Fantasy All's Fair

[Aerynth]

Remin's flailing did little to get rid of the grip around her neck. The ghostly fingers continued to choke and choke, choke to the point it felt as if she'd never take another breath again, and then the world around her got distorted. The shapes lost their definiteness, suddenly as incorporeal as mist, and all the colors morphed into one amorphous blob. Was she losing her consciousness? No, it didn't look like that. Nothing about what was happening seemed less real, less painful, and unconsciousness would have provided a relief. Instead of that, Remin sensed a strange pull towards-- something? In that moment, she felt entirely weightless, almost like a leaf in the wind, except that the movement was more purposeful, more controlled. Not by her, though.

When she could finally breathe again and the world around her regained its sharpness, Remin wasn't in her room anymore. She was... indoors and, judging by the layout, also in a castle, though certainly not in a bedroom, or at least not in a bedroom meant for prized guests. Torches illuminated the space, yes, but there wasn't much to look at. Four walls, a small bed that looked even more pitiful than the one Cyreia and Remin had shared in that inn in Hadsberry, no windows. The only decoration (if you were kind enough to even consider it one) was a moth-eaten tapestry hanging on one of the walls. Well, that, and perhaps also the peculiar swirly symbol underneath her feet, though that one faded away the second her gaze landed on it. What had it even looked like? For some reason, the shape refused to stay imprinted in her memory. How peculiar. More than anything else, the place looked like prison. And perhaps the worst thing about it? Remin wasn't alone.

"Welcome, your highness," a young man with sharp features said as he stepped out of the shadows. He was fair-haired and dressed like a lord, though very much not according to the latest fashion. Lady Everbright would have had a field day with him, really, and not just because something had apparently covinced him that wearing gold was a good idea. He didn't even wear it well; the coat sat on him awkwardly, almost as if it had been designed for a man taller than him. "It is most unfortunate that we had to meet like this, but, considering the circumstances, I doubt you would have accepted my invitation. Actually, I wasn't even aiming to meet you in particular, but your husband the king wasn't available. Do you mind telling me where we'd find him?" he asked, his tone all too cordial for what he was implying.

 

[Conifer]

Remin had no moment to grow adjusted to anything before it was all changing again; the hand around her neck, and then the room, and then the sigil scrawled across the floor beneath her. It was all so much, so quickly, and she was powerless against all of it. She felt dizzy and whiplashed. Her eyes settled on the man before her, though, when everything stopped moving for long enough that she could let her eyes settle. It brought no peace.

Her eyes caught on his coat, and the strange way it hung on him. It was no clue on where she was, or how to handle this situation, but-- but it was something. It was something that she knew about him: he didn't wear his own coat to kidnap her. It almost made her laugh. It was so...starkly unhelpful, but somehow, so important. Remin was silent for a moment, even after he spoke, trying to figure out anything else. What was the tapestry? It was too worn, too threadbare, to learn anything from. The walls seemed old, but too sturdy to be any help. "I'm afraid I don't have any idea." She says, trying to sound sure of herself, but her voice shook far too much for that to be convincing anyone of anything. "Who's asking?" It was doubtful that she'd get a response - or at least an honest one - there, but gods, she had to learn anything she could. Anything could help.

 

[Aerynth]

The man's face was entirely expressionless, though he observed Remin like a hawk; like a predator hunting its prey. Everything about him seemed sharp and focused. "No idea, huh? How very interesting." Apparently he didn't consider her a threat, for he turned around and started pacing back and forth. Then again, why should he? With no ability to return and no weapon, Remin could hardly do anything to resist him. Even the pendant around her neck had grown cold and unresponsive. Had the spell that had transported her here blocked the connection or had Cyreia turned it off? It was impossible to tell. Besides, now that her eyes got used to the poor lighting, she could see the guards stationed near the door. There was no way out, or at least not one where the right to pass through wouldn't have to be earned with her own blood. With her own blood as well as the blood of others.

"I'll let you in on a secret, your highness; it is not difficult to guess where the king might be," he smiled at her, though there wasn't a hint of happiness in that gesture. Strangely enough, it didn't appear to be triumphant, either; there was... mainly exhaustion, and maybe also something else that couldn't be deciphered so easily. Sorrow, perhaps? Or maybe even disappointment? "He is a soldier, after all, and soldiers are called to war. He wouldn't allow the leadership to fall into anyone else's hands, would he?" Once again, he stopped in his tracks and met Remin's eyes, his own gaze unflinching. "I find it hard to believe, though, that you wouldn't know about this. No, I am quite certain that you're lying." The accusation, however, didn't sting like one would have expected it to. Her captor sounded neutral; he might as well have been talking about weather. About things that didn't matter at all. "The only question that remains to be answered is why, exactly, you're lying. Lord Beleret would be very interested in learning that piece of information. What should I say to him when I report back, your highness?"

 

[Conifer]

She tried taking a few breaths, wishing that the dagger hadn't dropped from her hand when she'd been dragged away to this strange place. It wouldn't do any good, especially not against those guards, but...it would be nice to have something. Anything. Experimentally, she reached out towards the strange new magic, but there was...nothing. She didn't know where she was. She couldn't chart the path back to the tree in her head; she couldn't create that road for it to travel. Maybe she didn't need to, for it to work, technically, but she hadn't found any other way to access it. It, certainly, wasn't supplying a solution itself. Her hands were left with nothing but painfully mundane air between her fingers. Maybe her usual magic would work, but...there was little she could do with that.

Remin swallowed hard, shifting her posture to stand straighter, more stubborn, more sure. She was still a terrified woman standing in the middle of a mildew-y dungeon in her bedclothes, though, no matter how tall she tried to stand. There was going to be no changing any of those details. Was she in Werough, though? It wasn't...a terrible guess. It would make sense. Gods, she was far from home. Even if she wasn't in Werough, she was far from home. This was nowhere known to her. The chill of the air bit through the thin fabric of her robes as if they were nothing. No reply came. Maybe she couldn't learn much, but she certainly could control what she would reveal willingly. Cyeria's location? Anything about Cyeria? It wasn't going to come easily from her. No. Remin just stood in the center of the room, silent and stubborn and so scared but trying (and failing) not to show it.

 

[Aerynth]

Remin's silence didn't seem to amuse the man. If there had been any understanding in his features before, it dissolved into nothingness. "Not going to cooperate, then? My lord won't be pleased to hear that, I'm afraid. There's no telling as to how he may react." He let his words hang in the silence of her cell for a while, waiting for all the implications to set in. Was he just capitalizing on Remin's obvious fears or did he mean those threats? And if he meant them, just how far would he go? So many questions, so few answers. Her captor let out a sharp breath and clasped his hands together.

"Luckily for you, I am far from impatient, and I understand that this entire ordeal must be quite shocking for you. As such, I can give you a few hours to... think about your situation. To reconsider your position. If you ever decide to be more talkative, notify the guards. They'll send for me and we can try again. If you don't talk by morning, though? I'll be forced to tell my lord that you've been less than willing to speak and he'll have to find a way to make you do just that. It is quite important to us, you see." His voice was pleasant, almost velvet-like, and in sharp contrast with what he was actually saying. Something else seemed odd about it, though: his accent. He didn't sound as if he had grown up in Werough-- or anywhere in Athea, for that matter. The way he placed the stress on a wrong syllable from time to time appeared to be distinctly foreign. His intonation, too, felt slightly odd; it was too melodic, almost as if he was reciting a poem rather than talking.

"If I may offer a bit of advice? You don't wish to anger my lord, your highness. It'll be much, much more pleasant for you if you cooperate, and that choice is entirely yours. I can only hope that you'll choose wisely. Until then, goodnight." The man bowed to her before heading off for the door. He exchanged a few quick words with the guards (they saluted in response) and then he left. Just like that, Remin ended up alone; it was only her, the guards, and the torches that slowly wasted away. Soon enough, it seemed, the room would be drowning in darkness.

 

[Conifer]

The more she heard him talk, the less sure she was that she had any idea of where she was. Perhaps he was foreign, but-- perhaps, instead, she was even further from home than she hoped she was. She reached for the magic again, feeling more desperate by the moment for some sort of solid ground to stand on. Even if she had no idea what she'd do with it - her training had faltered since Velka had turned up at their door, efforts going to learning as much as they could and preparing as much as they were able - it would be something that she had that they didn't want her to. Still, all she was met with was cold and disheartening emptiness.

Remin continued her silence as he threatened her. She had to calm down. Saying anything now wouldn't do her or Cyeria any good; it would be too desperate, too impulsive. But refusing to comply would only endager her, and then would only endanger Cyeria, and then-- what after that? The country? Shockingly, very little of her life before now prepared her for what to do when kidnapped and threatened, which was...something it maybe should have. Cyeria would know what to do, though. Remin reached up, grasping the small stone on the necklace around her throat, just for some form of comfort. She couldn't reach out to her, even if she wanted to. The guards against the wall made rather sure of that with their presence. So it was only the next best thing that she could manage; try to think like Cyeria might.

Remin sank to sit against the scratchy linens of the bed - would she leave here with fleabites? Likely. Would she leave here with worse? Almost surely, if she didn't think of what to do. Would she leave here at all? She blinked away hot tears that blurred her eyes at the thought of that. The guards would see weakness, and that would be passed onto the man in the too-large coat, and that, to this Lord Beleret. Focus. You tell them that the king is among the armies, and that won't be good enough; it would only be confirmation of their theories. You tell them who the king is with, and they find him, and that won't go well. You lie and they realize it, and in the process, likely harm people who they wouldn't have otherwise, and then she's right back in this mess again but worse. Was there truly no solution besides silence? Silence would, at least, buy time. Every minute that she says nothing is a minute for Cyeria to realize something has gone wrong, or for someone back at the castle to notice her missing. But even she didn't know where she was. How would they? She would-- she would have to try for silence, and hope that she could connect with Cyeria through the stone when something was happening that would give any indication that Remin was in danger. She might not be able to communicate where she was, but maybe Cyeria would recognize...anything. A name, an accent.

The hours stretched as Remin formulated this half-baked plan. The torches flickered out sooner than later, leaving starry embers against the stone floor outside of her cell, and then even those faded. The guards barely moved, and certainly made no movement to replace those torches. Could they see her still? There were magics enough for that, and after how she'd ended up here, she knew that whoever had taken her had access to them. The darkness was strangely welcome all the same; perhaps they couldn't see her, and in that case, it was some amount of privacy. Nothing could be done with it, but the fantastical idea of it was pleasant anyways. Eventually she ran out of thoughts to think about the plan - or the lack of one - and she had nothing left to do but sit idly. At some point, she braided her hair in the darkness for an excuse to reach behind her neck; a quick movement that hopefully looked little more than fiddling with hair released the necklace from her neck into her lap, beneath the folds of fabric she'd pulled around herself for warmth. It ended up, eventually, wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet. It kept the stone easier to reach and easier to turn on, if she got the chance.

At some point, though, she fell into facsimile of sleep. The immediate threats had worn off and the drained energy she'd used up in response to them left her fighting to keep her eyes open. It wasn't restful, this sleep, but at least it passed some amount of time. The next she knew, there was the half-sleep fuzzed sound of a door opening and footsteps, and she forced her tired eyes back open.

 

[Aerynth]

The night passed quietly, without Cyreia attempting to contact her even once. That wasn't exactly unexpected, though; Cyreia tended to talk to Remin in the evenings, likely around the time she ate her dinner. The pattern would likely only be disrupted once they won the battle and-- well, either it hadn't happened yet they lost. Only time would tell. Time and maybe also her captors; there was, after all, no real reason for them to hide this particular piece of information. Or was there?

Either way, when Remin opened her eyes, the man from yesterday marched in. He wasn't alone this time; two women in grey robes accompanied him, walking just a few steps behind her captor. They carried torches of their own, but Remin had no idea what they looked like since cowls hid their faces. Their features were more felt than seen. "Good morning, your highness," the man spoke. "I trust you've slept well." The look he gave her suggested that no, he really didn't trust that, but it didn't sound like he was mocking her, either. Did he use politeness as a crutch? Perhaps. "That must be the reason you haven't sent for me, I suppose. Because you didn't wake up sooner." It seemed as that he didn't want to return to his lord with bad news. Why, though? Was Wellan one to punish the messenger if he didn't like the message or did he not enjoy the idea of Remin being hurt? Or was it just a ruse to get her to speak? Threats, after all, often worked better when wrapped in kindness. A dagger wrapped in silk was more dangerous than a bare blade. "Very well. Will you speak to me today or should I bring you to my lord directly?" The women remained silent and motinless; something about them seemed more shadowy than human, more real than unreal. A peculiar stillness enveloped them; even her captor's voice sounded somewhat muffled with the two of them there, almost as if their presence sapped the very essence of life out of everything.

 

[Conifer]

Remin drew herself to her feet; even if they were kidnappers, there was some amount of decorum she had to subscribe to for her own sake. They would not take her sitting down, and that was as literal as she could manage it. Remin was sure she looked a sight by now, if she hadn't already, but that was one of the last things that mattered. "I slept wonderfully. Thank you." She says, coolly - at the very least, this felt...easier to handle, with some time removed from it. It was still insurmountable, impossible, but she could put up that mask she wore so well and so often again, and that was win enough. She'd take anything. "That really depends what it is you want to speak about. If it's the weather, I'll talk all you like. If it's a continuation from our discussion yesterday -- surely you understand that I can't." She could do little else but protect Cyeria. Even if she couldn't do that forever...hopefully she could, at least, keep them away until the battle was over and until they wouldn't be quite as surprised and a little more prepared for...the attack? Whatever they planned.

Would they be so bold as to kill her? Remin had wondered that, at some point over the night, and she wondered it again. She...honestly had no idea. It would be stupid, but leaving her alive after all of this may be stupid as well if they wanted to try to avoid the immediate consequences. But then again, they hadn't anticipated grabbing her, it seemed. Gods, was everyone here as in over their heads as she was?

 

[Aerynth]

"I'm afraid I don't understand," the man said, the tiniest hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. His eyes - sharp and observant - never left her face. Was he trying to read her? Most definitely, though it didn't look like he managed to find his answers and that seemed to irk him on some primal level. "There's no reason for you not to cooperate," he stated, not even trying to hide his bafflement. "In fact, it is a golden opportunity. The way we contacted you wasn't-- the most fortunate, I can see that now, but our goal is a shared one. Perhaps this is my fault; perhaps I failed to express myself properly." Despite his earlier bravado, despite all the attempts to terrify Remin into compliance, the man now looked... sort of embarrassed? Almost like a child that had been caught stealing candy. (It would have been rather endearing, really, if he had done that instead of kidnapping the queen.) "We bear no ill will towards you, your highness. It is the Eupriunian we despise, and it is him we want to get rid of. His very presence is an insult to the gods of this land." For a second, it seemed as if he wanted to continue in this manner, maybe to deliver a burning sermon, but then he glanced at his companions and fell silent. Not for long, though.

"This accomodation is merely a safety precaution. Once we exchange information, you will be moved into a room far more fitting for a queen. You will be treated like the precious guest you are and allowed to return home once the issue has been solved." One thing, if nothing else, was painfully obvious; he truly did consider this set-up to be fair. Only the greatest of actors could speak with such conviction and not mean it. "You will get some rest from your duties and serve the country." Serve the country by assisting in removing the foreign invader. He hadn't actually said that, but the intent behind his words was obvious. "It makes no sense for you to not share what you know with us. Not unless the rumors are true and you are a traitor."

 

[Conifer]

"I am no traitor." She says firmly (though she is, gods, she truly is. How far had those rumors spread? How many people believed them? How many of her people would call her a traitor willingly and eagerly?) Would her tricks work here, too, though? Could she be convincing enough in her bedclothes and bags under her eyes that she had Cyeria under her control. "If I share what I know with you," Remin says, trying to keep her voice as strong and smooth as steel, "Then you endanger the things I've worked towards. Avther is...I promise, under control. He's no threat to you, or our gods. He's little threat at all. He follows my orders blindly. He's just a soldier, after all - it's what they live for." It once again feels twisted and cruel and awful to imply Cyeria's ignorance and Remin's seemingly merciless power over the king, but...but it was a narrative that had worked before, and gods, hopefully it might work again. "Anything I ask of him, he would do." Not untrue, but for wildly different reasons than implied. "Yes, he's Eupriunian, but that only lends more power to Athea - and he's no friend to their bastard god. He's taken to ours, somewhat, and I'm working further on it. We haven't had terribly much time for education, but he's curious about the stories - I don't doubt that come this time next year, he'll be worshipping along side me. And perhaps some Eupriunians, following his lead, will turn against their blasphemy and see the glory of our pantheon." It felt a little hokey and overdone, but so was the man before her, honestly. She only needed to speak confidently enough that he believes her motives. "If he dies, then I'm forced to marry again. Likely someone who wants the power far more than this soldier does. That's not something that I'm willing to hand over. Do you think you understand now, or should I explain further?"

 

[Aerynth]

The man listened, and he listened intently, but the more Remin spoke, the harder his eyes became. Clearly there had been some sort of misstep. "Athea doesn't need Eupriunian soldiers to be powerful. We became weak because we renounced the old ways. Because you forced us to do so." In that moment, he bore a striking resemblance to Velka; his accent may have been foreign and his way of speaking strange, but apparently he thought as if he had been born in Werough. "Inane machinations like this won't save us. Not when the gods have turned their backs on us. No, we need far more than that to regain their favor." That, too, was a common sentiment in Werough; that they had committed a great crime by forgetting what exactly the gods wanted from them, and thus they were heading towards certain doom. According to some of those people, the whole Eupriunian invasion had been caused by that directly. The gods, they said, had decided to punish them for their irreverence. It was also supposed to be merely the beginning of their humiliation - the start of a greater tragedy - though opinions different on what would avert it, or even if it could be averted at this point. The man, it seemed, had his own truth to follow in this regard.

"If we free ourselves from the chains, surely they will approve. Gods do look favorably on those who help themselves, after all." One of the women put her arm on his shoulder and the passion dissipated as fast as it had arisen. Why, exactly, were they here? One of the many questions that may never be answered. "But I shouldn't expect you to understand," he said, his tone once again calm. "The truth is, my queen, that we do not need your cooperation. It doesn't really matter where the king is." For the first time since the two of them had met, a shadow of smile crossed his lips; a smile that was as content as it was menacing. "If what you said is true, then you must be dear to him, and surely he will come to your rescue. And as for your next husband-- no need to fear. My lord will pick someone suitable for you; someone more worthy of your bloodline than a mere soldier. Gods, the audacity of that. Eupriunian disrespect knows no bounds."

 

[Conifer]

Well. She definitely could have managed to make that...worse than she had. Remin tried to remain just as sure of herself as he tore down her complicated lies - for other, less...apparently zealoted Weroughians (were there any?), her words might have gained some favor, but it hadn't done her any good here. Had it done her bad? It was honestly hard to tell. He was more emotive now, and certainly disproving of her lie of a scheme, but was this any worse a situation than she'd been in? Was there better or worse, anymore, for as long as she remained in this cell? She frowned, forcing it stern instead of scared. Now, if there's any time to do it, is the time to try to reach Cyeria. It's easy enough to take the stone in her hand, but...would it even connect? She halfway didn't want to attempt this just incase it didn't. And then she would be well and truly stranded. The vague idea of a chance of hope was better than none at all, surely. She tried as the man talked all the same, hoping that he and the women at his side would be too distracted to think anything of her slight movement to ball up her fingers around the stone now in her fist.

"Except you've miscalculated your plan," She says. "He won't be the first to find me gone. I was to be meeting with important members of the kingdom this morning. When I don't show up, you will have far more than just my husband seeking you out." It was a bluff of sorts - but people in the castle would notice her missing, and would notice the unmade bed and the knife on the floor, and hopefully that would give some lead to them that something more sinister than just a long morning walk was afoot. "I suggest you allow me to return home, instead of this gods-awful, likely flea-ridden cell you've stuck me in."

 

[Aerynth]

One of the things Cyreia missed about her old life was eating with her comrades. Now don't get her wrong - breakfasts with Remin were typically the highlight of her day - but she did remember the all those meals in the army cafeteria fondly. Taste-wise, they had... left a lot to be desired, to put it mildly, but that feeling of unity when all the people at the table shared their righteous anger about the food? That couldn't be replicated anywhere else. Perhaps that was the reason Cyreia tended to join common soldiers for breakfast even though she could have just as easily eaten with the nobility. Her allies obviously didn't know her as Avther, but she was there to carry out his will, and thus could technically enjoy similar privileges. (Not that she considered them to be privileges. Frankly? No amount of gold could make her spend more time with the local nobles. People like Yngran had taught her to appreciate lady Everbright; at least she managed to be charming with her antics. The fact that she hadn't threatened her with divine punishment for every perceived slight may have had something to do with that.) Cyreia was just in the middle of complaining about the under-cooked chicken ("Do you think the cooks are in cahoots with Wellan? Because this might kill us faster than his armies!") when the medallion on her neck grew suspiciously hot. Now? How unusual. Still, if Remin wanted to talk, surely it had to be something important. Her wife rarely did things for no reason, especially if said things could potentially endanger her.

"-- excuse me for a second. I think I forgot something important in my room." Alright, that... was not the smoothest of excuses, but she had never been particularly good at inventing those. Besides, it didn't really matter what she had said to them; it wasn't like these men could prevent her from doing whatever she wanted. The most they could do was to gossip about her strange behavior and... well, more power to them, honestly. Wars were dreadful affairs and they deserved every distraction they could possibly get. Hurriedly, Cyreia stood up and headed towards the closest empty room. Baffled gazes followed her, though they didn't even register in her mind. Once the door shut behind her, she pulled out the pendant and pressed it . The voice that emanated from it, however, didn't belong to Remin; it-- didn't belong to anyone she knew, actually. What? She can't speak? Why did she call me, then? Cyreia frowned, and the frown only deepened when the reason behind her wife's call became increasingly more obvious.

"Hmm, I'm afraid not," the man smiled. "Of course, it is not for one such as me to decide your fate, but I know lord Wellan. I doubt that will scare him, mostly because your people won't have any idea as to where you are. Conversely, it will be easy to let the king know what he want him to know. We'll just contact one of his allies and they'll do the work for us. It would be foolish to discard such a tactical advantage. Wouldn't you agree, my queen?"

Meanwhile, god knew how many kilometers away, Cyreia's heart sunk. Could her knees have continued to carry her weight had there been no chair for her to grab for support? Probably not. No, no, this can't be true. She was supposed to be safe in the castle! 'Was supposed to,' however, didn't necessarily mean 'was'; the voice threatening Remin proved that quite eloquently. And the worst thing about it? Cyreia couldn't do anything. Not at the moment. Even breathing too loudly could reveal their connection, and then-- then everything would be lost. No, all she could do now was to listen. Listen and hope that, somehow, Remin would trick her captor into saying something incriminating. Well, that, or that she'd manage to secure enough privacy for the two of them to speak freely.

 

[Conifer]

The stone grew warm with magic under her palm and Remin nearly cried for a reason so entirely different than why she wanted to earlier. She could only hope that Cyeria was listening on the other end and could pick up the man's voice as well as her own. What could she say that would be any help? Hopefully any strange questions would avoid suspicion simply because they thought they handily had the advantage here, and they knew she was tired. Would that be enough, though? And how far was Cyeria even away? There was a chance it was only hours, but there was equal chance it was days. Would she last here days? She would have to. There was no choice. She didn't want to die in a cell, and even further than that, she didn't want to die alone, with Cyeria fighting to get to her. "I suppose it would." She agrees, unamused. Her legs feel shaky - what if they do catch her broadcasting this? What will happen then? Nothing good. "I should wish to speak to your Lord Wellan." She says, hoping that whatever their answer might be to that would indicate if she were anywhere near the Lord. They'd threatened her with him the night before, but that meant little. It could have been an idle thing to scare her. "If he's going to kidnap me from my bed and jail me wherever this may be, he should have the decency, at least, to speak to me face to face, instead of sending you and your ill-tailored coat to play middleman." The fact that the coat was too large was probably the most useless thing she could tell Cyeria, but-- but maybe. Gods, maybe. Any clues she could give her, she would try.

 

[Aerynth]

Kidnap her from her bed? Damn it all. Damn the whole war, damn her decision to leave Remin, and damn Wellan especially. What the hell had even happened there? Had they somehow managed to launch a surprise attack on the castle? No, that was absurd. Remin had talked to her just yesterday and everything had seemed fine then; armies just... didn't move this fast or this stealthily, and the castle couldn't be taken with anything less than an army. Its defenses were simply too good. No, it seemed way more likely than they had somehow infiltrated their home and kidnapped her wife. God. Had anyone even noticed that she was gone? Cyreia shook her head; it didn't matter, not really, figuring out how they had snatched her wouldn't save her. Listening intently might, though. Remin was smart; her wife would surely do everything within her power to feed her relevant information and, by god, she wouldn't fail her. She wouldn't let her efforts go to waste.

"That is your right," the man agreed easily. "You will be granted an audience, my queen. Wait just a few moments, please-- I'll arrange the meeting." Despite the polite 'please' he had added to his request, Remin had little choice in the matter, which was reflected in the way he turned around and left. Her reaction clearly didn't matter to him. Once again, she ended up alone but for the guards who stood near the door silently. Minutes dragged slowly, almost to the point of it being painful; in the total darkness of her cell, it was difficult to say how much time actually passed. Eventually, though, the door opened, and she was greeted by the familiar sight of her captor.

"Lord Wellan has agreed to meet you," he spoke to her. Something about the way he had said it suggested that he considered it to be a great honor. "You must be hungry, so he decided in his benevolence that you shall sup with him. Not like this, though. You cannot show up before the lord of Werough in your night clothes. Come, you shall get changed into something more appropriate."

The guards stepped aside and Remin was finally allowed to leave her cell. The corridors, at least, were more well-lit, though they looked like... well, every other anonymous corridor she had seen in her life. There was no convienient point of reference, no signifier as to where she may be. The man and his silent companions led her into a chamber that, by the looks of it, may have been intended for guests. Elaborate paintings decorated the walls and servants kept it spotlessly clean, but it lacked any personal touch. Three dresses were spread over the large bed; all of them clean and well-made, though a little on the boring side by the usual Athean standards. Lady Everbright likely would have considered them to be an affront to human dignity, really, with the colors so muted and the fabric covering so much skin. Weroughians, though? Weroughians wore such clothes regularly. Simplicity allowed them to get closer to the gods, they said.

"You may choose out of these. I'll give you some privacy to get changed, too, but I'm afraid I cannot leave you entirely unattended. The Grey Sisters shall watch you." ... which could very well turn out to be a problem considering the fact Remin had an amulet to hide.

 

[Conifer]

Remin kept the connection open as her captors left her to arrange the visit with Wellan; she didn't dare say anything, not with the guards that stood sentinel over the space, but she hoped that she might be able to get something from Wellan. She could at least see him and confirm it was him - because his location would likely be easier for Cyeria to find than her own. Which is...what they wanted, she supposed with a sinking heart. But Cyeria was smart. She wouldn't let herself be drawn into a trap, would she? She had to trust that her wife was clever enough to manage this. To keep sound coming over the connection, making sure that Cyeria didn't think she'd gotten all she was going to get, Remin paced. Her bare-footed footsteps weren't loud, but they were enough. The floor felt grimy and cold, leaving her skin feeling gritty, but that was perhaps the very last of her worries.

It didn't feel as nice as she hoped when they led her out of her cell. It was only trading one cell for another, larger one. But the change of scenery was welcomed, even if it was just as overwhelming and imposing and nondescript. The idea of dining with Lord Wellan was...terrible. Memories of poisoned wine were still all-too familiar, and while she doubted that they'd go that far, it was still something that she couldn't entirely escape.

Changing was an equally dreaded process. It wasn't an issue of modesty (there wasn't time for that here,) but indeed an issue of the amulet. Her sleeves covered the amulet now well enough, and they'd do so again in the clothing laid out for her that had barely an inch of skin bare, but getting from point a to point b was...going to be tricky. Remin waited for the man to leave before turning towards the dresses; there was little variation between them - they were each a rough fabric, though honestly not as bad as they could be, with high, buttoned necks and long skirts and sleeves. It wasn't a terrible look, honestly, and would provide more warmth and security than her thin bedclothes. How could she manage this, though? She didn't look back to the supposed Grey Sisters, but she knew they were watching her. Hurrying and pretending she had nothing to hide seemed to be the way to do this.

Remin changed quickly, facing away from the Sisters. She tried to keep her wrist in front of her, blocking their sight of it as casually as she could, but there were a few desperate, rushed moments where she had no choice but to allow them to see her wrist. Would they think anything of it? Would they realize its magic, or would they simply think it was some harmless smooth stone on a thin chain? She pulled on a plain tan dress, her breath coming short as she turned back towards them.

 

[Aerynth]

Even now, when Remin could see further than just a few centimeters ahead, the Grey Sisters weren't any less of an enigma. The cowls continued to hide their faces, but she could still sense their eyes on her. They watched, watched and watched; watched with such intensity that it was a small wonder, really, they hadn't stared a hole into her head. Did they see anything incriminating? If so, they said nothing of it. Then again, could they even speak in the first place? Given that not a single sound had escaped their lips since they had met, they might as well have been mute. Either way, it seemed that Remin's little ruse worked. When she was done with putting on the dress, one of the Sisters gestured towards the door and the other opened. Her captor had apparently been standing in the hallway the entire time; he looked Remin up and down, then he nodded approvingly. "Lovely. This dress becomes you, my queen."

Meanwhile, Cyreia had to employ all of her self-control not to grit her teeth. She was sure that Remin did look lovely whatever she wore, but-- damn, the nerve. Throughout her career, she had always made a point of being merciful, but this man? This man in particular would hang. Him and Wellan, too. It was one thing to conspire against her; on some level, Cyreia could even admire that. Had she been in their position, perhaps she would have done something like that, too, and seen herself as a freedom fighter. Dragging a defenseless woman into this, though? Threatening her Remin? No. No, that was where she drew the line and she would draw it in their own blood. It seemed that she'd finally manage to make a popular decision or two; it looked like Weroughians had a penchant for the death penalty, after all. Be patient, Cyreia reminded to herself. Letting herself get carried away by the thirst for vengeance would solve exactly nothing. It just wasn't the right time for that. Not now. As it was, she had suppress her anger and concentrate instead; concentrate and analyze everything she heard. Only that could help her determine where they held her wife.

Remin was led through more twisting corridors, each of them the same as the one before it. Did they deliberately choose the most convoluted way so that she wouldn't be able to remember it easily? It certainly looked like that. Remin couldn't be sure of anything, though it seemed that she had seen one of the intersections three times. The armors that decorated it, at least, were suspiciously similar. The journey was long and awkward with everyone more or less silent, but eventually they did reach a massive wooden door. Her captor knocked, waited for a few moments and opened it.

"Lord Wellan, I present to you her highness Remin Verrant," he bowed and gestured for her to walk forward.

The dining hall he had ushered her into actually looked rather modest. Just like the guest room, it was pristine, but there wasn't much else going for it. One large table, a few trophies on the wall, old furniture and a red carpet that had seen much better days. The castle probably didn't belong to the Belerets; even if Weroughians valued humility, the ruling family did live surrounded by luxury. The gods, after all, had willed for them to come into power, and their castles reflected that.

Wellan Beleret himself was sitting at the table. He had started eating before her arrival, at least judging by the state of his plate and the half-empty glass of wine before him, and apparently he didn't see it necessary to stand up to greet her. "Welcome, my queen," he smiled at her. "Come, sit down. The food is great and I'm sure you must be hungry. How are you enjoying your visit so far?" Unlike his subordinate, he didn't seem to be uncomfortable by the situation in the slightest; instead of any shame, he watched Remin with what appeared to be interest.

 

[Conifer]

"If you wish pleasantness you don't deserve, it's been lovely." Alright, so, maybe it's inviting scorn that will bring about risk to allow herself this bitterness, but she can't just be...passive. That's what they want of her. She won't endanger herself blatantly, but she won't allow them to roll over her as if she had no power over them. "If you wish honesty - I would enjoy sharing a sty with pigs more than I'd enjoy seeing any of these walls or faces another moment." She sat with as much grace as she could muster; she was a queen, and no matter how many dark rooms they shoved her in, or endless winding halls they led her down, or clothing of their own they dressed her in, she would make that clear.

She hadn't tried to keep track of the path to this room. She might have had she seen any promising way out of the castle, but they had been smart enough to keep her away from seeing any windows or any doors that obviously led outside. If she could manage to get away, surely she could find some way out, and then she could hope to find a landmark and somewhere to hide until she was able to be found, but...Remin sincerely doubted that she would have that chance without someone on her side to serve as a distraction.

She looks around idly at the decorations, trying to find anything meaningful about them. There was, of course, nothing. It was as if this whole place had been set up as a stage to keep her on. "I must say that I would have expected more grandeur from what I've heard of you and your family." She says plainly, not making any amount of movement to eat. She would sooner starve than eat anything they offered willingly; starving was a better state to fight in than drugged. Surely she'd be made to sooner than later, but every minute that she had her mind promised to her instead of the potential of influence was one she'd take.

 

[Aerynth]

Despite the severity of the situation, Cyreia found herself feeling oddly proud of Remin. That defiance? It was the same kind of hostility she herself had been met with during their wedding night and hearing her muster it up even now, when the balance of powers favored her even less, proved that Wellan couldn't break her. Nothing could. Would she earn a punishment? Maybe - and the possibility of that scared her - but... he wouldn't dare to hurt her. Not substantially at the very least. Remin was too precious of a hostage, too useful of a pawn, and nobody in their right mind would give that up just to satisfy their ego. (In spite of not really following any gods, Cyreia prayed fervently in that moment for Wellan to be sensible. For him not to be a madman who did things on a whim. If that was true-- no, she didn't even want to think about it.)

Thankfully, it appeared that something answered her prayers. Wellan was silent for a while before erupting in a fit of laughter. "What a sharp tongue. You're also fairly observant, my queen; this castle isn't mine. It belongs to my friend Zivra here," he gestured towards the man that had questioned her. Zivra, eh? Zivra, Zivra, Zivra, Cyreia repeated the name over and over, not willing to risk forgetting it. Not that many people owned castles; that was true in Athea, Eupriunia and likely the rest of the world, too. It shouldn't be too difficult to find out who he was and, by extension, where his castle could be found. That name would surely lead her to her wife. Thank you very much, Wellan. You just signed your own death sentence.

"My lord!" Zivra said in an accusatory tone. "Haven't we agreed that--"

"Ah, shut up. What could she possibly do? You're just being paranoid."

Unlike Remin, Wellan didn't hold himself back in the slightest when it came to food; he ate quickly, voraciously, and didn't even take the time to chew properly before speaking. It almost looked as if he fully expected someone to break in through the windows at any moment just to steal from his table.

"Not going to eat?" he asked Remin. "What a shame. The cook here is really skilled; I heard he comes from Athea. You do know how to enjoy the good things in life, I'll give you that." He took his glass of wine and emptied the rest of it in one gulp. Apparently he didn't see the need to be cautious. And, honestly, why should he? Remin had no weapon and even if she did try something ill-advised, this hall, too, was watched over by guards. One stood in every corner.

"But since you don't seem to enjoy the pleasantries, let us get to the point. Zivra told me all about your husband. It is a foregone conclusion that he'll come to save you, just as it is a foregone conclusion that he will fail. You'll need a new one, as you're apparently aware, and as such, you may want to consider me. There is no better way to unite two countries than through marriage, after all."

 

[Conifer]

Somehow, Wellan was a welcome change. He was looser with his tongue. Remin fought so hard to keep her expression neutral as he revealed her captor's name - and, more importantly, that it was his castle. That was something that Cyeria could use. They wanted Cyeria to come rescue Remin, sure, and lead her into a trap to her death. But if Cyeria could find her before they were prepared for her...well. It was all still heavily guarded. But it would be something. It would be a chance. She was confident enough by now that she was in Werough, even if Zivra didn't seem to be from here originally. His outlook and opinions matched that of Werough, and the clothing they put her into was distinctly of the fashion. Even this room fit; modest, showing off trophies of things personally achieved and not decorated with meaningless clutter. Werough wasn't a huge country; there was still some chance that Cyeria was nearer than either of them could guess at right now. Gods, Remin hoped that was true. All of this moment felt like the calm before the storm. They weren't going to continue to be this...harmless forever. Perhaps not even for long.

"Let's say things as they are, my Lord." She says, hands in her lap. She fidgets loosely with the stone. Perhaps it was an unnecessary risk to keep the connection up now that they knew a name and a location, but Remin trusted Cyeria to know when it was time to stop listening. She wasn't going to be the one to cut off the supply of information. "The time for pretty words ended when you kidnapped me. It's not consideration you're suggesting and we're both more than aware of that. Either way, I don't think I'll find it in myself to want anything to do with that, or you."

Unfortunately, her risk to keep the connection up was just that -- a risk. A head popped into the tent where Cyeria was tucked away, and then a body just behind it - one of the men she'd been sitting and chatting with at dinner before she'd slipped off to deal with this whole mess. "Hey," he said, setting the leftovers of Cyeria's dinner down on a crate - a makeshift table - and nodding to her. "They're cleaning up; figured you might still want this after leaving so quick. Everything good?"

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia bit her tongue; she did it so strongly that she tasted her own blood, but that was the only way she could stop herself from reacting to Wellan's words aloud. Was it possible to hate someone she had never met? Just a day ago, her answer would have been a resounding 'no'. Now, though? It didn't seem as clear cut anymore. I'll show you a foregone conclusion, you useless waste of skin. Cyreia knew that she shouldn't be this emotional about it, that it would only serve to obscure her judgment, and yet she still allowed the white hot anger to spread through her veins. This was her wife, for god's sake. Once she sat down to formulate her plan, she would ensure that her head was cool, but dammit, she had every right to be furious right now. Cyreia needed that fury; needed it desperately to gain a semblance of control over the situation.

The soldier's arrival startled her and it showed in the way she flinched. Reflexively, Cyreia turned the connection off right before he opened his mouth. God, she really should be more careful about this. What would have happened had Wellan heard voices in the background? Certainly nothing good. "Thank you," Cyreia heard herself saying despite wishing he had never come. It wasn't like he had done it on purpose and-- well, his intentions were clearly good, so he didn't deserve her ire. Not when he fought for her cause and could very easily end up paying the highest price. Unlike her, he wouldn't be allowed to hide behind his status and stay holed up in the tent. "I was-- I was just thinking, that's all. I tend to forget myself like this often. It's fine." Did she look fine? Definitely not, though it didn't really matter. Very few people were so pushy as to interrogate her when she was so obviously against the idea of talking about what weighed on her mind. But speaking of interrogations... "Listen, you're from around here, aren't you? I have a name for you. Zivra. Maybe lord Zivra, I'm not sure. Does that ring a bell?"

Wellan chuckled, though his eyes didn't smile along with his mouth. "I would expect no less after that entrance of yours. But you are right, there is no need to play nice. I suppose that means that I don't need to pretend that you have a choice in the matter. Anyway, I am positive that you'll change your mind in time. Either you agree or you stay here, and I can promise you right away that life within these walls won't be very pleasant. Accepting my proposal is the only sensible choice. It is, my queen, just a matter of time."

 

[Conifer]

The soldier's face goes contemplative for a beat or two as he considers Cyeria's question. "I think so. Zivra Jero? If it's the same one, he got rich off some mines to the north. Bought 'em for cheap. I think he was meaning to cut through the mountains they were in, open up a toll road to get to the other side, but struck gold. Literally. Whole area was jealous. Mighta made a good amount with the road, too but this was quicker. Imagine he'll still do the road someday, but he's got gold enough for now to not want for it. My sister was real excited about the road, though. She travels a lot." He shrugs. "Hates the mountains." Apparently the soldier had taken this as an invitation for conversation, but he still lingered near the front flap of the tent, hands shoved into his pockets now that they weren't holding food. "Why's he relevant?"

Remin's quiet a beat. The stone goes only lingeringly warm in her palm - it doesn't hold the same active power that it did when a connection was made. Had something happened? Had Cyeria indeed decieded that a name was enough? That must have been it. This change - this loss - made Remin feel so instantly small. This was all such a mess. She just...all she wanted was to be wrapped up in her love's arms again. That's all she wanted. Even for just a moment. A fraction of a moment. "I've never been particularly sensible." She says, all the same. "I can only hope that you manage to live for long enough to be able to regret all of what you're doing. But that would require some humanity that you seem to lack, my Lord."

 

[Aerynth]

Because he has my wife. Saying that was obviously out of question, though, and so Cyreia racked her brain for a suitable explanation. Just how careful did she have to be around him? Probably not that much. In fact, sticking close to the truth might be her best option here. The truth didn't require her to come up with elaborate backstories. Moreover, since this Zivra wasn't a noble, common soldiers might prove to be better sources of information than all her lords and ladies. Aristocrats just... tended to look down on people who hadn't been born with a silver spoon in their mouths. To them, they were non-entities, and so they paid them no real attention. It seemed to be a matter of pride more than anything else, really. Sure, technically you could acquire wealth, but they would never acknowledge you as their equal anyway. Cyreia could see the hints of this mindset even when these people interacted with her, and she was their king. Someone who had gotten rich off of random gold discovery likely didn't even register in their thoughts. "Just investigating some rumors," she shrugged in the end. "A little bird told me that someone bearing this name might have connections to our dear lord Wellan. What do you think about that? Is that likely?" Perhaps there was something, anything, that could help her understand the nature of their allyship. The soldier likely only knew gossip, but-- there was always a grain of truth in what people said, wasn't there? "And where does he live, anyway? Come, sit down and show me, please," Cyreia gestured towards the large map of Werough lying on the table. "Just the general area would be more than enough."

"Humanity that I lack?" Wellan repeated after her, apparently endlessly amused by Remin's threats. Now that he finished his food, he could focus entirely on Remin, so that was exactly what he did. "Perhaps, though you should find that a comfort, my queen. Isn't that what you're used to with your husband? He has quite the reputation in that department." He studied her face for a while, perhaps looking for a reaction, and then he laughed. "Either way, I can assure you that the region will be much better off in my hands. My sister, incompetent as she is, would only run the whole thing into the ground. The only thing she has going for her are those visions of hers and I am not even convinced they're genuine. The gods must have cursed her with madness, otherwise she wouldn't speak of impossible things. Of such changes." As he described his sister's shortcomings, Wellan's face grew more serious; it almost looked as if he forgot about Remin in that moment and spoke to himself more than to her.

 

[Conifer]

The soldier offers her a shrug in return for her question of why Zivra and Wellan may be working together, answering as he makes his way across the tent to sit beside Cyeria. "Zivra's got money, and Wellan likely needed it to pull off all of this. People don't come as cheap as swords do. Have and want make pretty good allies." He sits down, looking over the map with a small frown of concentration. "These are the mountains here," He gestures to a small run of them to the north; not dishearteningly far from where they were, thank whatever gods, but still a good distance. "Think he built something outside of Greyrock. Here." He jabs his finger at a small town marked on the map, which is only a little bit nearer to them. "I dunno if he lives there, though. Just know he built a castle or house or something there. If I were rich, I'd live on the coast. Better views. Nicer stuff. Fresher fish."


Remin tried not to falter in the face of his full attention. Her stomach grumbled at the smell and sight of the food still sitting before her. It was...probably fine, but was she willing to risk it? She hadn't seen it served, so while Zivra and Wellan were fine, hers might have been altered. But then again, would he care so little of her eating if any of his plan rested on her being drugged? Gods, she didn't know. A day or two without food wouldn't be the death of her, though, and so she kept up her determination not to eat it unless she was entirely positive it was safe. "You place so much pride in the gods, and yet you don't believe the visions they send." She says - it's a pointless thing to point out, and it won't do anything but likely agitate him further, but...what else is she to do?

 

[Aerynth]

A castle. That was all Cyreia needed to hear, really. Of course, she couldn't be one hundred percent sure that they kept Remin there, but it made sense and the location looked convenient enough. The mountains would make any escape attempts difficult, plus they also offered a great deal of privacy. A great combination for hostage situations... and also a horrible one for sieges. "Well, rich people think in strange ways. That's how they manage to get rich in the first place. But thank you, really," she bowed to him. "You've helped me a great deal."

Now she just had to figure out how to get Remin out of there. Damn those mountains! If they hadn't been there, Cyreia would have considered marching there with her whole army, but-- as such, it would simply take too long. They'd also be aware of their presence long, long before they actually arrived, which meant they could easily relocate Remin. Relocate her or even hurt her in their desperation. Her wife's life was too valuable for them right now, but if they got the impression that Avther was coming and nothing would stop him? Oh, how quickly that could change. It wouldn't be strange at all if they decided to... to kill Remin in retaliation. Cyreia didn't even want to think about it, but the thing was, she had to. It was a real option and so it needed to be factored in. Alright. Alright, frontal assault is out of question. What other options do I have? Infiltration, perhaps? She could do it with a small group, or maybe even alone. Surely they wouldn't expect that; not when their focus in the other military operations ostensibly wouldn't shift in the slightest. That... actually seemed like a viable plan. Yes, it still had to be refined, but the core idea looked solid to her. With few companions, Cyreia could travel very fast; very fast and relatively unnoticed. It would be dangerous - the exact opposite of what she had promised to Remin - but god, surely her wife wouldn't blame her for rushing in to save her. (And if she would? She could do so to her heart's content once she was safe in her arms.) In that moment, Cyreia's decision was made. She just needed to instruct her allies on how to act in her absence, write a very awkward letter home so they didn't panic once they discovered her wife had disappeared, and then-- then she'd go. Wait for me, Remin. I'm coming.

As Remin spoke, something in Wellan's gaze shifted. Had her mention of the gods caused that? Perhaps. Weroughians rarely appreciated having their faith mocked, after all. "Not all visions come from the gods, your highness. Nevermind, though. If you aren't interested in accepting my proposal, there is nothing else for us to talk about. Zivra!"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Lead her highness back to her chambers. Actually, no," Wellan smiled, and it wasn't a pleasant smile. "Now that I think of it, perhaps her current chambers are too nice. She should get new ones; something more befitting of her status. And since she doesn't seem to appreciate your cook's skill, she shouldn't be forced to eat his meals, either. Let her get her own food."

Zivra seemed to understand what that meant; for a second or two, it looked like he was going to protest, but then he bowed to Beleret instead. "As you wish, my lord. Come, my queen."

"Goodbye now, your highness," Wellan smiled at her. "And remember-- if you do end up changing your opinion, all you have to do is say so. Well, that, and maybe also apologize for your manners."

Zivra led Remin outside in complete silence. For a while, the route they took looked similar to the one they had traversed earlier, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that they were heading somewhere lower this time. All those stairs proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt. Soon enough, they reached a vast dungeon. Zivra shot her an apologetic glance, though his pity didn't go as far as to prevent him from locking the door behind her. "If it gets too much, just scream for us. There will always be someone near the door," he informed her before he left. And gods, what a place he left her in.

Her earlier cell almost looked cozy in comparison, partly because it wasn't as damp. It also didn't contain corpses in varying stages of decomposition. Most of those things didn't even seem to be human anymore, even though that was what they must have been at some point. The smell, too, was entirely nauseating. Was that what Wellan had meant by 'her food'? Because nothing else seemed to be there. Well, nothing aside from all the rats. Rats that watched her with eyes that were hungry. The flickering light of the torches kept them at bay for now, but how long would that last? Only gods knew.