Fantasy All's Fair

[Conifer]

"Perhaps." Remin admits. That wasn't entirely as vehement as she'd expected their protests to be - but it would still take some convincing. "But-- We aren't suggesting putting just people at random into the positions. We'd seek out people who are already respected in the community, by both the common people and the nobility alike. Yes, we won't be putting..." She glances over the list again, scanning the names for something standout. "Archen's cousin's husband on it," she glances at Archen, another of the advisors, who at least has the decency to look away from her. Not to look sheepish, but at least to look away. "But perhaps Archen's cousin's husband's favorite vegetable merchant." This might not be exactly what Cyeria had been seeking - Remin could guess that she'd rather do away with the popularity contest altogether; there was only so much leniency that would fly, though. "No one will be entirely happy, but no one will be entirely upset. And if anyone /is/, then they aren't truly our allies. They're just patient for a chance to betray us."

 

[Aerynth]

Someone's favorite vegetable merchant? Cyreia tried not to laugh, she really did, but her lips twitched ever so slightly anyway. Phrasing it like that was just too entertaining for her to be able to suppress her reaction fully. It seemed, though, that nobody in the room considered it quite as amusing. The men were staring at Remin with a combination of incredulity and outright disapproval and the looks that landed on Cyreia weren't much kinder, either.

"With all due respect, your highnesses, your position is rather... let's say precarious," Leo continued. If nothing else, Cyreia had to admire him for the bluntness. How many people would dare to say something like that to their king's face? Not many of them, she would wager. At least he didn't seem to be the type who pretended to be your friend only to stab you in the back. An admirable quality, really. "Passing such radical reforms so soon after your rise to power would not be received well, especially when taking into account our king's origins. It would send the message that you favor commonfolk over nobility and the old families would worry that they are going to suffer under your rule."

"Suffer?" Cyreia raised her eyebrow, her tone somewhere between amused and genuinely angry. Only someone who hadn't experienced true suffering could misuse the word in such infuriating way. "Because I don't wish to give them absolutely everything? That's a bit excessive, don't you think? I'm not taking away anyone's castles or titles nor am I flaying people alive in the streets. I would just like to remind to all of you that ordinary citizens are our subjects as well. More importantly, I've learned that their literacy rates are soaring. Why are we educating them in the first place if we expect them to do nothing with that education? Isn't that a waste of resources?" Alright, perhaps that outburst was a little more passionate than it had any right to be, but Cyreia had never claimed to be very subtle. Besides, Remin hadn't exactly minced her words, either. Wasn't that a sign that she was allowed to speak more or less freely, too? "Look, we don't insist on the council being composed of smallfolk entirely. We just want to give them a chance if they prove to be good enough. And as for the nobles, I would like to speak to the candidates personally before burdening them with such great responsibility." More like before giving them even more power, though framing it like that certainly sounded better.

 

[Conifer]

"We understand and respect your concern." Remin said - it felt so strange, to be back to this, to be back to a firm voice and unrelenting formality after only an hour ago she'd been able to be so...not that. She really just wanted to be back there, tucked into her bed and tucked against her wife as if they were just...people. As if they weren't going to stand here an hour later and argue over the fate of people like they were pawns (but they were, honestly. Remin wanted to think of them as anything else, but that's not what she was ever taught to do, and it's not what she was able to do.) "But my husband-" that you all forced me into, she doesn't say, but it's so heavily implied. Not that she minds, not now, but it's still their doing and she'll still use that against them when she can. "-and I aren't going to relent on this. We'll come to a compromise, and we aren't ruling nobility out entirely - but we won't appoint people on relationship alone. "Avther has a point. We're bettering our people. We're spending money on it, we're spending time, we're spending effort. We should use it. We will use it." They were advisors, and that was the extent of it - especially now that the war was over. They would advise, and she and Cyeria would listen, but the men in this room didn't have any true ability to stop them from doing what they liked short of options that went rather criminal."

"Your highnesses," One of them protests, frustrated, as if speaking with petulant children.

"You know where we stand. If you wish to work within that, feel free to continue speaking about all of it. Aid us, even, and help us source a list of potential common people who may do well. If you wish to keep being stuck in my parent's rule, and the rule before them, and the rule before that, then you can remain there." It was perhaps overboard to threaten them, especially considering Leo's involvement in the conspiracy, but she knew them well enough to know that it wasn't truly going to drive them away. "Just as we can find council members alone if we must, we can find new advisors alone if we must."

 

[Aerynth]

Ah, this was such a welcome break from the empty niceties they had been required to perform for the nobles. Quick and to the point, just the way she preferred it. The advisers on the other hand didn't seem to share her opinion, at least judging by the alarmed glances they exchanged. For a second, Cyreia wondered whether they had gone too far, whether there would be consequences to this, but the thought came and went. The advisers were just that; advisers. They were meant to make her life easier, not harder. Cyreia would listen to what they had to say, of course, as only a fool would ignore people with such extensive experience. Experience wasn't everything, though, and at the end of the day, they had no real power. She was the king here. Remin's words opened their eyes in this regard, it seemed; once again, there was uncomfortable silence, a silence so thick it dragged like honey.

"Very well, your highnesses," one of them finally said, and the words tasted like victory. "Have it your way. We will try our best to be helpful in this endeavor of yours. A new list will be made within three days. It shall be delivered to your chambers when it is ready."

"Thank you," Cyreia nodded. To be honest, she had very little trust in whatever lists this lot could produce, but-- this was an olive branch, wasn't it? It wouldn't hurt to look at it, even if she ended up discarding it entirely. Perhaps that wouldn't be necessary, though. Perhaps there would be a good suggestion or two somewhere in there; if nothing else, the advisers surely knew the country and its people better than her. She would strive to rectify that, but that would take her years and years and they needed a new council right now. Hell, it was late for that yesterday.

"What else do we need to discuss?" she asked, her tone much softer than before. There was no need to cultivate the hostility between them. If they had realized where exactly they stood in all of this and decided to be cooperative, Cyreia was more than ready to turn over a new leaf. "In order of importance."

"The royal treasury, your highnesses," Leo said. "The war effort has depleted it considerably. It is far from empty and we should be able to cover most of the expenses with what we currently have, but the budget is strained. To survive the following years with some degree of comfort, we will need to raise taxes or take a number of loans. Other countries would surely be happy to assist, especially if we offered them a fair interest rate. It might be wise to go down that route."

 

[Conifer]

Wars were costly. Losing wars cost even more - though, Remin wasn't sure that winning was much of a bargain, besides the fact that you won. She sighs. "I would rather burden the issue on the castle than the people. They're burdened enough as it is with the effects of the war that raised taxes wouldn't do us or them any good. There's little extra money to go to taxes in most places, I'm sure. But reach out to some of the local nobility first, and see what we can offer them for financial support.'' She'd be honestly happy to simply raise some taxes there, but it wouldn't be enough, and if they were going to go through with the whole city council plan, they shouldn't rock the boat too much. "Then reach out to beightboring countries. See if in the deals you can strike alliances, not just debts. Gods know we're sore for those."

 

[Aerynth]

Oh, of course the money was going to be an issue; that didn't even remotely surprise her. Even in Eupriunia, Cyreia had had to fight tooth and nail for the smallest increases in funding. She had hated it back then, those wars with bureaucrats that had, at times, felt more intense than actual wars, but-- wasn't it a good thing that she had at least some kind of experience with this now? That thinking about money and how to secure it wasn't entirely new to her? Definitely. All those nights spent crafting applications so well-worded they couldn't simply be handwaved might just be a blessing in disguise, really. Cyreia frowned at Remin's words. "I don't particularly enjoy the idea of going into debt, but there may not be a better solution." Not with everything that needed to be repaired and certainly not with some of their more ambitious plans that required financial backing. Sadly, money didn't grow on trees. "It may even prove to be beneficial in the long run if we do manage to get some allies that way. Then again, as my queen said, I think we should focus on cooperating with the nobles. With the regions that weren't as affected by the war." There had to be such places. Athea had given up quickly and, to Cyreia's knowledge, some parts of it had never even seen the invading forces.

"I agree that just taxing them more heavily wouldn't be very strategic." That was exactly what she would have liked to do, actually, but that would have only bred resentment. Surely they would have seen it as a punishment for escaping the terrors of the war. No, Cyreia couldn't afford to antagonize them needlessly. "Maybe we could frame it as an investment rather than just another tax. For their trouble, the lords and ladies could gain a certain percentage of revenue generated by the establishments they build there. Of course, the local lords and ladies would have to agree with the plan." Cyreia didn't know a lot about the ways of aristocracy yet, but she did know that those people tended to be more territorial than a pack of hounds. Disrupting the power relations in the kingdom would likely open another can of worms, so forcing them to accept aid against their wills - and possibly from their political opponents - seemed like a distinctly bad idea. If everything happened consensually, though? Cyreia saw no real downside to this. Perhaps it would even strengthen the ties between the different regions and make the country stronger as a result.

"I can also contact Eupriunia and ask them for a donation or two." A dangerous topic to breach for sure, but Cyreia felt that she had to do it. If not her, then who else? Using the Eupriunian resources, she had played a major role in ravaging the land. Wasn't it only appropriate for her to atone through using the same resources for the good of the country? It certainly beat doing nothing. Cyreia inhaled sharply before continuing, looking over both the advisers and Remin. "King Loran likely expects us to... pay our dues when we're able to do so, which means that it is in his best interest for us to recover fast. I may be able to convince him that investing in Athea is a pragmatic course of action."

 

[Conifer]

"I don't think that being further dependent on Eurpiunia's the best of ideas." Leo frowns, replying quickly to Cyeria's offer. "If were were in a more dire position, it may be something to consider, but as it stands there's no need to seek the sympathy of the country that still stands as our enemy, regardless of our...current ties to it."

"We'll do what we can internally, first." Remin says. Despite herself, she doesn't disagree with Leo's hesitation; it likely wouldn't go as poorly as the man was imagining, but...it was hard to say if it would go as simply as Cyeria was making it seem like it would. Nothing was ever quite that simple, and she didn't like the leverage that Eupriunia had over them already. Would it be a donation, or a bargaining chip? Why give them more tools to use against them? It didn't seem like the best of ideas. "Then we'll reach out elsewhere if we still find ourselves needing it. Eupriunia if we truly have to, but hopefully we can avoid it." Admittedly, it might be a matter of pride, as well; they might not be able to win a war alone, but at least they can recover from one without begging for handouts.

"We're far from bankrupt," One of the other advisers says. "We should be able to recover without outside loans if the nobility are willing to work with us - and it seems likely that most of them would rather not deal with the country being in debt, to Eupriunia or elsewhere."

 

[Aerynth]

It wasn't like Cyreia didn't understand their reservations; she did, and that was the reason she had been hesitant to mention it in the first place. Of course that the idea of asking their enemy for help wounded their pride. The bitter taste of loss was still too strong in their mouths, too recent, and she could sympathize. From a purely pragmatic standpoint, though? They were dependent on Eupriunia already whether they liked it or not. King Loran hadn't told her his plans, but hoping that he would just choose to leave the country alone if they pretended that Athea had never been subjugated was rather naive. Why, then, not try to take advantage of their position? Why not try to change it into a boon? Perhaps that's the real difference between me and them, Cyreia thought. Between her and nobles. Unlike them, she had been trained to see pride as an obstacle rather than something to cultivate. As a meaningless restriction. How many of her victories had been achieved through gritting her teeth and doing whatever seemed most convenient at the moment, everything else be damned? Too many of them. This isn't a battlefield, though. Perhaps I should change my tactics, or at least adjust them a bit.

"I do not insist on that," she said. "It's just one of the options to consider. A safety net, let's say, if something unexpected happened. I understand your objections, though, and I will not act in that regard unless it's necessary." Cyreia was convinced that she could pull it off - she knew how to talk to King Loran, after all - but this was a sensitive matter. Forcing them to accept the aid wouldn't serve her well in the long run; that was one of the lessons she had learned in Hadsberry. "Let us contact the nobles first, then. Maybe even rich merchants. I'm sure that we could strike a deal or two with them, too." There was no need to limit their efforts to nobility only, was there? Gone were the times when money concentrated solely in the hands of those with important sounding names. People like Sarah and Tamrel existed, and overlooking them seemed distinctly foolish with the current scarcity of resources.

"Very well. We shall look into the possibilities we have and inform you of the results."

"Thank you, that would be most helpful. Now, is there anything notable that happened in our absence?" Cyreia asked. "We're also expecting a response from Hadsberry. Has it arrived?"

 

[Conifer]

"There has." One of the advisers shifts, looking through some nearby neatly-stacked papers and pulling out an unopened letter. Remin takes it, gently prying open the seal that holds it closed and moving over to Cyeria so that they can both read it.
The text on the page is brief; they hadn't wasted much time on writing it, but it's functional, and that's all that matters. They won't accept money outright, but wages for the people working on repairs wouldn't go unwelcomed or unused - which is all Remin was hoping for. It was as close to a compromise as either of them were going to reach.

"That's good news." She murmurs, just to Cyeria, before she passes off the letter to her entirely and turns her attention back to the advisers. "We made Hadsberry an offer, and they've accepted it. We'll be providing compensation to those working to return the town to functioning as normal. But perhaps this is one of the places that we enact the plan we were just speaking of. See if there's anyone who would be interested in sponsoring that, in return for the profit of the taxes from Hadsberry until they're paid back in full and a bit. If not, the castle will cover it, as we'd promised them."

 

[Aerynth]

If anyone bothered to observe Cyreia carefully at that moment, they would notice that her hands shook ever so slightly as she received the letter. Then again, would the advisers draw any conclusions from it? She was injured, after all, and interpreting the trembling as a sign of exhaustion rather than nervousness seemed logical. More logical than thinking the fate of a small town could possibly have such an impact on the king. Cyreia left them to their opinions, whatever they were. It didn't really matter what they thought about this; what mattered was the parchment and the ink and the words formed by it. And those words? Oh, the comfort derived from them was so sweet. Of course, if she wanted to repair the relationship between Hadsberry and the kingdom, a lot more effort would have to be poured into it, but-- this was a start. A start was everything she could ask for, really, and Cyreia couldn't help but smile. "Yes, that might be worth a shot. It's just a matter of finding a suitable sponsor, I'd say." Hadsberry in particular should have no problem with attracting investors; industrial towns tended to generate profits easily, and so the investment would be protected.

"Alright. Anything else we should know about?" she asked. They ended up discussing various other issues, but none of them seemed as pressing in comparison. Most of them were just formalities, really, and related to administrative work more than tangible reality. Cyreia still did her best to pay attention, though. Learning how to fill out the documents correctly would save her a lot time in the long run; clearly, it was the sensible thing to do. Still, focusing on texts for such a long time proved to be more difficult than she had anticipated. After a while, the symbols in front of her eyes became blurry. Cyreia blinked in order to see more clearly and it sort of worked, but the headache - headache that grew stronger with each passing minute - couldn't be blinked away. Fortunately, the advisers ran out of topics to discuss before she ran out of self-control. They said their goodbyes and departed, leaving Cyreia and Remin alone.

"Well, that wasn't as horrible as I expected it to be," Cyreia said once the footsteps couldn't be heard anymore. "I think that we might be able to work together just fine once we get used to each other." That was, she supposed, the main problem. Them not knowing her. Well, that and also her ignorance, though the distrust seemed to be a greater obstacle. "What was the name of that healer you mentioned, though? Oren? I... think I may need to pay him a visit before my head snaps." Dealing with Maric in this state wasn't something Cyreia wanted to do if she could help it.

 

[Conifer]

"They're good people." Remin agrees softly. "Relatively, at least. That's all the bar we can set anymore, I think.' She laughs a bit, reaching out to catch Cyeria's hand in hers and give it a soft squeeze. There was the whole matter of Leo being involved in the plot - but that didn't inherently make him a bad person. It made him...well, something that depended on his reasons for it, but she'd give him the benefit of the doubt and assume it was well-meaning. She had no reason to assume otherwise yet. He had been a trusted member of the staff, and a friend to the family, since he'd been hired. He meant well. Gods, she hoped he meant well.

She tugs gently at Cyeria's hand, pulling her into the hall at her request for the healer. "Oren. He's been with the family for a while. I-" She hesitates, because this would be foolish, would maybe be dangerous, if she was wrong about this. "I think we can trust him. With whatever we need to trust him with. Perhaps we might tell him what to be aware of before he needs to be aware of it. "With as much as Cyeria insisted on endangering herself, it was only a matter of time until something happened that wouldn't let her hide her secret quite so easily. "...I'm not saying that we need to tell him now. Or soon. But we may want to keep that in mind."

It was a decent walk to the medical wing - it was rather tucked away, and Oren's office even further so. There was a small set-up of empty beds, though two servants were quietly chatting away, one of them seated on the bed and the other standing beside her. They fell into silence as Remin and Cyeria passed them, watching them go, but their conversation started up again (albeit quieter) once they had passed. Otherwise the wing was blessedly quiet. Remin led Cyeria towards an open door near the end, tucked away behind some potted plants, and knocked quietly - it was quickly answered by a quiet: "Come in, come in."

The office itself was perhaps the least elegant part of the entire castle so far. It was utterly cluttered, with bookshelves and bottles and drying herbs, with an untidy cot tucked away behind the desk that a rumpled, middle-aged man sat at. A wide scar crossed his cheek, but otherwise he looked unassuming. He stood as they entered, smiling politely, but it doesn't entirely reach his eyes. "Your highnesses. My king - an honor to meet you finally, though I've heard perhaps not under the best of circumstances?"

 

[Aerynth]

"I don't know, Remin," Cyreia sighed. What she had said made sense, of course. A healer who knew her... unique condition might come in handy; he could easily save her life one day. Was that worth endangering her secret, though? The more people knew about it, the greater the probability of someone exposing her. It didn't even have to be intentional, really, simply because very few managed to live like she did, ever vigilant and tight-lipped. One slip of a tongue was all it took. And then? No matter how she looked at it, all of the scenarios ended with her death. Sometimes it came quickly, sometimes it took a while to get there, but ultimately, the result remained the same. Even if her subjects miraculously turned out to be fine with their king being a woman, Eupriunians would never let it go. They'd demand her head, and Cyreia would have to comply because if she tried to fight back, Athea would be dragged into yet another war. A war they had no chance of winning; not with the country in such a pitiful state and not with Eupriunia as their opponent. Looking at her options, wasn't it better to die of some injury? Cleaner, more comfortable? Something told her, though, that Remin wouldn't like hearing such things. Had the places been reversed, Cyreia wouldn't have appreciated it, either.

"I'll... consider it," she promised even if the thought alone filled her with dread. "Once I am certain that I can trust him. I'm sure that you can entrust your life into his hands, but that doesn't mean that I can do the same, I'm afraid." The past few days had proven it beyond a shadow of a doubt. At this point, Cyreia could only really rely on herself and Remin. Not a very long list, definitely, but... still longer than it had ever been. God, she had been so lonely. How had it escaped her attention before when it seemed so obvious now? How many obvious things had she missed? Probably too many to count.

As they entered the office, Cyreia looked Oren up and down. He looked... less than sincere, but that was to be expected. Most Atheans had no reason to be happy to see her. "On the contrary. Aren't these the best circumstances for a healer?" she smiled, a bit sheepish but honest. Strangely enough, the chaos of Oren's office soothed her; it didn't feel as soulless as the room in which they had held that meeting. The fragrance of herbs, heavy and ever-present, probably helped in that regard, too. "Not so much for me, though, I'll concede. It's a pleasure to meet you nevertheless, Oren. Remin told me a lot about you." And I can only hope that she's right. "Do you have time to spare right now? Because I was instructed to rest, then I sort of didn't and I'm starting to regret it." With that, Cyreia glanced at Remin, her smile waning slightly. "I also believe that Remin strained her ankle and didn't receive a proper treatment as my injuries were too attention-grabbing."

 

[Conifer]

"I believe it's my job to have time to spare for the two of you.'' He chuckles softly. "Remin, take a seat. We'll start with the easy task, before taking on the troublemaker.' He grins softly at Cyeria, entirely teasing.

"My ankle's alright." Remin assures them both - honestly it still ached a small amount, but it wasn't anything that was even so much as truly distracting. It was an annoyance, to be sure, but she had no doubt that it would heal quickly enough without intervention. She sits anyways, though - little good ever came of ignoring a healer's instruction entirely. Oren comes to the other end of the table, kneeling without hesitation by her feet. He makes quick work of her, as she'd expected - it was just a quick glance at her ankle, rotating it in his hands - it was lightly bruised, and a little warm, nothing more - and a small push of magic, before he moved back away.

"Well, now your ankle's doubly alright." He smiles. "Even if your ego has taken a small hit." He turns to Avther. "Your turn. Any other medical concerns at the moment, or anything I should be cautious of?"

 

[Aerynth]

"That may be true," Cyreia said with a tiny smile, "but it is not my custom to assume everyone is available the second I want them to be." Showing others basic respect cost her exactly nothing and it had always, always benefited her in the end. People tended to remember those small things, mostly because they actually weren't small at all. They demonstrated whether you thought of them as fellow human beings or merely tools, means to an end. Cyreia often had been guilty of just that - it was impossible to not slip into this mindset at times, especially when devising strategies - but at least she had tried to fight the impulse. That had to count for something, right?

"I've seen you favor the other leg, Remin," Cyreia accused her in a light tone as she watched Oren work on her. The man was an expert in his field, that much she could say despite not being very familiar with the Athean way of doing things. That certainty in his movements? One could only acquire that kind of self-assurance through years of practice. Well, either that, or he carried himself with the most unwarranted confidence in the world, though that didn't seem too likely. The royal family wouldn't employ a charlatan. "It didn't look like nothing to me, even if I'm no medical expert." Cyreia actually still felt a bit guilty over the injured ankle, over the fact that they had overlooked Remin in favor of focusing on her instead, despite knowing it made no sense. It wasn't like she had chosen to fall off her horse in the most unfortunate way. The guilt was quickly dissipating, though; Oren took care of it quickly and Remin was fine. Now Cyreia just had to make sure it would stay like that. How long had it been since she had used her right arm in combat? Too long. God, she really should develop a new training regimen. Not before dealing with this, though.

"Well, I suppose there is a medical complication," she said, glancing sideways at Remin as if looking for some kind of permission. "Magic doesn't seem to work on me. I don't know why, but three people tried it - one of them an experienced healer - and apparently it did nothing, which is the reason I'm even wearing those bandages in the first place. Maybe that's what I get for being Eupriunian," Cyreia shrugged, half joking and half serious. "An appropriate punishment for our magic-defying ways."

 

[Conifer]

"That must be it." Oren deadpans, before he's chuckling softly, shaking his head as he pushes up off the ground, leaning against the edge of his desk. It's kind of comforting, it always has been, to exist around someone who did know of their status, and respect it, but not act much differently because of it. Well - she could only guess at that. She didn't know him outside of all this. Maybe he was incredibly different. Either way, she didn't really care. It was nice. This was nice. Even if the context wasn't. "No, I doubt that's the case." Oren's tone goes a bit more serious. " haven't personally encountered someone resistant to magic in that way, but I've read of some cases. Do you know if it's all magic that doesn't have an effect on you, or simply the healing sort?" He waves himself off, pushing up off the desk and moving closer to Cyeria. "Doesn't matter. I don't know enough about magic for it to mean much to me. Is it alright if I undo those bandages and take a look at you?"

 

[Aerynth]

What kind of reaction had she expected? Cyreia had no idea, but she did know what she hadn't expected: this. This joking, this almost easygoing atmosphere. It wasn't difficult to guess why Remin liked him. Oren didn't care much for titles and empty compliments, which... honestly felt refreshing. How long had it been since she had had a normal conversation with someone who wasn't her wife? Probably not that long, actually, though certainly long enough for her to consider this exchange to be a rare treat. Remin - Remin who had grown up in the shadow of the throne - must have treasured it even more. "I knew it," Cyreia chuckled. "It's only fair, I suppose. I should have been more considerate of magic's feelings."

"Oh no," she shook her head, "I'm definitely not resistant to all types of magic. When certain someone set me on fire, it worked just fine." Because of course it had. It was just her luck, really, to be impervious to healing magic, but not to the kind of magic that could actually hurt her. "Remin cleaned one of my wounds earlier, too, and I got my fortune read, so it really looks like it's healing magic in particular that isn't doing anything for me." Could there also be other types of magic she was resistant to? Types of magic she hadn't encountered yet? Quite possibly. There was no evidence supporting that conclusion, though, and Cyreia wanted to stick to the facts. "And yes, feel free to remove them." He had likely meant the bandages around her head; those wouldn't reveal anything dangerous. And if he had meant the bandages around her arm? Well, the shape of the tunic made it more likely for him to roll her sleeve up instead of undressing her, which was also fine. Everything was completely fine here, wasn't it? If things went awry, surely Remin would save the situation somehow.

 

[Conifer]

Oren sets to work immediately, focusing on the bandages around Cyeria's head first - for all his apparent not-care for pomp and circumstance, he's very careful with his work; he knows the importance of the head he literally holds in his hands, and that much is evident. "Someone set you on fire? I'm going to have my work cut out for me, aren't I?" He chuckles as he works. "I assume no harm befell you in that instance. Which is good. Burns are tricky to heal without magic." He tosses the bandages into an unclean heap on the floor, against the wall, and starts to inspect the wound. "Bleeding seems to have stopped, at least. How are you feeling?" Oren sits back against the desk again, leaning in a bit towards Cyeria. He's practically seated on it, instead of just leaning against it as he had before, a small pile of papers and a jar full of quills pushed aside to make room for him. "Any dizziness, loss of memory, exhaustion, that sort of thing?"

 

[Aerynth]

"No," Cyreia laughed. "For all the flashiness, it proved to be rather ineffective. He should have stabbed me instead. Less theatrical, but more reliable, I'd say." The ease with which she had spoken of the incident surprised even her, though the tendency to downplay dangerous experiences wasn't new. Far from it. Had she not found a way to do it, Cyreia would not have been able to take up the sword again. She had known people like that, people who had let their fears consume them, and... well. Since it wasn't possible to leave the army on a whim, those stories rarely had had a happy ending. Most of those men had just stopped trying. Would she have reached that stage at some point as well? Cyreia liked to believe that no, it wouldn't have happened to her - she was strong - but those people hadn't really been weak. They had just been tired.

"I've felt better," Cyreia admitted, seeing no point in putting on a brave face for the healer. He couldn't help her if she lied about her symptoms. "My head hurts and while it isn't unmanageable, it's constant. It seems to get worse when I need to focus on something, too. Reading, for example. My vision gets a little blurry as well when I do it for a long time." Was there anything else? Cyreia frowned for a second, trying to recall things that could be relevant for Oren's diagnosis. "And I don't really remember the accident itself. Everything else is crystal clear, but not that." It did sound kind of serious now that she put it into words, though Cyreia wasn't really worried. Head injuries tended to be unpleasant; it just came with the territory. This one hadn't killed her yet, which likely meant that her problems were minor annoyances more than anything else. "Aside from what I've just said, though? I am completely fine," she smiled at Oren. "It's probably nothing, but I need some medicine to function before it goes away on its own. I have a feeling I'll have to do a lot of reading." Not just the documents the advisers had prepared for them, but ordinary books, too. Athean books that would teach her more about their way of life.

 

[Conifer]

"We should all be grateful for his flair for drama." Oren smiles softly, running careful fingers over the headwound, trying to access the damage of it. His hands slide through Cyeria's hair just as Remin's had, but as gentle as it is, it's comfortably clinical. He falls quiet until Cyeria finishes detailing her symptoms, and then eventually pulls his fingers away to sit, once more, against the edge of the desk.

"The good news is that I think you're alright to remain unbandaged, as long as you're careful. The bleeding's stopped. It may start back up again if you exert yourself or hit it against something, in which case return to me and we'll bundle you up again, but you're probably alright to not look like a mummy for now. Bad news is that you'll be feeling it for a while. Good news again is that you'll recover, if you rest up." Oren pushes off the desk again, moving over to a cluttered workstation - bottles and herbs and things filled with oils and strange liquids litter it, but he pushes them a little carelessly. The bottles clatter against each other as they come to a rest. "I'll make you something to help with the headaches. The vision...that's just something you're going to have to deal with, I'm afraid, but it should fade within a week or two." He sorta through various herbs and small glass vials full of dried things. "How's the arm treating you?"

 

[Aerynth]

As weird as it was, Oren sounded... well, he sounded as if he had actually meant it. The part about them being grateful. Maybe he was just an incredibly talented actor, but she didn't hear a trace of sarcasm in that statement. Then again, perhaps that wasn't too strange. Healers did tend to be shockingly apolitical, after all. The medics who had treated some of her more serious injuries back in Eupriunia hadn't cared about her secret, either. Cyreia wondered why that was. Could it be the proximity to death? Quite possibly. Fighting such a powerful foe on a daily basis likely put things into a very different perspective for them. At times, she had even witnessed healers treating enemy soldiers because, to them, a patient was a patient. The fact that regulations forbade it hadn't mattered to them much. Remin might be right. It may be safe to trust him. Still, though, Cyreia was in no hurry to come clean. He hadn't convinced her completely just yet. Besides, telling the truth to Remin didn't make talking about it to other people any easier. Anxiety still gripped her chest at the mere idea of it. "That depends on who you ask," she said with a smile. "I'm sure that a lot of people would have breathed a sigh of relief if he had succeeded."

Cyreia listened to his assessment carefully and nodded. It didn't sound too bad, honestly. "I don't think there will be many opportunities for me to hit my head in the castle. Let's hope I won't get too creative in my free time." She didn't mind wearing bandages, not really, though it was better for the wound to breathe. At least that was what the medics had always told her. "And thank you. The blurry vision isn't nearly as annoying as the headache." And as for her arm? "Well, it hurts a bit, but I think it's only because it's very recent. I don't have any medical knowledge, but I do have a lot of experience with broken limbs and it doesn't feel like there's something horrifically wrong with it. Aside from it being broken, of course. Is there any way to make it heal faster without magic? Some concoction, maybe? It's my sword arm and I'd like to be able to use it soon." Ideally before she lost her muscles; that happened very fast with the sort of inactivity that the healing process required and regaining it wasn't particularly fun.

 

[Conifer]

"We'll keep it well-set, and there's some ways I can encourage its healing." Oren agrees. "Though I'll try something if you'll allow me to. Magic to heal is different than the magic to move wounds - they're functionally similar, but healing is...healing. It's a mixture of influencing time and body in ways that neither of them really want to work. But moving a wound? That's just altering space, and it's more than happy to be fussed with." Oren finally turns back to Cyeria, a morter and pestle in hand that he's still working away on, but he wants to see the king's expression. "Yet I know that sort of magic might seem even more strange to you than just healing. We won't do anything you're uncomfortable with, and frankly? It feels weird, to have it done. You'd be healed in...I don't know. You'd be functional, at least, in two weeks, and mostly healed in a month, with what I can do for you. But I'd really like to try what I can for you. Consider it a matter of personal curiosity to see if we can even do it rather than anything else, if that helps."

 

[Aerynth]

Wait, what? Cyreia would be lying if she said that she understood what exactly he had meant by that. The explanation likely would have made the distinction clear for someone educated in the ways of magic, but she wasn't that person. Influencing time and body? Altering space? Was there any meaningful difference between the two acts? Both looked equally baffling to her, equally unnatural. Just two weeks earlier, Cyreia would have rejected the offer, and resolutely so. The mere prospect of having something like that done to her body would have insulted her. Two weeks could apparently change a lot, though. Cyreia still wasn't entirely comfortable with it (and Oren's description did very little to amend that), but-- her reservations were stupid, weren't they? Rooted in a way of life she had vowed to give up; in the mindset of Eupriunia. The same kind of mindset that led her own countrymen to believe that the existence of people like her was unacceptable. Turning away from it only seemed sensible, even if it still scared her on some level. God, the prejudices ran so deep. Would she ever be completely free from their constraints? Maybe not, but perhaps that didn't matter. Her personal comfort wasn't that important. As long as she didn't let them affect her decisions, everything would be fine.

"I'll allow it," Cyreia said, her smile a bit tense. "I won't pretend that I understood everything you said, but understanding these things isn't my job anyway. The responsibility is yours and I trust that you know what you're doing." If it worked, if her arm truly could recover within two weeks, then it was worth it. And if not-- well, at least they would know not to count on it being an option in the future. There were no real downsides to this. Not unless Oren's intervention ended up hurting her, though that didn't seem too likely. Healing magic hadn't hurt her, either; it simply hadn't done anything. Assuming there was some underlying logic to it, this would behave similarly in the case of failure. "I can deal with feeling weird for a few moments. Weirdness is a significant part of my life now, it seems."

 

[Conifer]

Remin reaches over to take Cyeria's hand in hers, giving it a soft reassuring squeeze. All this talk of magic was overwhelming even for Remin, and she understood it (a little more, at least. She wasn't going to claim to actually understand it, but she'd at least been around it her whole life and hadn't grown up with the idea that all magic was to be scorned she could only attempt to imagine what all of it would be like for her wife. But she was doing remarkably well, just as she always did. Remin really shouldn't be surprised anymore - Cyeria was a remarkable woman.
"Great." Oren smiles. "Give me a moment, let me finish this up, and then we'll get your arm all sorted. You'll feel good as new once you leave here. If new counts a mild concussion and some residual soreness." He chuckles, turning back to his worktable. It's a quiet process for a short while; he just works away at combining this and that and the other thing, and Remin just sits and waits with her hand still in Cyeria's.

Eventually, though, he turns back with a greyish-green mixture in a glass. It looks entirely unappealing; a little gritty and not entirely combined, but he holds it out to Cyeria, obviously expecting her to take it. "Drink up. It'll help with the headaches and any lingering pain."

 

[Aerynth]

Was this alright, the way Remin reached out to her? They weren't supposed to do these things in public and while Oren seemed safe enough, he was an audience. A witness. Still, Cyreia couldn't find it in herself not to smile at her wife warmly. It wasn't likey they were doing anything bad or terribly suspicious; supporting one's spouse during a medical emergency couldn't be construed as inappropriate by anyone's standards. Oren probably didn't care, either, and-- alright, maybe she was looking for excuses here, but the touch just calmed her down, okay? Looking for comfort in Remin's embrace had become a habit. Something instinctual, almost like breathing. "It's fine," Cyreia said, not entirely sure whether she was talking to Remin or herself. "I have survived worse things than... being treated by a professional, really." When she put it like that, her fears seemed even more unfounded. "I mean, at least nobody is trying to kill me here, so this cannot be too bad." Those were incredibly low standards to have, of course, but that worked in her favor. You couldn't be too disappointed if you had no expectations in the first place.

"Alright," Cyreia chuckled when Oren presented her with... well, something. While her vocabulary usually seemed extensive enough for just about any situation, no description of hers would have done this concoction justice. It wouldn't have captured the horror. "Maybe I've spoken too soon. Remind me not to tempt the fate ever again, Remin." She accepted the glass and held it against the light coming from one of the windows, trying to guess what might have gone into it. Perhaps it's kinder for me not to know. At times, ignorance can be a bliss. "I... suppose that it's still better than military rations. You wouldn't believe the things I've eaten. Well, to your health," she grinned before closing her eyes and downing the liquid in one gulp. If she had hoped to lessen the impact, it didn't work. The taste lingered on her tongue, bitter and overwhelmingly assertive, and Cyreia flinched. "Ugh. I bet that sugar would have destroyed the healing properties, right? That's how it always goes for some reason." She turned to Remin, a smile playing on her lips. "Do you think that the taste is supposed to distract the patient from the headache? Because I could see that working, too."

 

[Conifer]

"Oh, no." Oren teases as he pulls another chair nearer Cyeria, so that he can begin to work her arm free of the bandaging that holds it safe and steady - as she'd hoped, he just shifts her sleeve up. He's careful as he does so, not wanting to hurt her. "I could absolutely make it taste better. I just don't. I have to find enjoyment in the little things, and the little things include watching the expressions of disgust on people's faces. Especially people who could have me beheaded if they want to." He chuckles, tossing the bandages aside with the ones from her head.

"Then you're very lucky we don't want you beheaded." Remin teases softly.

"Yet. Just wait until I make you eat something particularly gross." He winks at Cyeria.

"You made me eat a slug once." She laughs.

"Well, that's-- true," He laughs along with her, shaking his head. "But you felt better after, didn't you? Brace yourself, my king."

"That's entirely beside the point." Remin says, as she squeezes Cyeria's hand again, as Oren begins to push magic in the space between them. It feels so strangely different than magic Cyeria's encountered before; that was power pushed into her, and this is power pulling at her, trying to move her injury to Oren's own arm.