Fantasy All's Fair

[Aerynth]

Cyreia smiled at her wife. There was something deeply endearing about the way Remin didn't hesitate for a second with her answer even if the task clearly didn't sit well with her. She... hadn't expected to have someone like this. Someone who would back her decisions, soothe her fears, and work with her as her equal. Cyreia hadn't actually expected to have anyone at all, but-- well, fate could apparently also be kind at times. (Sometimes, she wondered what kind of price she would have to pay for that tiny piece of happiness, because those things? They never came free of charge. Perhaps it didn't matter, though; any price would be fine. Even if she had to die for experiencing it, Cyreia would be alright with that. Nothing could make her return to life without her.)

"Thank you. Have I told you I love you recently? Because it's still true and I feel like I should remind you from time to time," Cyreia said and kissed her softly. "Anyway, yes, I do have a few people in mind. We should start with Sarchen, Gwyn and Airen. They all use magic as far as I know, and they're notorious for picking fights with Weroughians because they can't keep themselves from joking about everything, including their faith." There was no guarantee that their jokes weren't just that - jokes - and that they wouldn't be terrified at the prospect, but they had to start somewhere. Why not with this trio? "Conversely, I wouldn't approach Eyrion. He always looks like he wants to murder them with his bare hands whenever they get too snide with their remarks. I had to physically restrain him when Airen said something about, uh, enjoying a certain goddess'... charms, let's say." He had worded it differently back then, but repeating those words to Remin would have been strange. Strange and embarrassing. She doubted, after all, that her wife was used to the way soldiers spoke among one another when no women were present or at least when they thought so. It made even Cyreia uncomfortable at times, and she had years and years of experience. I just hope they won't be too crude, otherwise I will have to teach them some manners. "Let's go, then?"

When they reached the table, the soldiers sitting there seemed to be having a blast; they were talking to one another loudly and laughing at some doubtlessly gaudy joke. Remin's arrival, however, promptly shut them up. Most of them stood up and saluted her, clearly awaiting instructions of some kind. The silence was practically deafening. "Your highness," one of them finally gathered the courage to speak, "can we be of service to you?"

 

[Conifer]

Their immediate silence made Remin wonder if this wasn't truly a terrible plan. They didn't need people who were doing this because their queen asked it of them; they needed people who would contribute because they wanted to. Would they be able to speak freely with them like this? Remin had so little experience with any of this, that was true, but somehow the answer of 'no' was obvious. Perhaps this would have all been better if she'd stayed behind, or if she'd disguised herself. Oh, wouldn't that have been fun, though? But while Cyeria made a convincing enough man, Remin doubted her own abilities. Her voice might betray her, and if not her voice, then the fact that Ianes had returned with the queen, and then came to dinner without the queen but with some mysterious new recruit. There were lies enough to explain it away, but they were already treading too deeply into the territories of half-truths. They didn't need more. So, herself she'd have to be, and somehow she'd have to convince these men that their pomp and circumstance was unnecessary here for the most part. "Settle down," She murmurs, amused but...honestly rather touched by their respect for her. As much as they didn't need it now, she'd been mostly sheltered from the seeing the ways that others saw her; no one really cared in the castle, or among the nobility, and she'd lived almost her whole life in those places. "I'm in your castle walls; you're not in mine. There's no need for that. I...Ianes and I just came to join for some lunch, if that's alright?" A level playing field is what they needed, and they'd never really get that with her there, but hopefully they'd allow her to level it a bit more than it was.

 

[Aerynth]

"That's right," Cyreia smiled. "Perhaps you didn't know, but queens also get hungry from time to time. It is a closely guarded state secret." A few of them chuckled, which was exactly what she had been hoping for. If the soldiers saw her acting so cavalier with Remin, surely they would be able to relax. It would also inevitably contribute to the rumors they had vowed not to encourage, but honestly, this was more important than Avther's reputation. Should Wellan win, there would be no kingdom for him to rule anyway. "I assume we are welcome here?"

"Well, of course, if that's what you wish," the soldier from before shrugged. He seemed reluctant to look at Remin, which Cyreia couldn't blame him for. That particular man was young, definitely younger than she was; he probably didn't have a lot of experience with women, much less with women as beautiful as Remin. The fact that she was his queen couldn't be helpful, either. (Would he live long enough to get a wife of his own or would the war end up claiming his life? And if he managed to fall in love and get married, would he get to be there for his children? Grandchildren? Very few soldiers were as lucky.)

Cyreia didn't have the time to be thinking of these things, though. No, they had to do what they had come to do here. She helped Remin with her chair, making sure that they sat near the trio she had told her about a few seconds ago in the process. "So, what are we having for lunch today?" she asked nonchalantly. Clearly, the topic couldn't be breached right away; 'Hey, would you like to commit acts of sacrilege with me?' was hardly a good conversation opener. Well, that, and she also had to think of what to say. All in all, stalling for time seemed like the best option here. "Something excellent, I should hope. I don't want our queen to think we live like animals here."

"Pfft!" Airen laughed. "Then you shouldn't have brought her here at all. Just for the record, we're having the same thing we have every day, Ianes. Rice with some strange leftover meat. Is it chicken, beef or horse? Who knows!"

"You forgot about dogs. That's a distinct option," Cyreia chuckled.

"Either way, I don't mean to be rude, my queen, but why have you chosen to eat with us?" Airen asked. "It's great honor and everything, but surely you'd get a better meal with the nobles."

 

[Conifer]

Remin sits among them, where Cyeria directed her towards, and listens to their quiet banter with a soft smile. As unsure about all of this as she was, it was still nice, after everything that had just happened, to be somewhere where so little of it mattered. They were being tame, as far as she could tell, from what she'd heard from Cyeria's stories and what bits she'd learned from stories and the like, but it was still nice that they were somewhat relaxed and joking with each other. Remin couldn't be more glad that they'd decided to allow Cyeria to continue to be Ianes here; she seemed so comfortable to be among them, and that would have been ruined if it had been revealed that she was their king this whole time. Not for the first time, Remin found herself wondering who Cyeria really was, underneath all these different people she'd been forced to wear over her life. She had some growing idea - her wife was a remarkable woman, who was brave and stubborn but understanding of when she needed to be yielding, and who was beautiful and sweet and...so, so many things. Gods. Remin loved her, so much.

"...quite honestly," She says - speaking openly will hopefully earn her favor, and will continue this semi-easy air that Cyeria had been so expert at managing to wrangle. She didn't have to put on airs to talk with them. Not the same carefully worded ones, at least. Those would be nothing but detrimental; being human was what was going to win her the most respect. Anything she could do to remind them they were the same people and on the same side. "Right now, I'm rather tired of what nobility might want with me, because the lot of them have had some strong opinions as of late."

The bowl of food that was placed in front of her (with a faintly amusing amount of care that wasn't extended to the rest of the table except for when one of the soldiers teased the man serving them for the favoritism, and then earned himself a dramatic bow and an overdramatic 'my good lord, your dinner has been served' as the bowl was placed before him,) looked just as appealing as it did when described. It was rice with some sort of mysterious chunks of...something that Remin was going to avoid even if it cost her some amount of respect, because if she hadn't been able to stomach what she was sure was beef last night, she certainly couldn't manage whatever this was. A thin broth sat at the bottom of the bowl, making everything a bit soggier than would be ideal, and the slim amount of vegetables that were included looked half-wilted. Edible, though, and so Remin didn't hesitate, especially when she noticed a few sets of eyes watching her for her reaction.

 

[Aerynth]

"Ah yes, they're tiring, aren't they?" Airen said, probably oblivious to what Remin had meant by that remark exactly, but agreeing with the premise nonetheless. "I mean, you can't even breathe in their presence without them judging you for doing it 'impolitely'. It really happened to me once! Can you believe, my queen?"

"To that lord's excuse, Airen, I seem to remember that you insisted on blowing air right into his face," Cyreia laughed.

"Really? Well, I sure don't!" he winked at her.

Slowly but surely, the table came alive with chatter once again; Remin was apparently deemed a friend, not a foe, and so they didn't think it necessary to watch their mouths as much. 'As much', of course, was the key word here. Cyreia could see that they did censor themselves a bit, though they mostly did so in regards to how they said things, not what they said. Profanities mysteriously disappeared from their vocabulary, with some of them even going as far as trying to mimic the manner in which nobles usually spoke. (Those attempts were abandoned quickly, however, because their friends nearly laughed them out of the table.)

Cyreia watched her bowl for a while; it looked as unimpressive as every other meal she had had here, but that didn't make it any less disappointing. Surely it wouldn't be that difficult for the cook to add some variety to his craft? (Apparently it was.) "Do you know what the best way to eat the military food is?" she turned to Remin with a smile. "The secret is to chew as little as you possibly can. Well, that, and also to swallow everything as fast as you possibly can. If you do it correctly, you'll be done with the meal before you know it and you won't even know what you ate. There are no downsides to this!"

"Unless you end up choking on it," another soldier said, "which, if memory serves right, happened to you four days ago, Ianes. You almost died!"

Immediately, Cyreia's cheeks were scarlet. Did they have to tell Remin about that embarrassing incident? Somehow, her being privy to it felt worse than her wife knowing about her snoring, fear of dogs and all those other undignified things. "That's not true! The situation was under control and, besides, dying would still be preferable to tasting it."

"Yeah, it was so 'under control' we had to hold you and punch you in the back," Sarchen laughed. "How did he even manage to become your bodyguard, my queen? He can't even feed himself properly!" If Cyreia had hoped to be able to steer the conversation where she wanted it to go, then she had been sorely mistaken. Still, maybe it was for the best. If they built some kind of rapport with them first, letting them in on the plan should be easier, right?

 

[Conifer]

"Eating properly wasn't part of the interview process." Remin teases, laughing at the story. Any hesitance she had earlier about joining Cyeria to meet with the men had simmered down to barely anything. It still might not be the easiest way to get them to feel comfortable and open with their words and opinions, but it was certainly fun, and she was sorely missing that lately. Too many bits of business, too much war, and too much being held prisoner. "Perhaps it should be going forward, though." She grins at Cyeria. "Ianes, I forbid you from dying to mystery meat. You've done well for me this far. I don't want to have to tell everyone that, after everything, you choked to death." It was adorable how genuinely embarrassed Cyeria looked, and Remin might have felt bad for teasing her further about it, but...well, she could use the excuse that she was trying to gain the trust of the soldiers, and she could make it up to Cyeria. She'd make sure to, later. Really, though, Cyeria had the right idea about the way to eat it. Even avoiding said mystery meat, it wasn't any facsimile of good besides it being filling and hot. Right now that was good enough for Remin, but this, day in and day out? Remin doubted that there was really anything she could do to improve it, but that might be something to look into when the world settled down a little bit. If not better food, than at least some sort of variety, and a reassurance of what meat they were having to consume. Surely that much was possible, with a bit of fussing.

 

[Aerynth]

"Oh, I'm sure you could invent a heroic death for me," Cyreia smiled, trying her best to fight the embarrassment. And what better way to fight it than join in on the fun? Sometimes, the only way to secure victory for yourself was to give up, and this seemed to be one of those occasions. "For example, you could always tell people that your food was poisoned and I died after dramatically wrenching the poisoned bit from your fingers and eating it myself... for reasons. Reasons like me not being too bright. I mean, heroism is based on stupidity, right?" Or at least recklessness. That, at least, was the Eupriunian ideal; a soldier who cared not for his own well-being and, instead, only lived for the kingdom. Was it that way in Athea, too? Quite probably. The two countries were as different as day and night, but some things remained the same. Cyreia would be willing to bet a considerable amount of coin on her guess of this being one of them; soldiers, after all, were supposed to die. Willingness to do so was the most basic requirement for the job. Surely their superiors painted it as virtuous to encourage them in that mindset?

"I'll try to survive for as long as I can, though," she promised. It surprised her just how honest it ended up being; they were just playing a game of pretend, sure, but maybe that made it a little easier for her to talk about these things. About topics that would have been too heavy to discuss without the convenient excuse of a joke. (Did she look at Remin in a way that would be deemed inappropriate? Almost certainly. It was difficult enough to refrain herself from reaching after her hand; hiding the love from eyes seemed downright impossible. Still, nobody commented upon it. Either they interpreted it as devotion or they simply didn't want to pry.)

Cyreia was convinced that she could spend the whole day like this, engaged in the playful banter, but unfortunately, they had come here for a very specific reason. Perhaps she should start laying the foundations for their investigation? Yes, definitely. Cyreia didn't have a specific plan in mind, but nudging them in the right direction seemed to be the way to do it; they could pick up on the subtle hints and go from there. (Or, well, Remin probably could. She wasn't all that confident in her own abilities regarding subtlety.)

"But anyway, enough about us. I realized I haven't asked you yet: how are you handling Werough? It must be quite a cultural shock."

 

[Conifer]

"I certainly could." Remin agrees, laughing - so what if they see that she's fond of Cyeria? Maybe the rumors of an affair might be worth it, to be able to interact freely with her love. Or at least as freely as she might be able to considering everything. What did anything matter anymore? She could be dead right now, or still stuck in a pit of rats; what did people seeing that she was in love matter? (A lot, she more logically knew, but gods, logic was tiresome and she was already so exhausted with everything.) "But I wouldn't. You would have brought your ridiculous death upon yourself, and your soul would have to carry that burden. If you want a more heroic death, then don't choke on your dinner like a toddler." she teases.

Perhaps for the best of that logic that she's casting to the wayside for the moment, the conversation moves on. Cyeria's smart about it; they've gained openness at the table, and so now's the time to ease into discussing more important matters while they mood is still bright enough to support the serious talk. Gods, she loves her. Her clever, strategic wife.

One of the soldiers- Airen, Remin thinks? is eager enough to contribute his opinion. "The whole lot's weird, isn't it? You missed it, but before we set out to take the castle, the Werough bunch just...sat in a circle 'round that shrine they put up and prayed. Got some dirty looks for not joining in. Sorry, but I've got my gods, and they don't need me sitting my ass - sorry, your highness - in the dirt in armor. I can do it plenty well standing up. Closer to the gods that way anyways, I think."

 

[Aerynth]

At some point, it occurred to Cyreia that she hadn't seen Remin laugh like that since the incident with Wellan. Oh, how she had missed that smile! Any and all doubts she may have had about dragging her wife here instead of letting her rest evaporated in her moment. Sleep was a good medicine, yes, but only when one actually managed to fall asleep. Perhaps Remin would have passed out immediately, though her tossing and turning and returning to that dungeon in her thoughts seemed far more likely to her. Unpleasant memories had a way of monopolizing one's attention; Cyreia knew that better than most people. No, it was far more beneficial to have her spend time with the soldiers. When surrounded by them, her wife could be herself, or at least some rough approximation of that, and forget about the rats and rotting bodies and darkness that threatened to consume her. (Cyreia wished she could make it go away permanently, but she suppressed the thought. This tiny reprieve had to be enough, and honestly? It was, mainly because it offered her hope. Hope that, no matter how long it may take, Remin would recover.)

"Yes, and then they had the gall to say we won because of that strange ritual," Sarchen joined his friend. "I mean, I honor the gods as much as anyone else, but these guys probably can't even decide if they want to piss or shit without asking some god for guidance."

Alright, this was going smoothly so far. These men obviously weren't terribly religious, or at least not by the Weroughian standards; judging that they wouldn't protest too harshly if they asked them to impersonate a local god they had no connection to didn't seem like a large leap in logic. Still, Cyreia didn't feel like betting their success on a hunch. Remin had been right in that much was at stake here, and Cyreia hadn't become one of the finest strategists in Eupriunia by being content with educated guesses. No, she had to know more. How to gauge their opinion on breaking certain religious taboos, though? Well, perhaps describing one instance of her unwillingness to follow their faith to a t would do the trick.

"Well, I'd hate to speak badly of our allies," Cyreia began, the 'but' in her tone evident even before she said it, "but it is true that they are... perhaps a little too eager to please their gods, and not in ways we are used to. For example, do you know how long it took me to convince them not to kill everyone in the castle? One would have thought they'd see the strategic value in taking hostages, but no, their gods apparently don't like that. I basically had to threaten them with Avt-- the king's punishment if they refused to comply."

 

[Conifer]

"We had to squirrel the lord away before too many of them could get their hands on him." One of the soldiers admits, chuckling. "They're dedicated, I'll give you that. I don't care if it's because their devotion or what, as long as they pull their weight."

"Their care for their gods is admirable," Remin admits, as tactfully as she can. "Overwhelming for us outsiders, perhaps, but if it gives them the confidence and hope they need to get through a difficult situation, and to fight well through it, it's not a terrible thing. Even if it clouds their judgement some amount." Hopefully enough that they might believe the ruse that they hoped to pull. Doubt would do the plan no good. It could all fall apart if their own people didn't believe it and weren't in on the attempts to cause it.

"Yeah, it's useful." Another agrees with a mouthful of food and a halfhearted shrug. "It's just comedic. I'm as spiritual as the next, but I'm not gonna be all grateful to them for this food. If the gods wanted my thanks for the meal, they'd serve me something from their own tables." It earns a small round of laughter and agreement. "Meanwhile, can't catch them eating a bite without muttering a prayer. Wastes more time than it's worth, I think."

 

[Aerynth]

Good, good. Cyreia watched the soldiers carefully, trying to decipher their expressions. A few of them seemed slightly offended at the lack of reverence displayed, and she made sure to remember their face. Those guys? They certainly would not get approached. Cyreia sincerely doubted that they would run off and tattle to lady Yngran or anything like that, but the possibility of them doing something stupid was still there and she didn't want to risk it. The whole plan was risky enough on its own; there was no need to lower the chances of their success even further. Conversely, she also paid attention to those who reacted positively, and created a list of names in her head. Cyreia was thankful for her habit of remembering her subordinates' names now because that made everything significantly easier. Using descriptors such as 'the guy with the short blonde hair and a scar over his left eye' would have been tedious and much less effective. Alright. How to switch the topic now, though? As much as she enjoyed badmouthing those people who were so hard to work with, it... wasn't really conducive to their war efforts. Their army needed to be unified, and undermining their allies would cause it to be anything but that.

Fortunately, that problem was solved even without her intervention. When the soldiers emptied their bowls, the server returned with a few bottles of wine. "Don't get used to it, you bastards," he warned them with a good-hearted smile, "this is just to celebrate the saving of our queen. May she live long and prosper!" Everyone got a class, and the alcohol quickly made them forget about the impromptu religious debate that had just taken place here. There were, after all, much juicier topics to discuss. The talk devolved into the usual bragging; men were soon betting over who would kill the most enemies, who would be the first to breach the defenses of another castle, who would take Wellan's head. (Cyreia would. She was happy to let the glory fall to other people for the most part, but Wellan? Wellan was hers. She... didn't remember the last time she wanted to kill someone so intensely, and it scared her. What would Remin say if she saw the images flashing in her mind? Images of pain and suffering? Would she judge her for it or revel in imagining her captor's fate along with her?)

The wine wasn't particularly strong or good, but it fulfilled its purpose; most men sitting in their vicinity seemed a little tipsy now. And, perhaps unsurprisingly, tipsiness encouraged impertinent questions. "My queen," Sarchen asked with a smile that spoke of nothing good, "now that you're here, will the king come to visit us as well or is he happy to leave you in Ianes' capable hands?" Oh, so they had been wondering about their relationship. With the way that question had been worded, there was no way there wasn't a dual meaning to it.

 

[Conifer]

Remin's grateful for the arrival of the wine; it meant that none of the men she ate with had a good enough look at her still meat-filled bowl to see that it still held anything in it before they were eagerly succumbing to drink. Cyeria noticed, she was nearly sure, but she didn't care any about that. That was an easy enough explanation. The men, though, might assume she thought herself above eating the same food they were subjected to, and that wasn't going to do any good. Not even for this attempt to get information from them, just...their respect as a whole. No one seemed to notice - and if they did, they said nothing - before her bowl was carted away and it wasn't a concern any longer.

The conversation that flowed with the wine (cheap and bitter that made Remin's head spin after too short a time. If there wasn't a lot of it, then it might as well be strong, she supposed,) was more what she expected of soldier's dinner chatter. She took no part in it, instead sipping at the drink she probably shouldn't have taken, but did anyways. If it had been brought in her honor, it would have been rude not to, even if the tispiness made it much harder to keep up her mood. That was part of why she rarely tended to actually indulge; there was always too much going on to think about, and so much of it regulated away to be dealt with later. She'd had her share of fun with stolen bottles in her youth when little had mattered, but now it made all her stacked facades slip off too easy. And then coupled with their talks of fighting, of war, of blood and death, and of Wellan...she was almost glad when Sarchen directed the conversation onto her and Ianes' relationship. Not quite entirely glad, but almost. "Someone has to tend to the matters at the castle," Remin replies, after a moment where she hadn't entirely noticed she'd been brought into the topic once more, "So it's unlikely that he'll come join us here." Impossible, in fact, since he already was here - or, was never anywhere, really. She obstinately ignores the implication of Sarchen's words for the rest of her reply, though; they aren't discouraging the rumors of an affair, yes, but they don't have to encourage it. "But Avther trusts my safety with Ianes, yes. He's an excellent guard, the king is aware of that." Though, - and she doesn't realize it until it's already been said - if their minds are seeking more sordid answers, they might have found them in any way she answered affirmatively. Oh well. There was no helping that, especially now that she'd already said it.

 

[Aerynth]

Uh oh, Cyreia thought, and it wasn't eloquent but it described the situation well. Was it just her or did Remin look... well, maybe a little bit tipsy? Not that she didn't deserve to unwind a bit after that kidnapping, but losing control in front of the very people they were trying to fool might not be the best idea. It wasn't that Cyreia expected Remin to start sharing their secrets left and right, but it was so easy to slip, especially when her entire existence consisted of elaborately wrought lies. Sometimes, all it took was to pull at one loose string and the whole mess unravelled. No, they really shouldn't be putting themselves into such situations. They had the names, didn't day? The smartest thing to do here would be to leave and contact the ones who seemed promising privately. Discussing military secrets in front of all those witnesses wouldn't be very strategic, after all. Before she could make up some excuse for them to leave, however, their relationship was suddenly being scrutinized. Oh god. She had expected this, really, and yet it didn't make it any less intrusive. Any less unpleasant. Why couldn't people just leave them alone? Were their lives so empty that they had to resort to finding entertainment in theirs?

"Yes," Cyreia quickly agreed with Remin, "the king is quite busy."You wouldn't believe how much! Kings had a lot on their hands in general, but Cyreia didn't think that many of them led-- what, three lives now? If this trend continued, she could very well end up replacing all the staff in their castle within a few years. That, if nothing else, would solve their issues regarding the traitors in their midst! "I'm sure he'd love to be there, but he cannot, and so I must take care of the queen in his place." That... alright, that came out wrong and she realized it the moment those words left her mouth, but it was too late to correct herself. How would one even do that in such a situation? So much for not feeding the rumors, Cyreia thought as the men around her burst out in laughter.

"Oh, take care, alright! I know exactly what you mean."

"Yes, undoubtedly," she forced herself to smile despite wanting nothing more than to be invisible at the moment. "We all know the meaning of duty. Anyway, my queen, shall we go? We have... um, other things to take care of." Had she just made them look even more suspicious? Perhaps, but at that point, Cyreia didn't care. The soldiers had already reached their own conclusions and them staying here for longer than necessary would only give them greater support for their conspiracy theories.

"So soon?" Sarchen protested. "And we were just about to sing a song or two! Don't you want to join us for a bit before you go tend to your duties?" Somehow, the word 'duties' sounded almost teasing from his lips.

 

[Conifer]

Where Cyeria was strong in so, so many other ways, extracting herself from conversations was beginning to appear to not be a strong suit. And, somehow, she'd managed to make it nearly impossible for Remin to recover this gracefully. The faint blush that tinged Remin's cheeks, from the conversation and from the wine, wasn't going to help that matter either. "As lovely as that invitation is," She assures Sarchen - it's a little clumsy, a little quick, a little transparent (because, really, are they exactly wrong? Surely they were imagining things more salacious than were true, but weren't they stealing away for privacy together, where they could touch as they liked? The fact that they were right didn't make it easier to convince them that they were wrong. "I really should be going. Ianes is right enough, even if he's being obstinately vague." Maybe she could do some recovery of this, or at least distraction, if she didn't seem to be bothered? If she teased Cyeria for it, instead of succumbing to the blushing in her cheeks? "Apparently we have a captive to speak with, and that should be done sooner than later. But," she smiles at the men, and it, too, is a bit too wide and honest. "This was lovely. Maybe I'll stop by again for another meal sometime?"

While it was a question, she didn't really allow them time to answer it. The sooner they left, the better, apparently. She and Cyeria leave the table quickly, and Remin's in giggles as soon as they're far enough away that they won't be noticed by those who they've just left. "You're absolutely terrible at that, you know." She teases, looping her arm with Cyeria's. They might be seen, but there's nothing wrong with walking arm in arm while being more-or-less escorted, is there? "Hopefully enough of them have decency to not let it spread through the entire camp that you're 'taking care' of me." That, she doubted. There couldn't be too much interesting gossip floating around - anything involving her would probably be heard by most the camp by dinner.

 

[Aerynth]

Thankfully Remin wasn't too interested in singing; only god knew what Cyreia would have said had they stayed a bit longer. Judging by how the last few minutes had gone, even admitting to being Avther didn't seem entirely out of question. "What? You can't be good at everything, you know. People would get jealous." For a moment or two, Cyreia tried to keep a straight face, but Remin's laughter quickly sent her over the edge. What must the bystanders have been thinking about witnessing that scene? About the queen and her bodyguard giggling like children and heading god knew where? If their reputation hadn't taken a hit before, surely it did now. But frankly? Cyreia couldn't even begin to give a damn because the situation was just too funny. How come that she could stare death in the face and not flinch and then she couldn't answer one teasing question without making a complete fool out of herself? Even she could see the comedic value in that.

"It's your fault that my head turns off whenever someone makes insinuations regarding our relationship," Cyreia said playfully and squeezed her hand. "You're too distracting. I always end up imagining things and-- well, that's how things like that happen. Clearly, I am blameless here." Somehow, the fact that they were able to find time for some flirting even in the middle of a war, even as they were about to face creatures straight out of their worst nightmares, soothed her. Everything else could be going up in flames, but she still had Remin and Remin had her. God, Cyreia was so thankful that, despite all odds, their paths had intersected. That she was allowed to treasure this small piece of happiness.

"But I probably should have been able to think of that excuse because talking to lord Sreigh is a good idea. If he's still alive, that is," she sighed. Something told her she would never get truly used to Werough; the region was utterly perplexing in ways Athea just wasn't. The treatment of hostages was just one drop of confusion in the sea of bewilderment. "Would you like to go with me? If not, you may either rest or-- I don't know, talk with the lords and ladies about that weather trick idea and see just how opposed they are to it. It's up to you, really."

 

[Conifer]

"You start imagining things, do you?" She teases, as if she's not subject to the same problem on occasion. Cyeria's distracting - a beautiful, strong, competent woman who she loves and is loved by? How could Remin not be swayed by that? She'd admit to it openly to Cyeria, but it's just as fun to tease her. Maybe the fuzziness of the wine adds to that fun. She wants to kiss her, and she would, were they not so in the open like this. Later. She'd save that for later. For now, she squeezes her hand back instead.

"As much as I'd love to join you," Remin says after a moment of consideration. "...I trust that you can talk to him just as well as I can, and some rest feels much-needed." A nap felt almost possible, in the light of day in a camp full of soldiers defending her and surrounded by Cyeria's things, if not Cyeria herself. Perhaps not easy, but possible, especially with how poorly she'd slept and the plying of the drink from lunch. "As long as you don't repeat the whole mess from just now, that is." It would probably be a good idea to go, just to understand the situation better if not to help interrogate, or she could follow the other suggestion, but...She was tired. Physically, emotionally, all of it. She wanted to tuck herself away in a tent and sleep as best she could and at the very least not exist for a short while. There'd be time enough to talk to the lords and ladies, and Cyeria could fill her in about Sreigh. She wanted to rest, so she would.

 

[Aerynth]

"I don't think I will," Cyreia laughed softly. "Well, unless we somehow end up talking about you, in which case I cannot promise anything." It seemed doubtful, though, mostly because Sreigh wouldn't be the one asking questions here and she had no reason to mention Remin. No, they'd be speaking about much more unpleasant topics. "Rest well, then." She would have kissed her, but too many people were watching, so caressing her hand would have to do. Even that small gesture seemed risky, but then again, nobody probably watched them that closely. And if they did? Then they could have their precious gossip material; Cyreia was nothing if not kind to her subjects. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Sreigh, as could be expected, wasn't in his best mood. The make-shift prison they had put him in was rather mild when compared to Remin's experience - basically just a tent surrounded by an abnormal number of guards and some hastily drawn symbols that were meant to keep him from escaping - but that was more than enough for them to earn his undying scorn. That much seemed obvious from the very moment she entered; upon registering her, he refused to acknowledge her presence and stared into the wall. And that's exactly why I hate interrogations. Cyreia preferred speaking to her prisoners like a civilized person, but few of them appreciated that. When she spoke kindly, all she got out of the vast majority of hostages were vague threats, silence and things like 'you shall regret this, scum.' It was rather curious, then, how quickly that demeanor tended to change when she pointed out the reality of their situation to them. Not many chose to play the part of the hero upon being reminded just how fragile the human body was and just how much time they had to discover that together. (It was a good thing that Remin hadn't tagged along, really. What would she have thought about her had she seen her interrogation methods? Had she heard her threaten an unarmed man? Surely her wife understood that these things happened - that wars were far from honorable - but knowing that and witnessing it were two very different things.) Either way, Sreigh ended up talking, which meant Cyreia could finally leave the tent. How long had it taken? An hour or perhaps two? Time seemed to flow strangely for some reason and the fact that her head was spinning from all the new information didn't help, either.

Cyreia made her way back to their tent, though not before visiting the cook who tended to the nobles and asking for some pastries. It hadn't escaped her attention that Remin had eaten poorly, which... she really didn't blame her for considering the meal she had been presented with. "Remin?" Cyreia asked as she entered, quiet in case her wife was still asleep. "How do you feel? Are you hungry? Because I brought you something." She also brought news, but it wasn't something she wanted to talk about on an empty stomach.

 

[Conifer]

Sleep came easier than Remin had expected it to, honestly, and it was a welcome surprise. Perhaps it was that a tent was anything but a room, even if they were both small, and perhaps it was the decent amount of sunlight that filtered in through the fabric. Maybe it was the constant sounds of the camp around her, all pleasant sounds for now, with metal clanging and chatter and, off in the distance, their previous companions making good on their promise to fill the air with song. It might have even been the bed she found herself in, which was only barely comfortable, but smelled like Cyeria enough for her to pretend that her wife was beside her. Whatever it was, she fell asleep quickly after searching through Cyeria's things and finding a shirt comfortable enough to sleep in and large enough to cover her - likely one of the items they'd found for her just after their wedding - and searching for a weapon to keep beside the bed, just in case. Was that the trick, then? To avoid sleep until she simply couldn't, and then replicate this situation? Gods, she hoped that this little hangup would fade quickly. She had little problem avoiding forcing herself to stomach meat, but sleep was necessary if she was going to be of any use to anyone.

It wasn't just Remin alone that Cyeria found upon her entering the tent, though. Her wife was still sound asleep in the bed, oblivious to the world outside her dreams, but also on the bed was another person, seated on the edge and looking bored until they notice Cyeria enter. They're tall and lanky, with blonde hair that drapes around them unnaturally, as if painted into perfection. Really, they look rather androgynous, with their fashion choices - not of Werough, nor of Athea, far too ornate and draping for either of those- not helping that in the least. Whoever it is seems entirely at home in this space, as if it were their own tent, and not the place where the queen was currently sleeping. "Just who I was waiting for. Our glorious king." They grin, entirely smug, and pull themselves smoothly to their feet and grab one of the pastries off the plate. There's a large bite taken from it before Cyeria can stop it from happening, and their mouth's still full when they continue speaking. "Your little plan's cute, your highness, but it's not gonna work."

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia had hoped that the rest of the day wouldn't be too eventful, but apparently that had been too much to ask for. It was always too much to ask for, it seemed. Her heart almost skipped a beat when she noticed the other person in the tent; someone who was very much not supposed to be there. And it wasn't just that, either. The man (or woman?) was also sitting uncomfortably close to Remin, which only intensified the panic. Who were they? Another kidnapper? No, that didn't seem right. A kidnapper would have-- well, tried to kidnap her instead of apparently waiting for her? And they also knew who she was? What? She hadn't told anyone! Well, the guards knew, of course, but at this point, Cyreia believed that they wouldn't sell her out. How, then, did they know? And there was also a question that pained her even more; what else did they know? God, she felt sick, sick, sick.

Automatically, Cyreia's hand dropped down to her sword. Chaos reigned in her thoughts, but she refused to let it paralyze her. If the being wanted to attack her or Remin, Cyreia had to react, confusion or not, and she had to be faster than lightning. Right, my sword. It's here. It's here, and so I can breathe. The familiar weight was grounding her; with the weapon in her hand, everything would turn out to be fine. It just had to. Whoever the person was, surely they weren't resistent to steel. Even a caster of Vestat's calibre had been felled by her blade and Cyreia wouldn't mind going for the same approach here. Not at all. "Really? Why do you think so?" she asked carefully, her eyes cold. "And would you mind telling me who you are? Obviously you know who I am, so it is only fair for you to introduce yourself as well." Denying her identity seemed futile, after all; the being somehow knew both her plan and her, so trying to lie herself out of that one would only end in failure. No, Cyreia had to face this head-on. "I'd also appreciate it if you stepped away from my wife. You see, after the recent events, I'm a bit jumpy when it comes to strangers invading her personal space."

 

[Conifer]

They take a few steps away, to stand in the center of the tent - which isn't much further from Remin, really, but there's not very far one can be from anyone in here considering the size. "What, you don't recognize me?" They pout. They draw their knees closer to their torso, and they simply...stay there, hanging in the air, as if there was an invisible chair beneath them, as casual as anything. "You Eupriunians are all the same. Terribly, awfully boring. How many times will I have to rust a man's sword or cut off some buttons before you'll pay attention to me?" They shift, twisting so they're laying in the air on their torso, their head propped up on one hand as they take another bite of their stolen pastry and their legs kicked up behind them. "As I'm sure you can relate, plenty of people call me lots of things. Annoying's a big one." They laugh. "Fate's another, but that one's stupid. Potential, If, 'that one'... Your darling dearest might know me as Pextian, which..." Their nose wrinkles. "Not the most imaginative, but it'll do, I guess. You, however, my dear, can call me friend. Because I know your plan won't work, because I know a lot of things, and I'm willing to help you out. I owe some of the stuffy lot some favors, and I'm sure I can cash in on dealing with the those twins to get out of some of those. And because you're interesting." A gentle movement brings them closer, until they're barely outside of Cyeria's personal space; their face is only a few inches from her own. "And because I'm bored. War's always the same, so I might as well help you get it over with so people can get back to falling in love and falling out of love and cheating on each other and all that wonderful, dramatic stuff."

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia just... stared, really, as the being started defying the laws of physics so casually. There were times when she thought getting used to Athea was possible, and then there were times like this one. "I sure don't. Should I?" If nothing else, they had respected her request, so the two of them could talk, she supposed. A civil discussion had never hurt anyone, right? What they were saying was quickly devolving into mad ramblings, though. Rusting men's swords and cutting off their buttons? What? (Cyreia didn't remember the last time she had repeated the word 'what' so many times in her head; it must have been sometime before the wedding, surely, when king Loran had announced to her that she was going to become a king. That had been quite shocking as well.)

Wait, Pextian. Pextian as in that god? Cyreia had read about them briefly, just as she had read about all the major Athean gods in an attempt to get more familiar with the culture, and now-- now she was apparently meeting them. Alright. Alright, why not. That certainly was one way of learning about the deities of Athea. 'But gods don't exist!' she wanted to blurt out, except that seemed like a rude thing to say to someone who claimed to be one and had evidence to back it up. The things they knew? There was no way for an ordinary person to get to that information, really, and now that she thought of it, nobody without extraordinary abilities would have fooled the security, either. That wasn't necessarily a proof of godhood, but it was a proof of great power. And if the being truly wanted to help them, did it matter who they were? ... whether they truly wanted to help was the real question here, though.

"I see, friend of mine," Cyreia said, still wary. It was hard not to be given their mannerisms and the way they used that weird magic of theirs. Had they had to draw her closer to them like that without warning her in advance? Because she did not enjoy that. It made her feel small and unstable and very much not in control, all of which Cyreia despised to her very core. "Let's assume that I trust you. I have two more questions: how are you willing to help and what will it cost? Surely it won't be free of charge, am I right?" These things never were, not in legends and not in life, and Cyreia didn't believe for a second this would be an exception to that rule. What could they want from her, though?

 

[Conifer]

Pextian seemed to delight in Cyeria's staring as they twisted themselves in the air as if it were nothing. Which, really, it might as well have been. But while they were powerful, they certainly weren't the most powerful of the pantheon that Atheans followed; that much could have been found in the books that Cyeria read. A fairly recent addition to the pantheon - a generation ago or two at most, Pextian had made a name in dealing with trouble in most its forms. They were more flashy than powerful, but had little trouble using that flash like a snake might use its hood against prey or predator to make it seem all the more intimidating. It seemed more stories were attributed to their existence than true sightings; people loved to blame their own foolishness on the trickster god, but there were some things that couldn't be explained away as simply as 'someone did something stupid and didn't want to fess up to it.' Waters running backwards for a day, or all the soups cooked in a village turning bright pink and smelling of rotten egg - silly, useless things that entertained exactly the single person who caused them.

They grinned even brighter, all sharp and wide and filled with perfect teeth, when she calls them friend. Pextian twists again so that they float on their back and tilt their head to still view Cyeria. "You wanna make something that looks like a god could do it. You're not gonna get that with a handful of mages who barely believe in what they're doing. Sure, with your whole lot, you might manage it. If you knew yourself better, you could probably do it with half the mages you've got and yourself. But you don't. You've got...what, five people at best? It's nothing." They reach out, poking Cyeria's cheek rather firmly, and just leaving their finger pressed against her skin until she moves away. "Cute plan, though. It's just missing me. Imagine it with me - the middle of a glorious, boring battle, the way they all are. Blood here, blood there, trauma left and right, one side winning but everyone suffering, etc, etc, we get it. Then the goddess of death herself - me, of course, disguised cleverly - as tall as a building, walks across the field. She's looking for the things that defy her. She hates those twins so much she might even not mind me impersonating her. I want them, though. There's your catch. Which, really, isn't even a catch. You want 'em gone, I'll get 'em gone. I'll take them to her, she can do whatever she wants, and I have her favor for...like a week, but a week's forever."

 

[Aerynth]

Pextian spoke a lot, though little of what they said was straightforward. Cyreia understood the words, yes, but the way they connected into sentences? A lot of it confused her, which... honestly might have been Pextian's intent here. From what she had read, they delighted in wreaking havoc and every word they said had to be scrutinized carefully to uncover the true meaning behind them. They didn't lie, of course; Athean gods rarely did that, but not because they loved honesty. They simply didn't have to stoop that low. Half-truths and falsehoods, in addition to being more entertaining, worked just as well. Clearly, Cyreia had to be careful here. Ignoring everything that didn't pertain to the matter at hand would likely be the best course of action here. Still, something caught her attention and, like many times before, she just couldn't help herself.

"If I knew myself? What do you mean by that?" Were they referring to her magical abilities? They must have - there was no way it was anything but that - except that her powers didn't have anything to do with illusions. Or did they? What did they see that she didn't? "But... I see your point. I just work with what I have." Cyreia had never claimed the solution was ideal; it was... the only solution that had come to her mind, really. A last ditch attempt to remove the overwhelming advantage Wellan had. If Pextian helped them, though? The effect it would have on their enemies would be devastating. Hell, it would even shake her, and her religious sensibilities were rather cold when compared to the rest of the country.

"Ouch!" she moved away, her hand on her cheek. God, it was no wonder that people called them annoying. Still, the plan they presented distracted her from the pain. "I... well. That would be most helpful," Cyreia admitted, perhaps a bit reluctantly. Relying on the help of a complete stranger didn't sit well with her, though-- well, it wasn't like she could afford to be choosy with her allies. So what if they were alien and incomprehensible and liked to pinch her cheeks for some reason? They still offered a way out of this mess. "Thank you." Pextian likely didn't care for manners much judging by the way they had entered their tent, but she did. Thanking a person (or deity, or whatever they were) who provided assistance was only appropriate. "Is there something I can help you with? Do you need to set up the stage somehow?"

 

[Conifer]

The look that they give her certainly implies that they heard Cyeria's question, but if they have anymore information to give her about herself, they move on and don't share it. What else could be expected, though, from someone who seemed to delight only in sowing doubt and chaos? Answers gave closure - questions just asked more questions. "Keep going through with your plan." They hum after a moment, finally settling their feet back on the ground. "We'll let your silly little mages think they did all this. Let 'em think they summoned a god. That'll mess with their egos for a lifetime. 'How did I do that? Why can't I do it again?' Either they'll get over it, or they'll toss their lives away pursuing something that they'll never manage again. That'll be fun to watch. And...well, watching you pretend and pretend and pretend in front of them's entertaining. Cyeria pretending to be Avther pretending to be Ianes pretending to be someone who isn't rather embarrassingly devoted to your queen. " Pextian shrugs, pacing around the tent a bit, though they don't tread too much closer towards Remin as they walk circles around Cyeria. "Maybe it's less fun for you than for me, but...I'm selfish and I'll fully admit to that. Have them summon a bunch of birds or something, that'll set the scene. Soldiers, scared of birds." They laugh, delighted with this idea. "All your steel isn't much use against feathers though, is it?"

 

[Aerynth]

God, did Cyreia hate the way they thought about all of this. To them, this was obviously just one giant joke. One big spectacle, really. Remin's pain, pain of those who had bled out on the battlefield, even her entire life; all of it only seemed to matter so far as they could get some twisted enjoyment out of it. Was that what godhood did to you? Had centuries and centuries of silent observation sucked out any and all compassion out of them? That... would actually explain a lot of things, she supposed. Prayers didn't work not because there weren't any gods to answer them, but because they didn't care enough. In the grand scheme of things, a burning village was nothing. And war orphans? War orphans were dime a dozen, especially in Eupriunia. It was no wonder, really, that they had left her crying in the middle of the ruins of her old life, surrounded by corpses and death and ashes, whole mountains of ashes. Even now, she could taste them on her tongue. Did Pextian know that as well? Could they see inside of her soul? The possibility alone made her want to banish them. 'Where were you when I truly needed you? When I asked and begged?' the Cyreia in her mind said, and it was exhilarating and cathartic, though the real Cyreia, of course, said nothing of the sort. If swallowing her pride could prevent the creation of new Easthavens and Hadsberries, then she was obligated to do so. That was what being a leader meant; realizing that you personally just didn't matter that much.

"Well, I am glad that you're having fun," Cyreia said, but everything in her expression betrayed her real thoughts. "And if you want birds, you shall have them. Steel works just fine against them, though. More than anything else, it's a matter of getting them to sit long enough for you to be able to hit them." Pextian, however, didn't seem all too interested in her insights into that. They just laughed - a high-pitched, annoying sound - and then they dissolved into nothingness in front of her very eyes. "Could have at least said goodbye," she muttered and sat down on Remin's bed. So, not only gods existed, but at least one of them apparently liked her. Lady Yngran would have been green with envy, Cyreia was sure, though that brought her little comfort. Few things did. How did that proverb go? 'Ignorance is a blessing?' Ignorance of your own ignorance certainly was. She had been aware of her own limitations before, of course, but Pextian's appearance only showed her just how little she knew about the ways of the world. It filled her with a profound sense of unease. Just how wrong was she about... well, everything? Mindlessly, she began stroking Remin's hair.