Fantasy All's Fair

[Conifer]

“We used to live here,” she explains. “My great great grandmother was a sickly child, though, and the whole family moved to the current castle when she was young for her health. We just...never moved back. But a castle remains here, if there’s ever a desire to.” It remains, at least, in technicality. It’s filled with people at most points - a stopover for travelling nobility, the meeting location of the council, the location of half a dozen events throughout the year. She hopes, though, that one of the changes that he inevitably makes when they return isn’t to move them here - it wouldn’t be a terrible place to live, of course, and she always enjoyed her time here, but...Well. Maybe it /would be easier to leave her home, and the memories there, but she doesn’t want to. And they’ve been ruling from the country for a century; it worked. “We’ll visit it tomorrow.”

“Lord and Lady, though, are...well, nothing, to say it plainly. Tamrel Hilton and Sarah Kimble. Both were born here, both were raised here, but have no title or nobility. They’re just…well loved. Wonderful people. Sarah came into some money when she was younger, and started various initiatives and aid programs, with Tamrel’s help. Now they run three shops, and various schools, and all of the things they started early. Someone jokingly called them the lord and lady of the city once, and it stuck. I’d wager that most the people here don’t know their names any more. The council runs the city. Each selected for their various skills and connections. We’ll meet them tomorrow, as well.” She glances down the street. “Lord and Lady are safe. Weakness is welcomed. However, half the council would be happy to find a reason to grab for a little more power, so...careful, when we meet them.”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She smiles softly, fondly. “You’ll see some of the parks. The buildings are beautiful, yes, but the statues…They’re something else entirely. They’re breathtaking, and they’re all over. They’re images of people of importance, that were carved by a diviner hundreds of years ago - only half of them have even been born yet, as far as we can guess.” In the times they'd visited the capital, she'd run around, trying to find herself in the statues. She never had, but instead of the disappointment she'd felt when she was young, she was grateful, now.

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia nodded. "I shall be looking forward to the visit, then. If it is half as gorgeous as the rest of the city, it should be a sight to behold."

A surprised giggle escaped Cyreia's lips. "Alright, I will admit that I felt somewhat silly for spending the entire day before our departure reading a book about the political system of Athea and somehow managing to miss these important-sounding titles connected to the capital, but I think that I can be forgiven for not knowing about that." Tamrel and Sarah, huh? Their story sounded like a fairytale to her ears; something parents would tell to their children to convince them that they could trust in their fellow man. Remin, of course, couldn't have had such motivations. It must have been true, as strange as it was. Perhaps Athea is simply softer, Cyreia thought. Not just in the sense of being weaker, but also being a softer place for people to live in. Or at least it was, before we invaded them. "I suppose I can just be myself in front of them, then." Associating "being herself" with "weakness" wasn't something Cyreia had ever thought she would do, but here she went. Kingship changed many things. "And thank you for the warning, my queen. I shall be careful."

What would I ever do without her? The thought came to her so completely out of blue that it surprised even Cyreia herself, but... it rang true, no way around it. Given her situation, Remin would have been justified in refusing to work with her. She hadn't done that. Despite their disagreements, her wife had gone above and beyond to help her succeed from the very beginning. A wave of gratitude overcame her and Cyreia promised to herself that this debt would not be forgotten. She would not disappoint. Not Remin and not the people of Athea.

"Statues that show both past and future? No way." Cyreia was incredulous, yet the spark in her eyes also suggested that she really wanted to see that. Statues, despite their magical origins, seemed safe enough. "As this will be a great opportunity to learn more about your history, I regret to inform you that I will probably bore you to death with more endless questions. Hopefully you are prepared for that, my queen." Cyreia already had more questions - they were burning on her tongue - but that would have to wait. They emerged before the mansion belonging to Tamrel and Sarah, so introductions were in order. Servants came for their belongings, bowing the entire time, and other people led their horses away to the safety of stables so that they could rest. Cyreia, in turn, bowed to the man and woman who were standing at the entrance, clearly expecting them.

"Tamrel and Sarah, I presume? I have heard much about you from my queen," she smiled. "My name is Avther. It is my pleasure to meet you and thank you for your hospitality." Cyreia didn't know whether that was the proper thing to say for an Athean king, but her intent, if nothing else, was genuine.

 

[Conifer]

“I don’t mind the questions,” She assures him, which she...shockingly finds to be true. Well then. “I may not know all the answers, but I can certainly answer as many as I can.” Remin allows herself a small laugh. “All my tutors will be glad that I’m finally putting half the useless things they taught me to use, I’m sure.” Before the conversation can continue for too much longer, though, the manor comes into view - and not long after that, they’re dismounting their horses and greeting the tall, dark skinned and utterly barefoot woman and the mustachioed man at her side.

“And we’ve heard /tons about you, darling,” Sarah greets him, and follows quickly with a tight, warm hug, however brief it is. “Most of it absolutely terrible, I’ll admit, but bygones and such. Very respectable in other places, I’m sure, and thus it’s an honor to welcome you to our home. You’ll have to forgive the truly awful shade of green that half the walls are painted - we had a /bit of a disagreement about reasonable colors, and-”

“The green is lovely,” Tamrel cuts in, but his voice is easily lost to Sarah’s quick-paced chatter.

“- I’m certainly not the one who won that spat. Don’t worry, I’m working on him. I’m trying to compromise with mauve. Or puce! Maybe glaucous, we’ll see. You don’t happen to have many talents with interior design, do you, Avther? We really could use a seventh opinion.”

“Sarah,” Tamrel says, infinitely fond, and she quiets. “Allow the man to breath before you use up all the air. Please, the both of you, come in.

Remin can’t hide the smile that threatens as Sarah chatters. Either this was going to scare Avther off from wanting to meet another single person this entire trip, or it’d be a welcomed break from proper nobility that she could only guess that he could use by now. Overwhelming, for sure, but maybe welcomed. Or maybe it would serve to do both.

The green that the walls of the entryway are painted aren’t truly awful - they’re a soft understated sage, a bit greener than grey, contrasting nicely against the rest of the decor. That decor is of the same mood - understated, for the most part, but managing also to be somewhat tacky. It’s absolutely the decor of someone who wasn’t raised with money, and found a lot of strange places to spend it once they had some - such as on a small statue of a horse made from beetle shells, which sent strange oil spills of color across the area. It was...unique, certainly. And, as Remin always found comforting, it felt less like the stiff walls of a mansion and more like a home.

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia considered herself to be a worldly person. She had seen and done much. None of it, however, could have prepared her for the storm named Sarah Kimble. When the woman hugged her as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Cyreia just stood there, unsure as to what to do with her hands. When had been the last time someone had hugged her like that? It must have been back with her mother. Maybe that was why she didn't dislike it, despite her inability to return it properly. The hug reminded her of mother.

"Uh, I think that green is a nice color, actually," Cyreia protested feebly, but Sarah simply went on and on, leaving her in the dust. Clearly, attempting to follow this conversation would be a daunting task. And here I thought that the council would be the greatest obstacle in Caldora. Fortunately, Tamrel came to her rescue and she shot him a grateful glance. Sarah was most charming, but perhaps a bit too enthusiastic. Cyreia would have to get used to her tempo.

"Yes, I stand by my opinion. The green is pretty nice. Maybe it would benefit from some brown as well? Something easy on the eyes, you know? Not that I know half the colors you have mentioned, Sarah, so my advice probably isn't... the most qualified." Cyreia wasn't the one to run from challenges and when the opportunity to speak finally presented itself, she seized it. And yes, the color scheme really was quite pleasant, as was the entire room. It looked cozy and well-loved despite some, uh, atypical decisions in decorating it.

"Thank you once again for welcoming me in your home so warmly. Despite me being... who I am." With these people, sincerity would probably be the best policy. After that introduction, Cyreia couldn't even imagine trying to come off as regal. Not that she was good at it, anyway. "I hate to ask, but do you think I could get some fresh bandages? We've run into some trouble on our journey, as you can see," Cyreia gestured towards her injured arm, "and I have to admit that wearing sweaty bandages is not particularly fun."

 

[Conifer]

“I would imagine it wouldn’t be,” Sarah agrees, looking at his arm with a soft frown. “Yeah, yes, we can get you something a bit more fresh.” She reaches out to take the uninjured arm, looping her fingers loosely around his wrist and all but pulling him down the hall, leaving Remin, Tamrel, and the guards that declined to leave their side yet trailing behind them.

There’s movement all over the manor - Sarah isn’t much one for solitude, and thus, there’s usually half a dozen spare people in the various rooms of the manor. Most just visit for the day - looking through the library, having meals, etc - but some, like Remin and Avther, come from out of town, and stay in one of the many spare bedrooms. It’s clear as they walk through the manor that there’s rarely a quiet moment here - laughter and music seeps out from some room down the hall, and the distinct clatter of game pieces comes from somewhere else.

The room Sarah leads them to (chattering inconsequentially the entire while, of course,) is relatively peaceful, despite the walls being a garrish yellow, and she drops her hold on Avther to sort through some drawers. Bandages are pulled out and handed over to Tamrel without a glance, and he quietly gestures Avther off to a chair.

“Would you like aid, your highness, or would you prefer to tend to it yourself?” He asks, wrappings in hand, but offered out to the king.

 

[Aerynth]

Before she could so much as utter a word of protest, Cyreia was being grabbed and dragged off. A tiny smile formed on her lips; something about the spontaneity appealed to her. Not many people dared to approach her like that, but Sarah apparently didn't care about things like reputation or propriety. She could see why the people of Caldora loved her; it certainly wasn't just because of the money, although that probably helped, too. Those with deep pockets always enjoyed popularity, even if they were reluctant to share their money with others. People tended to cling to the hope that it possibly could happen.

"No, thank you. I can take care of it myself," she reassured him. Touching was always a dangerous territory; one moment of carelessness, one tiny misstep and years of hard work would be for nothing. No, it would be far safer for her to do it herself. Cyreia had opted to do so many times in the past with lighter injuries and since Remin's care had been so thorough yesterday, there was no reason to expect any complications here. "It is not a serious injury - more like a scratch, really - so I do not wish to waste your time." The implied 'leave me alone, please' was not unnoticed; their hosts disappeared quietly, closing the door behind them in the process. Once they were gone, Cyreia removed the old bandages and inspected the wound. It was healing nicely, just as she had expected. Since it was her arm that had been injured, Cyreia had to perform some skillful maneuvers with her teeth in order to tie the bandages neatly enough, but that didn't bother her too much. At least I got to use my dominant hand.

Cyreia left the room with fresh bandages tied around her right arm and a light smile on her lips. "Yes, that is much better. Would you like to rest here for a while, my queen, or are you ready to explore the city?" She would have preferred the latter as Caldora enticed her, but if Remin wanted to rest, Cyreia would not complain. The journey had been somewhat exhausting, if mainly emotionally, and Remin clearly liked it here. It wouldn't kill her to linger in this mansion for a while.

 

[Conifer]

Remin was alone when Avther exited the room - though had taken the time to head up to the rooms (adjoining, with a door between them, but she had trusted Sarah enough to not read too far into that, or at the very least, not to care. They’d only known each other a loose handful of days, by now - not wanting to share a bed, or even a room, shouldn’t be as strange as it tended to be. They were married, yes, but they were as good as strangers.) to change from the travelling clothes she’d put on this morning into something a bit more fitting to be seen in, wandering around Caldora. Nothing extravagant, but nicer - a soft blue tunic, embroidered with various local flora, over a pale red underdress. They were going to wander around a city touched by war - she wanted to be respectful of their loss and not waltzing around in things that could buy them food for a year. She stood in the hallway now, loosely brushing her fingers though her hair in an attempt to tame it that really was more of something to do while she waited, ready with the same question that would be asked of her.

“Let’s explore, if you’re amenable?” She suggests. “We have a few hours before dinner. We may as well make the most of it, since we have such a short time here.” They could always return some other time, since it wasn’t a far journey, but it still felt silly to sit inside another manor when there was an entire city - the city, really - for Avther to be introduced to.

That city was, at the moment, bustling. The late afternoon sun was hanging low in the sky, casting long shadows that marred the perfect white stone in ways that Remin found nearly breathtaking. The city was so tall on its own - a miracle of magic - but it seemed to stretch endlessly in this sort of light. “There’s a wonderful little pastry shop down the street,” She says, as they exit the manor, and head down the wide staircase leading away from it. “Or one of those statues is nearby. Or anything you want, really.” Most her ideas had them staying quite close to this neighborhood, which, as philanthropic as Lord and Lady were, was quite the nice area. She’d take him elsewhere tomorrow, but...seeing the effect of war, even in somewhere that had been relatively untouched - thank the gods - didn’t feel like the sort of thing that you did in the spare few hours you had before you went to eat a luxurious dinner.

 

[Aerynth]

Yes, time was the most precious of resources and they shouldn't squander it. It made sense to go right away. Cyreia said goodbye to their hosts and stepped into the radiant streets along with Remin; a handful of guards were following their every step, but she had become so accustomed to their constant presence that it almost felt like they were alone. Or at least as alone as one could possibly get in the lively Caldora. "Hmm, let's see. Perhaps it would be better to go look at one of those statues? I wouldn't want my appetite to go away before the dinner and I'm actually looking forward to the history lesson you've promised me, my queen. Do not think that I have forgotten. Unless, of course, you are hungry."

Being surrounded by all the white glory of Caldora still seemed unreal. What seemed even more unreal, however, was the fact that people were just going about with their lives as if they weren't witnesses to something jaw-dropping. The capitol was wholly ordinary to them. Just a place to live, not a monument to old magic arts. Well, if this isn't the most conclusive proof that people will eventually become desensitized to everything with enough exposure, then I don't know what is. "Sarah and Tamrel really do seem like nice people," Cyreia remarked after enjoying the scenery for a while. "It is a small wonder that they haven't been eaten alive yet with how kind they are. Does nobody try to take advantage of them?" Since they had been hospitable enough to welcome even a foreign soldier as if he was their own lost son, Cyreia couldn't really imagine that they would refuse anything to anyone. How come that they hadn't gone bankrupt yet?

Meanwhile, their steps led them to what looked like a park; a burst of greenery in an otherwise white city. There was a strange kind of balance between nature and the human hand, as Cyreia noticed. Plants - many of them unknown to her - were growing without restraint, very often hugging statues and the like, but instead of encroaching upon their space, it seemed like they supported them. The air smelled sweetly of flowers and trees, which were clearly ancient, provided shade for pilgrims to rest under. Do I even have the right to be here? It didn't feel like that. It felt like Cyreia should be helping to rebuild the cities that their army had burnt to a cinder instead of relaxing here as if she wasn't complicit. But Athea wasn't just a pile of smouldering ashes. This, too, was her country now. Cyreia couldn't just pretend it didn't exist due to her own guilt. "So, I assume that this is one of those statues you've talked about?" she pointed in the direction of one of the statues.

"You are the new queen!" A small, maybe five years old girl with sandy hair suddenly showed up in front of Remin. She looked way too serious for her age, her glare downright piercing. "Mommy says so. Mommy also says that you are a traitor, but I think you are too pretty to be one!"

 

[Conifer]

“Oh, people try to take advantage of Sarah all the time. Half the time they do. But Tamrel watches out for the worst offenders, and...honestly, I don’t think either of them mind. They have the money. They- Sarah does, at least - figure if someone’s asking, they need it for something. Tamrel’s a little less forgiving, but she listens to him. It works, most the time.” She explains as they walk along the path, carriages passing in the street beside them until she turns them off into the park nestled between two buildings.

She starts to walk them towards the statue that Avther points to - it is, after all, one of the statues, and thus is the reason they’re here, but they don’t get close to it before a small girl appears in their path. Remin stop, hesitating for a moment before crouching down to be more at the small child’s height, feeling honestly a bit intimidated by the look on her face.

“I am the new queen. Your mother’s right about that one.” She agrees, smiling politely, though it’s a little forced. Children don’t notice that sort of thing. A traitor - well. Yes. She supposes she is - a traitor not of her own making, but a traitor all the same. Was this the opinion of many? Was this trip going to be full of children accusing her of treachery? “But,” she says, despite that, “I try very hard to do what the kingdom needs done for it, even if it’s something that no one wants to do. That’s my job.” She explains. “Trying to make those decisions.” As if any of this had been her decision. As if she hadn’t been brought before the advisors after a lackluster breakfast, still in her night clothes, and told that she was engaged to a war hero. “I can only hope that they’re the ones that work out best for the kingdom.”

 

[Aerynth]

Children usually tended to be boundlessly, startlingly honest. That was a part of their charm. Cyreia usually enjoyed interacting with kids for this very reason, but she almost wished this little girl had been introduced to social norms just a bit sooner. A traitor? What? Did Atheans considered Remin to be a traitor? None of them had mentioned anything even remotely similar, but of course that they wouldn't do that; it was an unmentionable sort of thing, the kind of remark that could possibly cost a peasant his head if he uttered it in front of the wrong people. Being silent on the topic didn't mean that they didn't hold these opinions. Even before she had met Remin, Cyreia had felt a strange type of kinship with the idea of this woman. They weren't that different, at least not in her head. Both of them had been forced into this marriage, even if Cyreia had been strong-armed in a much more covert manner. Now she was all too aware of the difference between them. In the eyes of the people of Eupriunia, she still remained a hero. Remin, on the other hand, had been braided a traitor.

The girl frowned and tilted her head slightly. "I don't get it," she admitted after a second of deliberation, "but I still think that you are pretty and traitors are ugly, so you can't be a traitor!" The girl looked very proud of her conclusion. "Yes, you are right," Cyreia smiled at the child kindly and patted her head. "Now run along. I'm sure that your mother must be worried about you." The combination of the words "mother" and "worried" worked like a charm; the girl left as quickly as she had appeared, leaving behind nothing but awkward silence.

Cyreia suddenly found it difficult to look her wife in the eyes. "I... I didn't know, I didn't think that..." Yes, that's the problem. I just don't seem to think enough. Where was she even going with this pathetic attempt? Was it supposed to be an apology? An apology would not help Remin in any way. It would merely serve to cleanse her own conscience while doing absolutely nothing to actually fix the situation. Right, I have to do something about it. Words? Words are just wind. "Do many Atheans think like this, my queen?" Cyreia's eyes finally met Remin's, although hesitantly. "Because this, this could be dangerous." King Loran would have had the woman executed, that much she knew for sure. Would he have been right to do so? No, I shouldn't even think about that particular solution. Not unless Cyreia wished to cement her position as a despot, which really wasn't the mark she wished to leave on the Athean history. Still, they had to react somehow. "We should do something about it before it gets out of hand."

 

[Conifer]

As soon as Avther’s eyes meet hers, she looks away, but despite their location she finds it hard to find somewhere to rest them. They flit among the scene, uncomfortable and uneasy. “I wouldn’t know, my king.” She says, apprehensive. It’d been said, maybe, in more uncertain terms. Your people might protest the pairing, she’d been told, when the plan had been proposed and maybe that was supposed to be her warning that this would happen. “It’s been...busy, with everything. I haven’t had much time to...poll the people on their opinion of me.”

It was an excuse as much as it was a reason. For as much as she loved the city, and the population of her kingdom, she...well. She was much more experienced with the theoretical than the practice - the top-down instead of the man on the street. So maybe some part of her knew, in that theory, that this is what she’d be thought of, that there’d be a brand across her name - the Traitor Queen. In theory, that was manageable. In practice...it left her feeling like she could drown in the place where she stood. “I- don’t know what there is to do about it. But. Yes. We should look into that.” Her mind was already jumping to results, thinking the worst. How many would feel alienated if they tried to prove them wrong? How many would only feel more justified, and think it was some sort of halfhearted show of goodwill for the sake of image? And they’d be right, which made it all the more terrible. Gods. She needed to sit down. But she couldn’t, because she watched where the child ran back off to, and the woman who scooped the girl up’s eyes were sharp and hard on her. She was looking for weakness, and Remin couldn’t show it.

It was a terrible solution, reaching out for Avther’s arm (the uninjured one,) but it’s what she did anyways. Slim fingers curled around the soft fabric of his sleeve and she pulled, tugging him off towards the statue that took up a slightly secluded area of the park, tucked modestly behind large bushes. It helped enough that some of the pressure in her chest dissipated, and she could at least trust that (hopefully,) Avther wouldn’t notice her anxieties.

The statue itself was beautiful - an older man, in strange clothing (something from the future, those that studied the statues figured) standing and gazing out over the park with infinite fondness. There wasn’t anything particularly striking about the man himself - and that’s nearly what made the statue so breathtaking. It was just...a man. Infinite possibilities to this man. Would he do good? Would he do harm? How far in the future would he exist? Was he alive now? Would he be soon? All those questions, masterfully carved into pure white stone, creating something that looked like it could just hop off the pedestal that held it a few feet off the ground and have a conversation with them. “He’s one of the more mysterious ones.” Remin explains, hoping that even if he did notice her mood, the shift in conversation would distract him from it. “There isn’t a lot known about him. The carver left a signature here,” She points to a small mark against the stone on the inside of one foot, “So we know who made him, and roughly when, as well as some other figures that she carved. None of them have been connected to a real people yet, unfortunately, but...They’re hoping for something soon.” It wasn’t the most exciting statue, but it was the closest - and there was something Remin found nice about the mystery.

 

[Aerynth]

What did it feel like, being considered a traitor to her own people? Cyreia had never been in that position. She had been nothing before, true, but most citizens of any given country were nothing in the grand scheme of things. There was no stigma attached to such an existence. The brand of a traitor, though? The whole world operated on the concept of mutual trust in one way or another. You were finished the moment you lost your face, especially in a position of leadership. An enemy would be preferable to a traitor in the eyes of most people; the underlying logic was that at least you knew where you stood with an enemy. Did Remin understand that? She seemed... sad and distraught, as anyone would be in her situation, but was she aware of all those implications?

"I know that everything has been... A bit sudden," Cyreia said softly. A bit sudden. An understatement of the year, surely. She had found out that she was going to be a king five days before her wedding. It couldn't have been much different with Remin. Of course that the short period of time hadn't been enough to take care of every single threat, not by a long shot. "But worry not, there's still time to act. We just shouldn't let these attitudes fester. I... do have some ideas as to what needs to be done. At least I think I do." Those ideas were still half-formed at best, but Remin's admission of helplessness, of not knowing what to do, awoke some strange protective instinct in her.

It didn't appear that Remin wished to discuss this, though, at least judging by how abruptly she grabbed her arm and led her to one of those statues. Cyreia wanted to see them, she really wanted to, but the previous conversation was still weighing on her mind. When a problem emerged, Cyreia had to deal with it immediately, or at least devise a way to deal with it later. Just outright ignoring it? Unthinkable. She listened to Remin, her eyes fixed on the statue, but there was a certain restlessness to her that hadn't been present before. "Ah, yes, it is... it is beautiful." It really was, she had meant it. At the same time, though, it was apparent that her thoughts were wandering elsewhere. Likely in very unpleasant places, too, at least if one were to judge by her expression. That turned out to be true when she spoke once again.

"My queen, I assume that we do have eyes and ears scattered throughout the country, right? Undercover agents, I mean." They had to have them; every country in the world relied on spies. Information was often worth more than gold these days, after all. "We should... use them to determine how serious the situation is. We need to know whether this type of thinking is common in the country and whether it is more common in certain places than it is in others. I don't know that much about the political climate here yet, but it wouldn't really surprise me if someone was spreading these ideas deliberately." What would they do in that case? Cyreia wasn't sure, not yet, but she was certain that they needed to know. Some things never changed; "know your enemy" was an adage applicable to all walks of life.

 

[Conifer]

Of course Avther wouldn’t let the conversation go. It was smart not to let this just fester, but she just wanted to ignore it as if that would fix the problems. But-- that was irresponsible at best and downright dangerous for them both at worst. Avther was right. “We do, my king,” she admits, finally looking to her husband again, though it’s hard to meet his eyes. “There’s some here, of course, in Caldora. We can find time to meet with them tomorrow, if that...if that’s agreeable to you.” Just as much as she’d rather ignore all of this, she’d rather ignore all of it until they at least returned from their trip - but what was a information-seeking honeymoon without seeking information, she supposed. Avther wanted to know the country. This was part of the country.

Still, she was grateful for his concern. It would be easy enough for him to ignore it, to leave her to deal with it on her own - but he wasn’t. He’d be justified in it, even - how better to topple a kingdom further, and move it under your influence, than to allow them to turn their backs on the thing they had left of the old rule? He, the king that rose up when the kingdom needed him, and she, the traitor queen that threw them to the wolves - what a story that would be for Eupurnia. But then again, she supposed, she wasn’t much of a strategist, and he was making himself out quite clearly to be. Maybe this was still done for the good of his king, and any personal motives were side effects at best. Maybe she was playing neatly into the trap they’d set for her. Remin couldn’t find it in her to care at the moment; solving the issue would, at least, benefit her in the short term. She could handle the long term consequences when they came to rear their ugly heads.

 

[Aerynth]

Tomorrow. Cyreia wanted to go right away, wanted to deal with this problem before it grew beyond their reach, but... one day of leisure couldn't hurt them, could it? Perhaps she was merely paranoid. Perhaps it was a minority opinion held by few people with no significant power; peasants who could never even dream of influencing the course of history. Hell, one day wouldn't make a difference even in the worst case scenario. I really need to calm down a bit. "Tomorrow sounds good," Cyreia nodded and smiled at her wife. "But enough about that. The matters of tomorrow should be dealt with tomorrow; we should enjoy today while it lasts." Remin certainly looked like she could use some distraction right now. Sure, ignoring the problem would have been irresponsible, but dwelling on it when nothing could be done at the moment would bring them no benefit, either. A soldier who worried about tomorrow's battles could never focus on those that took place in the present.

"It's supposed to be our honeymoon, isn't it?" Cyreia laughed nervously. Was she crossing a line here? Maybe, but if it disrupted this strange atmosphere that had been lingering between them since the encounter with the little girl, Cyreia wouldn't mind incurring Remin's wrath. Wrath, at the very least, was better than sorrow. She knew how to deal with that particular emotion. "Come on, let's admire more of those statues. I know, I know, not very honeymoon-like, but what can I say? I'm a man of refined taste."

Still hand in hand, the two walked some more under the gentle shadows provided by the ancient trees. The next statue they reached couldn't possibly be more different from the first one. It was a woman this time; a beautiful, radiant woman wearing elaborate armor the likes of which Cyreia had never seen before. She was holding a sword in one of her hands and a shield in another. The position the sculptor had captured her in seemed to be defensive, almost protective, but of what? The context was missing. "A warrior," Cyreia said, surprise evident in her voice. Surprise and also something else, something more complicated. Could it be envy? "How interesting. Women... aren't allowed to choose the path of a warrior in Eupriunia," Cyreia explained with a slight frown. "It's just not their role. Is that different here? And who is she, anyway? Is her identity known at this point?"

 

[Conifer]

No wrath came. She wasn’t sure what did, her emotions a tangled knot, but it wasn’t wrath or een anything similar. “Our marriage,” She points out lightly, “isn’t very conventional. So who’s to say what our honeymoon is?”
Remin’s grateful that he left the previous conversation alone, since there was nothing they could do about it now, and even if there was, the park wasn’t the place to handle it, but it still felt strange to move past it. That was more her own fault than his, though - if she’d asked him, right now, to work on handling it, Remin was confident that they’d stop whatever else they were doing, even if she couldn’t put a finger on his motivations for it. She’d pushed them from the topic, and she shouldn’t blame him for things he was only doing because she’d asked him to.

Leaving the sight of the woman helped, despite the fact that the sight of them holding hands as they walked away from the statue and onto the second would only give her opinions more fuel. Remin tried not to care. It was strange, to hold his hand, and to be...comfortable with it. Comforted, even, which she absolutely refused to think too much on. She was scared and drifting in the idea of treachery, and he was an anchor of solution and determination. That’s all. It wasn’t her hand in his that brought her peace - it was the symbolism of it, like all those great novels.

“She’s the only one in this particular park that we do know the identity of.” Remin answers, pulling her hand from his despite the safety he held, to step closer and admire the stonework. “Nelar Drate.” She’s quiet for a beat, trying to remember what she knew about her. “She lived a long time ago, and there’s so many stories about her it’s hard to know which ones are true. What we do know is that she was born to modest nobility, lost her father early in a battle, and later, took up his sword. More likely to honor him to avenge him. She joined the army as soon as she could, and proved an intimidating strategist. Every battle she had a hand in won - the numbers of which vary depending on how romantic or drunk the storyteller.” She hums softly, looking her over. “There’s also a story about her single-handedly felling a kraken somewhere in there. She, however, was landlocked most her life, so I really doubt that one. But to answer your other question -- it’s rare, but not in the same way as it sounds rare to you. You won’t find a lot of women in the army, but...people are fated to be what they are. Sometimes, that fate is to fight. Like hers. You can change fate, to a degree, but not her. Hers was always set in stone. Women aren’t encouraged, but they aren’t turned away, especially if they can prove they’re fated for it.”

 

[Aerynth]

Nelar Drate. The name rang harsh against her ears, almost like two swords clashing together, but it suited her. It was a good name for the fierce warrior standing in front of her. Much better than a name like Cyreia. Cyreia was too melodic, like one of those songs her mother had loved so much. Pretty, but so unlike her that identifying with it at this point in her life seemed like wearing shoes that didn't fit. Avther suits me much more. It was true and Cyreia knew it, though that knowledge couldn't prevent the sudden burst of envy in her chest. Envy that this woman had been allowed to... simply exist, exist in ways she never could.

How pathetic. Is this what I've been reduced to? Being jealous of dead people? Cyreia, too, got closer to the statue so that she could take in all the details. It truly was a work of art. "A peer of mine, then, at least in some ways." In more ways than you could possibly know. "I also joined the army very soon. I believe I was thirteen, though I wasn't a full-fledged soldier at that point. Just an initiate," she said, not entirely of her own reasons for sharing that. Perhaps it was because Remin had proved to be a good listener so far; for some reason, it seemed as if she wasn't bothered by her stories. "Though, unlike her, I come from poverty and I'm afraid that I haven't slain anything even remotely similar to kraken," she continued with a small smile. Just people. More people than I can count. More people than she cared to count, too, which was another problem. "How did she die? Somehow, I doubt that she died in a bed, surrounded by weeping grandchildren." People like them were hardly allowed such peaceful deaths; that, Cyreia supposed, was only fair.

"Do you believe in fate, my queen?" Cyreia asked Remin after her wife's small speech about destiny, doubts resonating in her voice now. The concept of everything being pre-determined to some degree didn't sit well with her, and it showed. She had tried so hard to claw her way up, to stray away from her original path. If something like fate indeed existed, then struggling against its chains - against anything, really - was meaningless. What a depressing way to look at life! "People are fated to be what they are, you said. Can you say, then, that I was always meant to end up here? By your side? Me out of all people?" It was absurd, wasn't it? Cyreia wasn't one to give up, so she would do everything within her power to be a decent king. Even she, though, could see how bad of a choice she was for that role. Every noble, no matter how insignificant in their complicated hierarchy, would have been far more prepared for the task than her. Remin surely had to see that as well, right? Cyreia pierced her with her eyes, almost as if she was trying to read her wife's mind.

 

[Conifer]

He doesn't need to read her mind, as she starts to answer nearly immediately. “I can say that you being here was always an option.” She says softly, turning away from the statue to face Avther, but it’s hard to find a place for her attention to settle. “My mother went to a diviner when she was pregnant with me. One of the best in the kingdom. He told her that I’d break my arm at age five, - which I did, on my fifth birthday, - that I’d nearly drown when I was ten, - also true - and that I’d someday be involved in an effective marriage. She assumed that to mean that we’d get along, that we’d work well together - but,” She shrugs lightly. “This is close enough to effective, I think, to call that one true as well.”
“That doesn’t mean that it was always you. There’s nearly always variations. But it always could have been you. He didn’t know how I would break my arm, or how badly. He didn’t know if it’d be a visit to the coast that would do the second, or if it’d be an ill-fated bath.” She’s rambling a lot, again, but - at least Avther had asked. And she hated how she didn’t hate how he looked at her when they talked like this, like he was actually interested in the culture he was sent to meddle with. If this was how someone who seemed relatively open-minded accepted their use of magic, then what would it be like as soon as Eupriunia started exerting its influence?
“So-- all of my rambling cut short, of course I do. Everyone here does. Fate is a fact of the universe. It’s as present as water - shifting and malleable, fitting to whatever form you allow it, but still taking up space. Whether or not you trust it is up to you. But you can’t deny that it exists.”

 

[Aerynth]

Trying to wrap her mind around all of this was... confusing, at first. Remin's answer kept shifting and evolving into something slightly different with each new sentence and her explanation of what fate actually was never even approached the territory of a straightforward definition. Well, I suppose that this is only appropriate. Fate doesn't seem to be a very straightforward concept in the Athean culture. It hadn't occurred to her before that Athea and Eupriunia were so distant ideologically that even words of daily use - words like fate - meant different things in both countries. That revelation scared her a bit. How much would she have to learn and re-learn in order to truly grasp the Athean way of life? Was it even possible for a stranger to get it fully? At the same time, though, Cyreia found it to be thoroughly fascinating.

"So," she started slowly, obviously still thinking, "if I understand it right, you believe that fate is sort of like a crossroads. You can end up going one way or another, so there is some degree of freedom involved, but there are also places you will always have to visit no matter what. That's... not how we conceptualize fate at all. In Eupriunia, fate is always rigid. It is usually something you complain about, too, not something you accept gracefully. Now that I think about it, I believe it is actually a negative word there. Not inherently so, but..." Cyreia paused as she was looking for the right way to phrase it, "... the way it is used certainly tends to be negative. It's difficult to explain." Now that she actually knew what Remin meant by that word, Cyreia wasn't as offended by it. She didn't believe in it, but she could see why other people did and that was more than enough.

"Anyway, I see now, at least I think I do. Shall we go?" Once they left the statue of Nelar Drate behind, it was Cyreia who grabbed Remin's hand this time. She did so without thinking, almost as if guided by some half-forgotten instinct. Her hand in hers felt... right, for some reason, and Remin must have wanted it anyway, otherwise she wouldn't have initiated the contact in the first place. So, why not?

The afternoon passed slowly and uneventfully, but it was the kind of slowness that warmed her heart, not the one that bored her to tears. They saw other statues, oh so many statues, and Cyreia tried to hypothesize who those people might turn out to be. In time, her suggestions got progressively wilder and wilder; clearly, she was having a lot of fun with this. And, again, why not? Evening would come soon and they would have to navigate the complex waters of the local politics. Was it that bad to unwind a bit before the event? Surely not. Frankly, Cyreia didn't remember when had been the last time she had smiled so much; her mouth almost hurt from all that smiling. Remin probably played a role in it as well. It was easy to relax in her presence, easy and natural, and Cyreia almost forgot the reason they had come here in the first place. Almost, but not quite. When dusk engulfed the park, it was a clear sign for them to return back to Sarah and Tamrel. They did, although Cyreia would have liked to explore some more. Well, there's always tomorrow.

"I like it here," she confided in Remin as they were entering the mansion once again. "Thank you for keeping me company today, my queen," Cyreia smiled once again and, completely without thinking, kissed her on the lips. It was a chaste kiss - just brushing her lips against hers, really - but a kiss nevertheless. Wait, what? Immediately, Cyreia was horrified. What the hell am I even doing here? The surprise must have been apparent on her face, there was no way it wasn't, but she still tried to save the situation somehow. "I, uh, just a thanks. I apologize if I've been... too forward."

 

[Conifer]

It wasn’t even a thought that went through her head when Avther grabbed her hand again - it was just natural, just normal, just something she already felt accustomed to despite their only other touch thus far being brief and mostly out of necessity. It didn’t matter who grabbed for who first, or who reached back, or anything, really, not right now. Because right now, as they wandered this stretching park for hours, it was fun. Remin was decently sure it was the first genuine fun she’d had in months. She bit back corrections over wild theories of fate, and let herself sink into them instead, enjoying the childish silliness that seemed to overtake her when encouraged by Avther. It wasn’t graceful, it wasn’t refined, it wasn’t anything that she should be showing her new husband and greatest enemy, and yet -
Well. And yet, she did, and she did it gleefully.

By the time they returned to the manor, her cheeks ached and her cheeks were ruddy from the rush of laughter, and she had half a mind to make up some excuse to be late to dinner if they even went at all. A sickness caught on the road, or something. They could get dinner at the little cafe by the small creek that cut through this portion of town. They could find her favorite statue, and they could make up some far fetched theory about who they might be. They could...do none of that. Unfortunately.

Just as that feeling was slipping out of Remin’s grasp, as they stood in the entryway of the manor - just outside of the prying eyes from the quieting streets, and the prying eyes of those that hurried around the manor off in some other hallway - she found Avther close, and then closer, and then nearly as close as he could be, and it sent that feeling shooting up like a rocket again. It was dizzying, and when he pulled away, she was left staring as he stumbled for an explanation and trying to search for one of her own. Why did she enjoy that? Why did she want to lean back in, and continue it? She was a traitor and he was the one who made her one - this isn’t what she should want.

“Remin,” she says softly, despite. “You’re-- welcome to call me Remin. If you’d like to. I think we-- might be, ah. Perhaps be...familiar enough, now.” It’s more stammering than gliding, but she hopes that it does what she’s hoping for it to do - reassuring him that it wasn’t unwelcomed, even if it did send her reeling.
If they wanted any more time to talk, though, it was quickly yanked out of their grasp by a harried and hurried Sarah rushing into the room, and quickly directing them to their respective rooms to prepare for the dinner - though, she made sure to mention, it really was none of her concern if they wanted to show up in front of the council in their park wandering clothes, even if Remin’s hems were a bit dirt-tracked. Which Remin certainly didn’t, so she parted from Avther, and with an apologetic glance, hurried down the hall to change.

The council themselves were much like the advisers back home - older, for the most part, or at least older in their opinions. Seven of them sat around the table, along with Sarah and Tamrel, by the time that Remin managed to make her way into the dining hall, all chatting familiarly with each other. That was the one difference between the advisers and the council - the advisers tolerated each other at best, but their loyalties laid plain on the table for each to see. The council existed in pleasantries (sometimes false, sometimes honest) but their loyalties were a bit more complex. All were hopefully loyal to the city, and Remin trusted they were, but beyond that...she could only hazard guesses.

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia was ready for any kind of retaliation. She deserved it. A line had surely been crossed with that kiss, it must have been. True, they had had a lot of fun during their brief exploration of the park, but that didn't give her the right to do... that. She was still a foreigner, a stranger and, worst of all, an usurper. Someone who, despite all the good intentions, held a great deal of power over Remin. Any subordinate of hers that had dared to touch a woman from a conquered country in such a manner had been made an example of. How was she any different from them?

Except that Remin didn't seem to mind. The realization almost made her doubt that this was real, that it wasn't some kind of feverish dream. Almost. "... It's Avther, then," she heard herself saying in a raspy voice, her head suddenly very light. Cyreia didn't have a lot of experience with alcohol, but she knew what being tipsy felt like and this came dangerously close to it. "Call me by my name, too. Remin." It was a good thing that Sarah appeared out of nowhere because Cyreia was tempted to throw all the caution to the wind and kiss her again. Properly this time, too. She shook her head as if trying to get rid of all those new, confusing thoughts. There were important matters to attend to and she couldn't let herself get distracted from her duties. "Yes, I suppose that I should get changed. Wouldn't want to offend our guests, after all. I shall be back soon."

In the privacy of her room, Cyreia allowed herself the luxury of collapsing on her bed. Her heart was beating very fast and, somehow, she could still sense Remin's lips on hers. This is ridiculous. I'm being ridiculous. In some ways, Cyreia supposed, this wasn't ridiculous at all. Having these feelings for one's wife was normal, desirable even. Their arrangement, on the other hand, was far from normal. A husband usually didn't have to hide his gender from his wife. How was she supposed to do that if their relationship ever progressed beyond tentative friendship? And why was she actively pushing for it to happen? It was a mistake. Clearly, but what was she to do now? Changing into acceptable clothes, Cyreia decided, would be a good start. Everything else would come after that.

When Cyreia entered the dinner hall, she was dressed in grey and blue, colors which complimented her tanned skin well. "It is a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen," she smiled at the members of the council, though her eyes remained vigilant. Despite her warm words, Cyreia didn't seem approachable at the moment; perfectly polite so far, yes, but reserved. These people weren't her friends. That might change someday, but as a rule of thumb, Cyreia considered politicians to be snakes. The chatter ceased as all the eyes in the room turned to her. She was being scrutinized, that much was certain, but what conclusions did they reach? Their faces, carefully neutral, told her exactly nothing. The councilors stood up, their right hands pressed against their chests.

"Your royal highness."

Cyreia sat down next to Remin, hoping that she didn't look as desperately out of place as she felt. Some part of her wished to turn to her wife for support, but she didn't dare to. No, there were burdens a king had to bear alone. Still, Cyreia couldn't help herself but touch Remin's shoulder gently, mostly as a way of greeting. Once everyone was sitting, the councilors proceeded to introduce themselves briefly - she made sure to memorize them - and then it was time to eat. Eat and mingle.

"How are you enjoying your stay in Caldora, your highnesses?" one of them, a man named Allard, asked. "It is a good thing that the war, as terrible as it was, hasn't scarred the face of our beautiful city." That question, if nothing else, seemed to be fairly innocent. Cyreia still decided to let Remin answer first, though, in order to see the way she interacted with these men. Hopefully it would teach her enough about Athean etiqutte to survive this banquet without making a fool out of herself.

 

[Conifer]

“It’s been lovely.” Remin agrees politely, running on instinct. The presence of Avther - Avther who’d kissed her, Avther who should wouldn’t mind kissing her again - at her side made it hard to focus on the matter at hand. He wasn’t touching her now, but the place where his hand hand brushed her shoulder just moments ago, through the soft green fabric of the dress she’d changed into, almost felt like it was burning. Why did she want to kiss him? Why did she want him to touch her again? That wasn’t what she was supposed to want. This wasn’t that sort of relationship. This was business. This wasn’t supposed to be like this. “I’ve missed being here. It’s been far too long. I can only hope that I’ve played the tour guide well,” She offers Avther an in to the conversation.

Would it be terrible if she was fond of him in the way a wife should be? The easiest answer was yes. It would cement her further as a traitor - not only marrying the enemy, but loving them (not that they were anywhere near there, not yet.) That wasn’t the only answer, of course, but -- but the others left her too unsettled to linger on for too long right now, when she was supposed to be navigating this dinner with any form of grace.
“We visited the statues nearby,” She explains, starting in on her food in hopes it would distract her some from Avther’s presence so near to her. “and had a small history lesson.” Half of one, at least, before they’d devolved into silliness. What they didn’t know wouldn’t kill them. “He found Nelar Drate particularly interesting.”

 

[Aerynth]

"Oh, I couldn't ask for a better guide," Cyreia chimed in, her voice suddenly softer. It was impossible for that newfound fondness to not seep through at least a little; not when the memories of that afternoon were still fresh in her mind. Memories of fooling around like children, of laughing so much that tears had been in her eyes, of kissing her... Cyreia snapped out of it just in time to be able to prevent herself from grinning like a madman. Oh god, this is bad. Why did she find it so difficult to focus now? It had been just a kiss, and a brief one at that. Right, that kiss wasn't the problem here. The problem was that the kiss had given her ideas. "All in all, I am inclined to agree. Caldora is a jewel among cities," Cyreia continued, hoping that the conversation would force her to pay attention.

"You are far too kind, your highness, although it pleases me that you like our city so much," Allard replied gracefully. "I hope that you will make a lot of memories in the streets of Caldora." Meanwhile, Cyreia was facing a small crisis; to her utter horror, she realized that she still didn't know the proper way to use the various pieces of cutlery lying on the table. Alright, calm down. Soup has to be eaten with the spoon, right? It can't be anything else. I'll just stick to the soup and everything will be fine.

"Well, of course his highness would enjoy that particular story," another councilor, Flyrne, stated. Was that supposed to be an insult? A jab directed at Cyreia's past? What else could a soldier be interested in, right? For now, though, Cyreia decided to give him the benefit of doubt. Perhaps he didn't mean anything by it. "Well, she was a fascinating historical figure. Remin's delivery of her story also helped."

The councilors exchanged a few quick glances among themselves; the fact that the king used the queen's first name didn't escape them. Together with the gentle touch earlier, it painted a rather... suggestive picture. "You seem to be close, your highnesses," Flyrne spoke once again. "Surprising, considering the circumstances, but you do make a lovely couple. I'm sure our people will be delighted by that development." Although it was a compliment on the surface, Cyreia could sense ice beneath his words.

 

[Conifer]

Gods. Gods be merciful, gods be understanding, gods be-- anything. Gods smite them down where they sat now and save them the consequence of their words, that would be even a kindness. Remin took an unsteady breath, hoping she was the only one who noticed its shaking. This kiss was entirely swept from her mind as she ran through the conversation again in her head. Right. This was recoverable. This was nothing, she’d handled worse. Probably.
“Well,” she says, voice steady where her inhale wasn’t. “We’ve seen a lot of each other over the past few days, and will be seeing a lot more of each other in the coming future. A friendly truce is easier to maintain than the alternative.” It’s not airtight, it’s not perfect - it’s a clumsy excuse at best, but it’s the best she has at the moment. “And you’re all, I’m sure, well aware that people are more than happy to dig their tools into any crack in the fence to widen it. We’re of the hope that providing a united front will cut back on some of that being an issue until we’re more prepared to address it.” Is she intentionally calling out the very people who sit at this table? Not that she’d ever admit to in as many inelegant words, but she will privately admit that it’s a nice side effect. “With everything going so quickly...you understand.”

Either they did, or they didn’t, but she wouldn’t give them room to question them further, not when, out of the corner of her eye, Remin struggled for which fork to use for his salad. That, she realises, regretfully, is something she should have thought to instruct him on after the finger-heavy style he’d used at breakfast that one morning. She taps his shoe lightly with her own, picking up the appropriate fork as she did, and can only hope that he’ll realise to pay attention to her through the meal.

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia had to admire Remin's self-control. It took some effort just to maintain a neutral expression during all of this, yet here she was, not only looking composed, but also speaking wisely. This is who I want to be one day. And for that to ever happen, Cyreia had to steel herself and speak. Skills could only be learned through practice; that held true both in the army and here.

"There's no reason for unnecessary conflict, is there?" she said in a conversational tone, lightly, as if Flyrne had never insulted them in the first place. "Ultimately, our interests align. We both want to see Athea prosper and I'm of the opinion that cooperation is the best way to achieve that goal." That was all true. It didn't explain the affectionate way she looked at Remin, but Cyreia didn't intend to defend every single thing she did. She was a king, after all. A king didn't have to justify his behavior to anyone and certainly not to those who threatened to undermine his position. No, being too apologetic would have been interpreted as weakness, that much she was sure of. It was in that moment that Cyreia noticed Remin's signal and shot her a thankful glance. Unfortunately, she couldn't do more in this company.

"You are certainly right, your highnesses," Flyrne nodded. "It will be easier for you that way." Easier, of course, didn't necessarily mean better and Flyrne's tone made his position clear. He didn't approve of easy solutions. "I have to say, though, that I am surprised to learn that cooperation is an Eupriunian value."

"It is not," Cyreia replied with a small smile that didn't contain a hint of happiness. If anything, it seemed vaguely threatening. "In Eupriunia, we kill." She let those words resonate for a while, giving everyone the chance to grasp the implications of her statement. "It is a good thing, then, that we aren't in Eupriunia. I'm sure that all of you will agree with me when I say that the Athean ways are more suitable for Athea." Had she gone too far? Possibly, but Cyreia wasn't about to let this man walk all over her. If he insisted on treating her like an enemy, she would respond in kind.

 

[Conifer]

Remin took a sip of wine to keep her expression steady as Avther spoke of killing, dreading the subtext that laced itself through his words. Threatening the council within five minutes of meeting them - that had to be a new, dangerous, record. (It wasn’t that Remin didn’t think the threat was even nearly justified, it was just...a bad time, a bad place, a bad everything for that sort of talk.) Avther was a fighter, though, and she really shouldn’t have been surprised. The taste of the wine lingered as strangely as the situation did, and she swallowed again before speaking, as if that could prepare her for the level of cleaning up she’d have to do throughout this meal.

“That they are, my king,” she says - united front, and all that - before making an attempt to change the topic to safer territory. “Lorent, your daughter married the other week, didn’t she? How was the ceremony?”

That was enough to launch the man into a distraction of an answer (it was huge, and lovely, and they’re just ever so happy, but he really wishes that she would have married someone of note instead of a baker, even if he is the owner of one of the most renowned shops in the country), buying them a few minutes of peace that unfortunately did little to settle Remin’s nerves. Her skin felt tight in a way that even more wine wouldn’t help shake, but there was little to be done about that. Just push through it, and focus on keeping them out of the dangerous territory of politics, that’s all she could do.