and helping to support her injured but wrapped head. The cart was small, though, built for speed and not for passengers; however much she wanted to pile in beside her, keep holding onto her hand, make sure that the healer wasn't in on all of this too...the cart pulled away before she even found her voice to ask. There were horses to escort back, there was...apparently Maric to talk to. Where had his father gone? The current absence of him didn't sit right with her- none of this did, but especially not that, not after what had just happened. What...Cyeria had just apparently don't. Gods, she should have realised it had been magic. That made sense. Maybe she wasn't in as bad a state as it seemed she was, maybe it was just strain.


Remin was quiet for a moment under Maric's gaze, partially unsure how to speak, partially unsure what to tell him of what happened. How much? How little? Gods, she was too tired for this. There was little point in denying what he already seemed to have figured out. "...he might have.' She agrees quietly, aware that someone might still be around. They seemed alone, but were they, besides the horses? "The king's...he's developed some magic since arriving here. It acts out when there's danger."

 

[Aerynth]

"That's..." For a while, Maric seemed to be at a loss for words, which was likely the greatest burst of emotion he had ever shown to anyone. In that moment, he looked younger than he was-- or maybe he finally looked his age. He couldn't be much older than Remin herself even if his attitude might have obscured it. The moment didn't last too long, though. "Let's go home. I'd wager we have much to talk about." He turned to one of the men, his expression as unreadable as usual. "Seyrn, if father asks about my whereabouts, tell him that the queen was distraught and I accompanied her home." Seyrn bowed. "Certainly, sir. Do you need someone to escort--" "No. I can do that alone." The 'can' part of his statement sounded more like 'must' and Seyrn got the message. "Right. Of course, sir. Sorry to have doubted you, sir."

Maric chose to ride Cyreia's horse, probably because everyone else was ignoring him and he had to get to the stables somehow. Ever obedient, Ehasham didn't protest. "I thought you were in on that conspiracy," he stated bluntly as they were heading towards the mansion, finally alone and finally able to speak freely. "But it looks like I'll have to reevaluate that position. So, what's really happening here?" Even if he didn't attack her now, Maric didn't exactly sound very reverent of his queen. Hell, he wasn't even polite, not really.

 

[Conifer]

She didn’t find herself liking Maric any more than she had, really, but at least she could begin to trust that they weren’t simply adversaries. Perhaps not friends, perhaps she still couldn’t trust him even if she wanted to, but Cyeria had saved him. Saved him without a thought, it seemed. Either her subconscious was far too trusting, or there were things at play that Remin didn’t understand. Remin mounted her own horse again; her head spun with the effort, but she kept herself right. Falling off in front of Maric would do her no favors, even if they weren’t enemies. He didn’t seem fond of her. But she wasn’t fond of /him/ - so that was more than alright. She didn’t need to be worshipped, she just needed to be alive.

“I didn’t know of the conspiracy until last evening, when I was approached by Balin.” Remin says quietly, as soon as she’s comfortable that they’re out of earshot of anything but trees and underbrush. “He told me of it. But I’m no part of it, not really. I do honestly think that Avther will make a fine king. And I do not trust whoever people willing to resort to that sort of magic would put in his place.” Gods, though, how much to say, how much to reveal? How much was too much? How much too little? “Avther isn’t being manipulated by me. His actions and opinions are his own. He’s a good ally to have beside me, quite honestly.” She couldn’t speak of their relationship, that much was still riskier than she’d like, but...well, perhaps even all of that was too transparent. Maric seemed terrifyingly smart, and the lines weren’t hard to read through.

 

[Aerynth]

Maric studied Remin's features carefully, probably trying to determine whether she was lying or not. Was he happy with her answers? Well, perhaps not happy per se - it seemed that he wasn't physically capable of experiencing happiness - but he certainly looked satisfied. "Yes, a good ally. That's what it looked like. Stay with me, Avther," he mimicked in falsetto, but then he shook his head. "No, forgive me. That was uncalled for. I just... miscalculated, and admittedly I'm bitter about it." So he did have a modicum of decorum, even if it was usually buried under several layers of abrasiveness. "I misjudged you, and for that I apologize." For a while, he just watched the horizon get closer. They exited the forest; the mansion would be visible soon. Thankfully they hadn't managed to get very far during the hunt, so transporting Cyreia shouldn't be too difficult for the healer, either.

"Information for information, I suppose. That assassination attempt? That was my father. I suspected it would happen because-- because I'm not what he envisioned me to be, I asked the king for protection in return for telling him about the conspiracy and your betrayal. I got it. And likely for free, too, because now I assume that you told him before I did." Finally he glanced at Remin, looking her over with what seemed to be... worry? "I don't know how safe our home will be for you now. My father may not be the greatest mind of our generation, but it was not difficult to read you when you rushed to the king."

 

[Conifer]

Her stomach twisted at his recalling of her words. Had she been that obvious? She must have been. It had been hard to school herself in the moment; it was hard to school herself even now. She frowns, embarrassed and frustrated with this man, and his apology does little to temper that.”I’ll...admit that we’ve grown close.” She says softly, but firmly; that’s all she’ll say. Denying it will do no good, but he doesn’t need to know more. She wishes he were someone...more like Everbright. He may know the truth of it, but she couldn’t truly talk about it, not in the way she wanted to with someone. And she didn’t want to, with him. “Your apology’s unnecessary. You believed what I hoped you would." A small amount of olive branch offered. Only a bit. She still didn’t like him.

Perhaps he was better in less stressful times, though. When his father, apparently, didn’t attempt an assasination on him. Remin couldn’t find it in her to blame him for his mood with that being the case. “...No.” She sighs at his mention of the home not being safe (had it ever been?) “No, I imagine not. Perhaps I’ll speak with the healer, advise her to tell your father that Avther will heal better at home. And I’m sure she’s wonderful, but our healer may be able to do some good that she can’t, so it may not be a lie.” Their healer back at the castle was good. Quiet, and...complicated, but had always done well to patch up whoever needed it, comfortable both with magic and with not. “What will you do?” She asks, glancing his way. “If your theory stands true, this isn’t safe for you, either.”

 

[Aerynth]

Whatever his opinion on the whole matter of their closeness was, Maric didn't pry any further. Apparently he had meant the apology, even if his words had been crude, bordering on insulting. Perhaps he didn't dislike Remin; perhaps he simply operated like this, treating everyone with the tact of an average rock. No wonder than nobody seemed to like him. "Congratulations, I suppose," he merely said, and then he let the topic die. It was probably for the best, really, since he decidedly wasn't the type to discuss personal matters with. When he didn't seem actively hostile, he appeared to be awkward instead.

"That might be a good idea. I don't know where my father went, but it wouldn't surprise me if he ran to his friends to inform them of this incident. I doubt he could decide what to do about it by himself." Ah, there it was, the contempt in his voice that had once been reserved for Remin. "Or maybe he went to destroy the evidence left behind by that attempt, I honestly don't know. And... I'm not sure about that, either," he admitted, sounding somewhat uncertain. Almost fragile. "Your husband offered to employ me as a convenient way for me to escape my father, but I don't know whether I can still count on it after what happened. But I could be useful. I know a lot about magic, which could benefit Avther greatly." Did he know about the Eupriunian restrictions placed on magic use? How dangerous this actually was for Cyreia in the context of her home country? If so, he didn't mention it. "I could be useful to you too, I suppose," he added as if it was a mere afterthought. "Though I don't know what you're interested in. Cosmetics? I can make cosmetics."

They moved faster than the cart on horseback, so they actually managed to catch up to the healer before she reached the mansion. If Remin wanted to talk to her, now was her chance; stopping the cart would be the easiest thing in the world.

 

[Conifer]

Remin took advantage of the chance easily, though she didn’t bother stopping the cart; wherever Gregor was, she didn’t want to give him the chance to catch up if he happened to be behind them. She had no idea how that interaction was going to go after, as Maric had pointed out, she’d been rather transparent in her reaction when Cyeria had fallen. The horse could match pace with the cart easily enough, and the healer was seated close enough to the edge that talking wouldn’t prove impossible over the sound of it. “Miss,” She says, when she’s close enough to be heard. “Do you think he’d be well enough to travel this evening? We have carriages. I just...hesitate at the thought of him recovering somewhere unfamiliar.” Somewhere where they may be exposed now, because of her.

The healer looks up from her work with a soft frown. “I’m not sure. The injuries aren’t too serious, but he’s not fit to ride anything for a few days, at least.”

“We have carriages. Good ones.”

“Then I don’t see that it would be too much of an issue, if you were careful.” Good. That was good. As much as a risk as being here would be, she didn’t want to risk Cyeria worse just because of their potentially unnecessary haste.

“Thank you.” She says. “...if you’d be willing to speak to Lord Gregor, and advise him that we should return home this evening, without mentioning that I’m suggesting it, then I’m willing to pay for it.” She wasn’t above bribery. “It’s just a matter of manners, you understand. We don’t wish to be rude, but...I’d rather him somewhere familiar.” Not that the castle was much more familiar to him than the Marshes’, but the people, at least, were more familiar to her.

“...I suppose I can do that, my queen.” She agrees - somewhat skeptic, but a quiet slip of coin does well to win over most.

Remin lets herself fall back a bit to walk beside Maric again. “You’ll come with us to escort us home. Make sure we arrive safely. We can determine official reasons you stay when we have time to speak on it more, but that should be good enough for now, don’t you think?”

 

[Aerynth]

"I... suppose," Maric said, his expression a mix of disbelief and gratitude. "Thank you. I will not forget this." They reached the mansion without further issues, which was to be expected. What wasn't to be expected, though, was the ease with which Gregor let them go. He arrived about half an hour after them, heard out the healer and bid them farewell shortly after that. Was that a part of some clever plan? A hidden betrayal? Perhaps. Then again, perhaps he really had spent all of his energy on concealing the evidence pointing towards his connectiom to the assassination attempt and simply hadn't noticed Remin's fondness towards the enemy. Who knew? Either way, he let them go for now - even Maric, as unhappy as he seemed to be with that particular development - and that surely counted as a victory. It had to. Before they left, the healer took Remin aside to explain to her how often Cyreia's bandages had to be changed; she gave her some of the medicine that had relieved her pain earlier, too. ("He's still my patient, my queen," she said while eyeing Remin carefully. "Doing everything I can to support his recovery is only natural." Of course, Remin's money had likely helped in establishing her sympathies towards the royal couple. Not that she dared to mention it.)

After that, they embarked on their journey once again, this time to head towards their castle. Finally, finally they would be home. Maric preferred to ride his horse, so Remin ended up alone with Cyreia; Cyreia who, despite the healer's insistence that her injuries weren't grave, looked almost like a corpse. She was pale and motionless, her lips a strange hue of blue, and made no sound as the carriage moved forward. Not even the usual snoring; just... complete silence. The healer had warned Remin that something like that might happen, though ("I gave him sedatives, my queen, they're good for him), so it likely wasn't concerning at all. Right?

Cyreia spent most of that time wrapped up in merciful darkness. There were no dreams or nightmares, just... nothing, really, and that felt infinitely comforting in comparison with the chaos of the past few days. Maybe all of that had been a dream, actually. Didn't it make sense? Perhaps, when she opened her eyes, Cyreia would be back in Eupriunia and commanding her units. It did seem more likely than the version of reality in which she had somehow become the Athean king. The version of reality in which she had found love. That... actually turned out to be true, though. When she did open her eyes, the ground was moving underneath her, her stomach felt weak and-- oh, Remin. Remin was there, sitting in front of her. Alright, it hadn't been a dream. Almost subconsciously, Cyreia smiled. Very soon, though, the smile morphed into a pained grin.

"I, ah, have to say that... this isn't my favorite feeling." God, her throat was so dry. How long had it been since she had talked? The memories were so jumbled up it became difficult to tell them apart. Chronological order? What was that, even?Cyreia attempted to sit, but the weight of her own body dragged her back down. After a few seconds of valiant struggle, she simply gave up. "Damn. What... what happened?"

 

[Conifer]

If Maric had any lingering doubts about the nature of their relationship before they began the trip back to the castle, those were likely long gone by now. Fine. If he used that against them, she would find plenty to use back against him. There had to be something. She could at least drag his family name through the wringer, and perhaps that would be enough. That was worries for another day, though - now the only worries were the woman laying on the padded bench of the carriage, one of Remin's softer dresses balled up as a makeshift beneath her head to further cushion it from the unsteadiness of the terrain.

Remin had spent an admittedly embarassing amount of time sitting on the floor between the two carriages, but-- but she needed to be close to Cyeria, needed to be as near her as she could be, and there was no one to see. She held her hand through it and watched her chest with eagle eyes. She had to be sure she was breathing, however confident the healer had been that Avther would be alright. She'd listened perhaps more intensely than she'd had to to the healer's advisories, making her repeat them again once she'd found something to write them down with, but the healer hadn't seemed to mind. Again, though - money got far, especially with people who truly needed it instead of simply wanted it. A small pouch of coin had been pressed into her hand when they departed, and Remin would have paid it a hundred times over if she'd had to.

When Cyeria finally started to stir, though, Remin was seated properly on the bench across from her - though her hand still remained in Remin's, reaching across the space. She'd been gazing out the window for a brief moment, trying to judge how much longer of a trip it would be (they'd been going late into the evening, and it was hard to see much of anything anymore. The sun had begun to set when they'd left, and now it was solidly missing from the sky. They rode in darkness. She estimated an hour or so, though, until they finally reached the tiny town surrounding the castle, and a half an hour after that until they were tucked away into bed.

The sound of her lover's voice drew her attention quicky away from the darkened trees against the blue-black sky, though, and back to the interior of the carriage - dimly lit by a hanging lantern above one of the doors, the light flickering occasionally with the movement. Remin squeezed her hand softly, before shifting off the seat and onto her knees on the floor nearer Cyeria, had other hand coming to settle on her chest - partially a need to touch her, and partially to keep her from trying to sit up again.

"A lot." Remin says quietly, the hand on her chest moving to cup her cheek. "A lot. Maric was attacked - orchestrated by his father - and you...made good on your apparent promise of protection. You used a lot of magic, I think. Then you fell, broke your arm, and hit your head against a stone. You've been heavily sedated for the past hours." She murmurs, hesitating for a moment before leaning up to press a kiss to her forehead. "We're heading home. We left. Too risky. Maric's with us, on a horse."

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia listened to Remin, somehow both calmed down by the sound of her voice and alarmed by what she was actually saying. Not that deciphering the content of her words felt easy to her right now. It was an uncomfortable place to be in, really, with her head throbbing in pain and her insistence to pay attention regardless of it, but... but she had to know. Clearly, something serious must have happened. If not, why were they in a carriage instead of Gregor's mansion? And what about the hunt? Oh, the hunt. The memories surfaced, chaotic and disjointed, yet they were there, which was more than could be said about them a few minutes ago. The darkness of the forest. The glint of the spear in her hand. Maric's expressionless face, then that arrow flying towards him. Wait, an arrow?

Thankfully, Remin was there to explain. Suddenly, all of it made sense; especially how exhausted she felt. Of course that magic had to be involved. Nothing else had ever drained her so thoroughly. The old Epriunian notion of magic being synonymous with weakness because it supposedly meant borrowing something else's power almost made her laugh now. Borrowing? She hadn't borrowed anything. Every miracle had been bought and paid for with her own sweat and blood. Was that weakness, too? Somehow, that didn't seem right.

Cyreia wanted to return the kiss, but that would have required moving around too much, so she just raised her uninjured arm and caressed Remin's hair. God, even doing that was much more exhausting than it had any right to be. Stupid sedatives. Stupid magic, too. Despite all of this, Cyreia couldn't help but smile. How could she not, with Remin towering over her? Her wife had said something about going home, yet there was no other home for her than being by her side. She had been home for a while now. "That really sounds like a lot," she whispered in a hoarse voice. "I'm such an attention seeker, am I not? They weren't even trying to kill me this time and yet I made that assassination attempt all about myself." Still, it was good that it hadn't been for naught. That Maric had survived. They would have to decide what to do with him soon enough, but that could wait for when she felt less like lifeless a ragdoll and more like herself.

Her smile, though, changed into a frown when she looked at the broken arm. "Oh great, that's my sword arm. I mean, I can use the other one as well, but it's not ideal. How am I going to defend my beautiful wife now, hm?" Was it a joke? Well, partially. Cyreia did not want to fight right now - or do anything, really - though not being useful enough as a fighter was a legitimate concern. It took, what, a month or two for a broken arm to heal? God, they could easily be dead by then. Unless... "Could a healer fix this faster? With Athean methods." At this point, she couldn't be bothered to care about Eupriunia and their opinions on magic. If it worked, then it worked. End of.

 

[Conifer]

Remin's quiet for a moment, brushing back Cyeria's hair around the bandaging. It was filthy, dirt and now-dried blood tucked into it, but she avoided that and ran her fingers through the mostly-clean strands near her face. "We'd tried." She says quietly. "Maric and I both, and then the healer. It was-- I just didn't /work/. Nothing would stick. It was like trying to heal a rock." She hasn't wanted to worry her too much with that now, but she at least deserved to know what had happened with herself. "That shouldn't have happened. There's very little that could make someone immune like that." She sighs softly, shaking her head. There was little point in worrying about it now - that was perhaps last in their list of things to worry too much about. "We'll figure it out when you're feeling better."


"In the meantime," Remin says, smiling despite herself at Cyeria's insistence - teasing or not, it didn't matter - of protecting her. "I'll simply have to protect both of us." Remin teases back; she'd be all but useless in a fight, but she would do her best.

Remin knew she'd would hate being in this position all the more if they were elsewhere, but home she could trust. She knew the people there, she knew the places to hide, she knew she could trust it more than they'd been able to trust anything this whole trip.


She shifted away as she finished speaking, reaching for her waterskin and helping Cyeria to drink from it - there was a difficult-to-discern line between being overbearing and not cautious enough right now, and she certainly veered towards overbearing. But she'd nearly lost her. Remin was going to be overbearing if she wanted to be, and Cyeria would just have to deal. Remin shifted, carefully helping Cyeria support her head in a way that made it a bit easier to drink. "Here," she says quietly, bringing the container to her lips. "You must be thirsty." Her voice sounds hoarse, and she'd been out for hours.

 

[Aerynth]

What? Being immune to healing magic was a possibility as well? Apparently so. It probably should have occurred to her that they had tried the magical approach before wrapping her up in bandages, really, but thinking didn't come easily to her. Not with that wound and the faint feeling of vertigo hidden beneath the regular headache. God, every little rut in the road felt like a personal punishment for her past sins now. They didn't travel very fast, likely out of concern for her condition, but the lack of speed didn't make up for the imperfections of the road. Not entirely. Oh, how she yearned for a comfortable bed! Comfortable and, most importantly, motionless bed. "Right," Cyreia said with a sigh. "I assume that I'm at fault here for having too many rock-like qualities." At the end of the day, it didn't bother her as much as it should have. Magic was just a convenient shortcut, not something she really relied on. So what if that way of healing wasn't accessible to her? Cyreia had handled worse injuries before and the lack of magic hadn't stopped her. It would be fine, as it always had.

"I'll entrust my safety into your capable hands, then," Cyreia smiled. "Not everyone can boast having a queen as their bodyguard, so I'll take it." In reality, she just intended to practice with her other arm more diligently, but-- this was fun, really. Allowing herself to be lighthearted with Remin instead of wearing the mask of propriety she had been forced to don with the Marshes. What would their interactions look like once they actually returned? Would they be able act this freely in their home as well or would the duties swallow them whole? Who knew. It was better not to think about the latter because it filled her with panic greater than she would have liked to admit. Not that Cyreia planned to shirk her duties, of course, but-- she had grown too used to this kind of intimacy. Having to sacrifice it sounded awful.

Cyreia actually was thirsty, but she hadn't realized it until after Remin had offered her the drink. The cold water felt downright divine against her lips, almost as divine as her touch, and only extensive experience with similar injuries prevented her from downing it all in one gulp. That would have earned her nothing but a coughing fit or maybe even an episode of vomiting if she was especially unlucky. Cyreia didn't wish to tempt the fate, so she drank cautiously. "If I knew you'd take care of me so nicely, I would have gotten hurt sooner," she joked. "What else will you do for me, hm?" Okay, that might have been going too far, but her already weak brain to mouth filter was weakened even further by the fatigue. For all intents and purposes, it just didn't exist.

 

[Conifer]

Her smile returns, soft and sweet. It was immeasurably comforting that Cyeria was able to joke like this; she was still herself, just a little bit more injured than the ideal. Remin had spent much of the time she was asleep worrying over worst-case scenarios even if the healer hadn’t seen them likely, and...she wasn’t back to normal yet, wasn’t healed, but she was awake and alive and joking with her, and that was far more than enough for Remin to feel better. Even if that joking was probably more the result of exhaustion and sedatives wearing off. “If you haven’t learned yet,” She says, perhaps a bit too seriously in response - but it’s gentle and honest, which is all she can bring herself to be right now. “You’ll learn soon how very little I /wouldn’t/ do for you, my soldier.”

If anything, seeing her in the dirt like that had cleared up a lot of things for Remin. Avther or Cyeria, she...didn’t care. Thinking she did felt so stupid now, but there was little to be done for that short of inventing a way to return back in time and tell herself as much. They were learning things about each other, that was the whole point of this relationship, and that was simply one more thing she had learned. It held no true impact. She loved her, and would love her, all the same - that much was inevitable by now. Had all of this come out when they’d just met, perhaps it would be different, but now? Now was another matter entirely. Remin shifts onto the bench with Cyeria, carefully supporting her as she does so just as she had with the water. This time, though, she settles Cyeria’s head in her lap, rather than help her drink. It had its logical reasons (likely it would protect her better from the movement of the road than some thin cushioning and a rolled-up dress) but mostly, Remin just wanted to be as near her as she could be. “But that’s regardless of your state of injury, so don’t start getting hurt just because you want things from me. It will work,” She laughs softly. “But we might as well skip that step entirely.”

 

[Aerynth]

Had she had the capacity to do so, Cyreia would have stopped to think about how familiar all of this felt. This sense of closeness, the jokes that definitely went too far and yet they ended up being well-received, Remin's sweet smile that she was decently sure nobody but her had seen. She would have thought about how Remin treated her just as she had treated Avther, before the reveal that had seemingly shattered everything. Such introspection required the ability to reach into the past, though, and that seemed distinctly impossible right now. Clinging to the present was all she managed to do and even that grasp felt somewhat flimsy, as if it could slip beneath her fingers at any moment. Perhaps it didn't matter, though. Perhaps enjoying the moment without drawing any conclusions from it was more than fine, too. "I think I know already, Remin." God, that name felt so sweet on her tongue. Remin, Remin. So much nicer than 'my queen'; too bad that she couldn't stick to it in public as well. "Though I'm sure that I can still learn something new about the extent you're willing to go to."

Cyreia looked up to her wife, her eyes meeting hers. The angle felt a bit unusual with Remin above her, but... it was nice. Certainly it could be nice in other situations as well, Cyreia thought, and flushed immediately. God, why did these thoughts fill her head so often now? How embarrassing. She was sure that her expression wasn't exactly subtle, either, but-- at least her injury provided her with a decent excuse. If she looked weird, surely it could be explained with that. "I can try," she chuckled, "but don't get your hopes up. Somehow, I always find myself in these predicaments. I'm not sure why that keeps happening. Maybe I was cursed." Surely it had nothing to do with her tendency to seek out danger enthusiastically, though. No, absolutely nothing. Causality was just a myth. Smiling softly, Cyreia squeezed Remin's hand. "And what about you? I hope you are uninjured?" It looked like that to her, but that didn't necessarily mean that it was true. Many things could have happened after that fateful fall, too. "I also hope that Maric didn't antagonize you much." Cyreia hadn't dared to hope that he hadn't antagonized her at all because, well, that seemed entirely unrealistic. Perhaps he had at least tried to play nice, though. Clearly, the two must have had an honest discussion at some point if he had been allowed to tag along.

 

[Conifer]

“He was fine,” She assures her, working a short braid into her hair, and then another as soon as she’d finished that one. It was idle work, to keep her hands busy. “I don’t think he likes me terribly, but we’re evenly matched there.” At least he was plain and (hopefully) unharmful in his dislike. She would welcome someone not liking her if they offered some amount of safety all the same. “And I’m fine.” she assures her softly. “I twisted my ankle a bit getting to you, but it’s nothing.” It had gotten, admittedly, entirely forgotten about until they were settled into the carriage, but it was at worst a light annoyance. She hadn’t broken anything - just strained it, if even so much as that. “Maric’s alright as well. Probably some bruising from that fall, but nothing harmed. I think you collected the injury from all of us.”

She’s quiet as she works more braids into her hair, before she stops halfway through one. It looks ridiculous, the half-dozen tiny little bits of work sticking out strangely in Cyeria's hair, and it leaves her feeling breathless. They need more moments like this; they deserve moments of quiet silliness, and not just the constant danger that they’ve found themselves in. And they almost didn’t get it. The angle’s all sorts of awkward as she leans down to kiss her, but that’s an easy thing to overlook for the moment or two their lips press together. “You scared me.” Remin says. She lingers near her, still, close enough that they can feel each other’s breathing. Something about this moment leaves her feeling like it had all just happened again - like she was begging her to stay as he struggled to stay conscious for her. She doesn’t cry, but she feels near to it, eyes stinging. “You’re not allowed to leave me yet, okay?”

 

[Aerynth]

"What are you doing?" Cyreia laughed as she felt Remin's fingers in her hair. "Do you want me to look even more ridiculous than I already do? Because you're likely accomplishing that." Despite her words, she didn't actually mind. It was... not unwelcome at all, even if it woke up a strange feeling of nostalgia somewhere deep within. When had been the last time someone had braided her hair? God, she must have been a child back then. Cyreia closed her eyes as Remin worked, confident that the conversation would help her stay awake. Somehow, getting rid of one sense allowed her to focus on the sensation more. "Oh, my poor Remin," she said. "I hope it doesn't hurt terribly." Twisted ankle wasn't a serious injury by any stretch of the imagination, but it didn't mean that it wasn't painful. In her experience, strained limbs tended to hurt more than fractures. Sure, they also healed more quickly, but that didn't make the pain any less pronounced. "I am not a doctor, so I'm afraid I can't do much, but I can try to kiss the pain away. Maybe it would work," she suggested, half-joking and half-serious. Well, more like one hundred percent joking about the supposed effectiveness and one hundred percent serious about the offer.

In the end, Cyreia was the one to receive a kiss, though. She didn't see it coming, both metaphorically and literally, but she leaned into it automatically nevertheless. Like a moth to flame. Unlike the proverbial moth, though, Cyreia didn't find her doom in the brief contact of their lips. She found hope and comfort and belief that, despite everything, the two of them would be fine. Ever doubting it seemed so foolish right now. "I'm sorry," she whispered. God, she had been so careless with Remin's heart, hadn't she? It hadn't occurred to her how scared her wife must have been. How selfish of her. "I, well. Sometimes, it's... difficult for me to remember that I'm not supposed to be doing this anymore. Risking my life, I mean. I didn't exactly expect to see old age, you know? So being overly careful didn't really make sense." Admitting it in front of another person was... well, strange. Cyreia had lived with that mindset for so long it had been fused into her skin, but actually voicing it made it sound so stupid. Stupid and self-destructive. Wasn't it what it was, though? "But I think I can see myself getting old with you. That could be fun. We could count each other's wrinkles."

 

[Conifer]

“You did what you had to.” She sits back properly, the angle too difficult to sustain for too long. When they finally got home, she could hold her as close as she’d like, but she’d have to be patient for now. Soon. Her fingers find her hair again, though she doesn’t go back to braiding; she just runs her fingers through it, so careful of the pain that might still linger there. “Every time you’ve risked yourself, it’s been for a good reason. And I-- don’t wish to take that freedom from you. Not when it’s what you know. I just don’t want to lose you to it. So be careful.”

“And,” She says, a bit more lightly, teasing. “For the record, a lady doesn’t wrinkle. She just-- gracefully ages.” The thought of either of them reaching that far felt frankly foreign at the moment, but she ignored it. They could dream, even if they couldn’t truly have it. But maybe they would - maybe everything would settle into peace, soon, and they’d simply be able to do their jobs and love each other and worry far less. “But if I do prove myself not a lady, then you’re free to count my wrinkles. I suppose. If you’re kind about them, and always subtract at least ten from your tally.”

Remin eventually pulls her eyes away from her love to look out the window again - still, she sees only darkness, with the occasional brush of something more blue or more black, and the stars peaking through the trees. “I don’t know how kidding you were, before.” She murmurs, twisting a bit of her hair between her fingers. “But it might be nice, to sleep beneath the stars. We could take off for a few days, when you’re better healed. Tell only a handful of people who need to know where we’re going, and just...be alone. Though I’m not sure you can entirely convince me to sleep on the ground.” She glances down at her, back away from the window. “I think we have an open-top carriage somewhere. We could set a bed up in it. Some cozy little nest.” It was likely all a foolish idea; would there be time for it, by then? Would they still care for each other in this way, when they weren’t pressed together like preserves in a jar? (Well- yes. She knew that much. She trusted that much, at this point.) But it was a nice little dream anyways, even if it could never happy.

 

[Aerynth]

"I'll find a balance," Cyreia promised. Honestly, it was a good thing that Remin didn't want her to stop entirely because she wasn't sure whether it could be done at this point. The habit simply ran too deep. Sitting on her ass while others risked their lives for her? That just wasn't her. What she could do, though, was to pause and think before charging into the newest danger. Perhaps a better, less risky strategy would reveal itself to her. Perhaps not, but it was worth a try. Anything to make Remin worry less.

"Yes, she ages gracefully, and that includes wrinkles. They're supposed to be there, you know?" Cyreia chuckled. It didn't really make sense to her, this insistence that wrinkles were something shameful, something to hide from the world. Nobody could be young forever. Nobody aside from corpses and those weren't exactly the pinnacle of aesthetics after a few days, either. Time just went on, uncaring what anyone thought of it, and ground them all into dust. Wrinkles were just a symbol of resistance to that influence. "I'm sure I can find you beautiful even with wrinkles. They make one look more experienced. More worldly. But if it makes you feel better, I can pretend I don't see them."

The smile on her lips only spread wider when Remin spoke of sleeping beneath the stars. Back then, Cyreia had said that mostly to prevent lady Everbright from filling the silence with her prying, but that didn't mean that it didn't sound appealing to her. "I've done that a few times," she said, "and it was nice. The air is just so much fresher than inside. Bugs are a problem, though, and it can also get pretty cold, but-- we could find a way to keep ourselves warm." That wasn't inappropriate at all, was it? Cyreia was just warning her of the perils associated with sleeping out in the open. Anyone with a shred of responsibility would have done that. Besides, her words could plausibly mean just about anything. Bringing thick blankets, for example. A totally valid interpretation, even if her mind jumped to other options immediately. It had to be the sedatives, Cyreia decided. They made her think in strange ways. "I mean, I doubt our schedule will allow it often, but-- it's only sensible to relax from time to time. A tired mind can't make sound decisions. When you look at it from this angle, I'd say we owe it to our people to rest." She fell silent, just admiring Remin for a while. God, it felt so nice to be able to watch without worrying whether someone else saw her and drew conclusions from it. The fact that she could only really do it when they were alone only made it rarer, more valuable. "Tell me, Remin. What are some of the acceptable ways for kings and queens to rest? They can't expect us to be married to our jobs."

 

[Conifer]

Two weeks ago, she might have said /I am/. Now, it’s a thought that passes, so briefly, through her mind and leaves her feeling guilty. Yes, she...technically is. Sort of. Marrying had been her job, and she had done it. Avther had been her job, and she had married him. But now it all felt different, with these two weeks, and this makeshift second-beginning. (What if they married again someday? Something private and just them and unofficial in every regard, but a marriage of choice instead of obligation? It wasn’t an idea for now - marrying again now would nearly defeat the purpose of marrying again. She loved Cyeria, but she barely knew her. No, she’d bring it up someday, years down the line, maybe. Or at least months. If she brought it up ever, honestly. But it was a nice thought even if it went nowhere.)
“Hunts and parties and things that take up as much rest as they offer,” She laughs softly, instead of what she for that split second thought. “But...no, we’ll have time to take the rest we need. Maybe not now, but once the nation’s recovered some. Things are shockingly boring in times of peace, and by then, we’ll have people who can do their jobs well in place.” Ones that won’t try to kill us as the city council had, she implies. “But we can afford a trip for a day or two,” Remin promises. “As a reward, once we clean everything we revealed on this trip up.” It was nice to have something to look forward to that wasn’t as entirely daunting as facing what they were going to have to sooner than later. Or, at least, she would, with Cyeria healing.

The mention of finding ways to keep warm had brought a heat to her cheeks, but it wasn’t unwelcomed, the places where Remin’s mind jumped. They’d been...quite warm in the washroom, hadn’t they. She can only imagine how much of the open-air chill they could stave off with similar activities. Further activities, where ever that might go. For everything she’d been taught, her education had shied away from this area, and it left it all exhilaratingly blank. Remin wondered if Cyeria faced much more experience than she did, with the need to keep her secret. It hadn’t seemed like there were many who had seen her as herself in a very long time, if her reveal to Remin had been filled with all the tears and anxiety that it had been. Maybe these were new things they’d face together.

 

[Aerynth]

"God," Cyreia rolled her eyes. "Are you telling me that what we've been doing throughout the trip is supposed to be fun?" The idea was so absurd it bordered on offensive, really. There had been wars that had exhausted her less than this. Not that wars hadn't been exhausting, but at least nobody had expected her to enjoy them. Cyreia the commander and Cyreia the person hadn't been the same people and that had been fine. Here, though? All of the duties of the king bled into her personal life as well in ways that were both invasive and baffling. Would there ever be an opportunity for her to just... be herself? To put the burden away? God, there must have been some way to do this. People couldn't work like machines, carrying out their tasks over and over until they broke. At least not if you didn't want them to break very fast. Maybe Athea would welcome it in her case, but Cyreia wasn't nearly as selfless. She wouldn't give them everything. Certainly not after discovering, perhaps for the first time ever, just how colorful life could be.

"A trip sounds nice," she agreed easily. "And I mean a real trip, not just a sequence of catastrophes like this one. I'm not saying it was all terrible, but maybe it was just a little too eventful for my tastes." Hopefully, they would be able to settle into a more comfortable rhythm later, when the kingdom returned to some semblance of normalcy after the war and when they actually accepted her as their ruler. If that ever happens. Cyreia had no doubts about Athea recovering; the process might be slow and arduous, but as long as there were enough hands and a willingness to rebuilt what had been lost, the country would be fine. What about her, though? Would they ever truly accept her? No, Cyreia didn't want to think of this right now. It wouldn't help anything.

"And what do you usually do at the castle when there are no duties to take care of?" she asked, curiosity apparent in her voice. Surely Remin had to do things other than just studying and talking to important people. The entirety of her existence couldn't fit into such a small box, now could it? "As for myself," Cyreia continued with a tiny smile, "I think I'd like a garden. A small patch of ground just for myself. I've never done anything like that, but... well, growing things sounds appealing. You know, putting your work in something and seeing the progress. It's also the matter of having an activity to keep your hands busy. Honestly, I'd go mad if I had to spend the rest of my life doing nothing but signing documents."

 

[Conifer]

"It was our honeymoon, after all." Remin laughs softly. "You didn't find it to be the peak of relaxation? I, for one, feel like I've never had a worry in my entire life." Gods, if only that were true. But honestly - she wonders if they'd be this close, if they had managed a proper honeymoon. If they hadn't had to hold tight to each other to survive, would they still care for one another like this? If they hadn't been facing death left and right? Maybe. Maybe not as quickly, but maybe. "I say we do this every year. Roam around and uncover plots against us, nearly dying every other day. I've never been more relaxed."

"We have plenty of land." Remin hums, leaving the thoughts of near-death aside. There was time to worry about that, but it wasn't right now. "We do have gardens, but our groundskeeper's a bit possessive over them. But we'll find you somewhere to start something fresh." It sounded appealing, honestly. The excuse to sink her hands into dirt instead of soft gloves. Maybe they'd spend some time together out there, if she'd welcome her presence. "I...don't do terribly much." She admits. "I'll read, when I can, or complete needlework." Gods, what did she even do for fun? Her life sounded boring even to her, though she was content enough in it. Remin hoped they were past the point of Cyeria minded if she sounded ridiculous in her describings of her life, but even this sounded...sad, to Remin. But what else /was/ there to do, besides work on things to - as her mother had put - 'better herself'?

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia burst out in laughter. Laughing so wildly actually kind of hurt, but it didn't matter to her much at the moment. Everything felt vaguely wrong anyway, so trying to escape the discomfort seemed largely pointless. No, she'd rather laugh without restraints. The chance to do that was too precious to waste. "Had I known you loved adrenaline so much, I would have picked a lot more fights. Threatened more important people with death and such, maybe even donned some red clothes and found bulls to taunt. You sound like you would have enjoyed that." But honestly? Remin's suggestion didn't sound like a bad idea at all. Touring the country on a regular basis could be beneficial, both to strengthen the ties with old allies and to see what was actually happening in the country. Maybe they really should do it every year, even if Cyreia would prefer it if they did not attempt to kill them every other day. Well, one thing at a time. Perhaps they would reach that stage eventually.

As she listened to Remin's descriptions of her free time activities, though, her smile gained a sad edge. God, she really had been so lonely. The more Cyreia heard of her life in the castle, the more it sounded like serving her sentence in prison. Like being locked in a cage. Sure, it was a very nice cage - shiny and made of gold - but still a cage nevertheless and no amount of glitter could change that. Her first impulse was to hug her, to provide at least some comfort, but-- Remin wouldn't appreciate that, would she? Nobody liked being pitied. No, there had to be a better reaction. Ideally something constructive. "That's a bit monotonous, isn't it?" she ended up asking. "I mean, there's only so much you can learn from books and spending so much time in one building can't be healthy. Perhaps we could disguise ourselves as commonfolk from time to time and wander the streets. See a theater play, talk to people other than advisors, things like that. It would be... research. Yes, research. Surely you'd agree that good rulers have to know their subjects, my queen."

 

[Conifer]

"Even if we're found out," Remin smiles softly. "Few could fault me for trying to get some proper culture into you, my soldier." It was amazing how simply talking with her relaxed her - an hour ago she'd been barely more than a ball of nerves, and now she was smiling freely. Cyeria was in little less danger than she had been when she was asleep, but it was all just...easier, having her around, dragging Remin away from her thoughts. She starts working short braids into her hair again, smiling softly down at her. "It's honestly not as terrible as it all sounds. I've never not been content. I've had what I needed, and things to fill the time. But that being said, it'll likely be much better with you at my side.


"How do you feel, now?" She asks, a bit more softly. "Is there anything you need? There's little we can do for the moment, but...but there's some supplies here." She seemed okay, and the healer had made it sound like she would be okay, but...Even with the lightness that talking and teasing with Cyeria brought, it couldn't reduce Remin's worry entirely.

 

[Aerynth]

"Very true. You can't allow some Eupriunian to embarrass you, now can you? Obviously, you'd be doing it all for the good of the kingdom. No fun involved at all." Of course, Cyreia doubted that Remin had suffered in the palace, surrounded by luxury and people who had catered to her every whim, but... what she had described still sounded empty. Existing rather than living. Had she truly been content or did she just lie to herself? People often did that when they felt trapped in their situation. Wasn't that Remin's case, too? She couldn't have just given up her claim to the throne, just as she couldn't stop being the queen now. It didn't work like that. Not really having any other experiences to compare her daily routine with couldn't have helped, either. If it really felt satisfying to her, it was likely because Remin knew nothing else. Well, it doesn't matter. Things will be different with me. Maybe not necessarily better, but certainly different. They would get to discover how exactly it would all turn out together, too. Cautiously, Cyreia looked forward to that.

"I... well. I've been better, but I've also been worse. I'm not vomiting, so that's something to be thankful for," she smiled softly. "That can change at any moment, though, so be prepared to dodge." Once again, Cyreia closed her eyes. Despite everything, she felt warm and pleasant and safe in Remin's lap. Also, admittedly, exhausted from all that talking. In other words, those were the ideal conditions for getting some sleep. "... I think I'll rest for a while. It's getting hard to pay attention to, well, anything." Her head did hurt, after all, and magic strain didn't do much to strengthen her ability to focus, either. It was a small miracle that Cyreia had managed to stay awake for so long in the first place. Now her energy reserves seemed to be depleted, though. In just a few seconds of relative silence, her consciousness slipped out of her reach. She spent the rest of the journey asleep, huddled against Remin's dress and snoring quietly. If one ignored the whiteness of the bandages wrapped over her head, Cyreia looked almost normal. Color had returned to her cheeks at some point during their conversation and her breathing got more regular, too.

What awakened her was, perhaps ironically, when their carriage finally stopped. They were home. Cyreia stood up abruptly, eager to get to the bed, only to stumble immediately and fall down on the floor. "Ouch. Alright, I get it, too soon. Help me get to my room?" she asked Remin with a smile. Once, the request might have been embarrassing to her, but her wife had seen her in worse situations by now. This wouldn't destroy her image, mainly because it had been destroyed a long, long time ago already. How strangely liberating.