Fantasy All's Fair

[Conifer]

Sleep left Remin with a hurried sort of rush - there was a moment or two spent in the pleasant post-sleep groggy warmth, but that comfort was dashed nearly immediately by what her half-addled mind could only think of as something terrible running its sharp, diseased claws over her as it crawled around in her hair. Remin sat up sharply, expecting entirely to see a rat, to see a cell, to see something terrible, but all that greets her is Cyeria, looking...a little troubled, but safe and beside her. Right. Yes. If she was lucky, she was never going to see another rat again; Cyeria had saved her from that fate, and now she was at the camp. She'd taken a nap, not drifted off in a fight against rodents.
"Hi," Remin murmurs as she forces her breathing into an even pattern. In, out, no need for her heart to be pounding as quick as it is. She sinks against Cyeria, laying her head in the woman's lap, finding comfort there as she tries to calm herself. No rats, just warmth, just her wife's hands on her. She tugs the blankets to fit over herself again, not ready or eager to leave the warmth of them any time soon, even if they were scratchy. "I missed you," She says, indulgent for a moment, and leans to press a kiss wherever she can reach before she looks back up to Cyeria properly again. "How did your talking with the lord go? Anything we need to concern ourselves with?"

 

[Aerynth]

"Me too," Cyreia smiled softly and leaned closer so that she could kiss her properly. For a few beautiful, beautiful seconds, she was drowning in Remin and all of her worries disappeared. Oh, how she loved sleepy kisses. They weren't nearly as passionate as those Remin gave her when they headed to bed, starved for each other's touch, but there was something... heartwarming, perhaps?... about her wife waking up and instinctively reaching after her first thing in the morning. It made her want to sing. Her question, however, reminded her of things that caused her feel very different from that, so her smile faltered somewhat.

"The lord wasn't too happy to see me, but after some... encouragement, let's say, he did talk. Most of the things I knew about, though there were details I wasn't aware of. Would you like something to eat first?" Cyreia handed her the tray with the remaining pastries. Before dealing with what was to come, Remin deserved the chance to wake up fully and food could help her with that. "I noticed that you didn't eat much, so I thought you might be hungry. But anyway, what I learned is that Wellan's rebellion is a lot more faith-based than we previously thought. Sreigh didn't know how he joined forces with the sisters - or even who is controlling whom, really - but it seems he derives a lot of respect from being able to communicate with them on some level. That's not all, though. It honestly looks like he is trying to do something strange with them. I thought that he was just going to try to use them for propaganda purposes, but apparently not. Sreigh told me that Wellan... demanded human sacrifices from his allies at first, supposedly to feed the sisters, but then he decided it wasn't enough and came to the conclusion that only a war would cover their needs. I don't know, that doesn't look like just a continual upkeep to me," she shrugged. "I mean, the legends say that they have existed for centuries. Why would they suddenly become so greedy? Clearly, something out of ordinary is happening here." And speaking about extraordinary things... Cyreia took a deep breath.

"That's the bad news, I suppose. The good news is that I also met a god and they're willing to help us. Apparently I'm just that charming. No, really, that's what they cited as their motivation; me being interesting to observe." Alright, that sounded utterly insane, but there was no way to make it sound anything but that because that was exactly what it was. Hell, Cyreia herself hardly believed it.

 

[Conifer]

Remin reached a little sleep-clumsily for the plate of pastries, feeling a bit terrible for allowing herself to indulge in the treat that the others she'd taken lunch with didn't have available, but...if she was going to start feeling more guilty than usual for the privilege of her lifestyle, pastries after rat-dens weren't the thing to start with. And she was, admittedly, still hungry. She sat up a bit, drawing Cyeria into one last kiss that wasn't altered by bad news, with a soft 'thank-you' following it, and then settled in on the cot to listen to whatever story Cyeria had to tell.
She didn't expect anything good, honestly, but Cyeria's story - her first sentence, even, made her exceptionally glad that she'd made the decision to hide herself away in the tent to sleep. 'Encouragement' was not...promising, and she had no doubts that her wife was an effective...encourager, but was it terrible that she wanted to avoid seeing that part of her for as long as she possibly could? Was it bad to turn a blind eye to the parts of the person you loved that scared you? There was worse things, she hoped. When push came to shove, she would face it as bravely as she could muster, but there was no pushing and no shoving now, and she'd been brave enough to last her a good while. Remin listened quietly, slotting all this new information into her head alongside what else she knew of the whole situation. It wasn't comforting. Something strange was happening, and not knowing the truth of what was going on made Remin feel that there was something huge that they might be missing that was going to end dangerously for everyone involved. A war for the sake of war, for the sake of the death of it? What were they doing that they were willing to not only toss away the lives of their enemies, but of their allies? There was something they weren't seeing about all of this that they desperately needed to get their sights on before it was too late.

Remin wasn't allowed to linger there too long, though, before Cyeria guided her explanation to something that was...a little more immediately concerning. Remin's mouth goes tight; her lips cut a harsh line against the softness of her features. "What...do you mean, my love, that you've met a god?" It made little sense at all. "You've found someone to worship?" That's all that made sense, wasn't it? But...Cyeria being charming? A citing motivation? Had Cyeria hit her head and knocked her brain around? Remin reached for her hair, running her hands through the short strands, searching passively for somewhere that might have bruised. "Are you alright? Were you injured at some point, besides the shoulder?"

 

[Aerynth]

Remin's concern was... absolutely not a surprise; had their positions been switched, Cyreia might have reacted in a similar way. Meeting a god? What an utter nonsense, right? Except that it wasn't and now she had to explain to her wife that gods were apparently real in some capacity. That they weren't stories and concepts and myths told to scare children into obedience, but actual thinking beings with their own agendas. Never had she thought that she would find herself defending this side of the argument, but here she was; Pextian surely found that immensely funny as well. Were they watching even now? Were gods watching all the time or did they only focus on events they considered to be interesting? Oh, how how Cyreia resented that thought. Being constantly observed by someone and not even knowing about it was-- nightmarish. Violating. The idea of some mysterious, distant entities watching her every step made her shudder. How did people find that to be comforting?

"No. No, I'm fine," Cyreia shook her head. "And I'm certainly not going to worship anyone. They told me to call them a friend and friends don't worship friends. A thank you should be enough." She fell silent for a while, trying to organize her thoughts. That proved to be a more daunting task than usual; her own head was a tumultuous place right now. How was she supposed to convince Remin that it had truly happened when her conclusion madr so much more sense? What if Cyreia really had hit her head and forgotten about it? No, no. Such an incident wouldn't have fitted anywhere in the timeline. Besides, if she couldn't trust her senses, then there was nothing for her to trust, and that made her even more uncomfortable than Pextian.) "Listen, I know that this is absurd, but I really talked to a god. I can't know for sure, I suppose, because I only have their word to trust, though I am inclined to believe them. They knew things nobody is supposed to know, like who I am. All about it, even my name." It was hard for her to say it aloud, mainly because she had gotten so used to the idea of 'Cyreia' being a forbidden word, but Remin must have understood what she meant by that. The panic in her voice spoke eloquently enough on its own. "They also knew about my plan and offered to help with the execution. Apparently they'll create a really convincing illusion for us, partly because they hate the sisters and partly because they find the chaos it will inevitably create appealing. And honestly? Even if they were lying and actually weren't a god, they were so obviously powerful that it doesn't really matter. Their intervention should help anyway."

 

[Conifer]

She wanted to believe Cyeria, but...well, there were stories of people meeting gods, every once in a while, but a good half of those were fantastical rumor and the other half had no proof to back up the claims. Was it impossible? No, she supposed not. Remin wasn't entirely unwilling to admit that she could be wrong...but there were other solutions. Other answers. "Cyeria," She murmurs, now just running her fingers through the woman's hair instead of seeking out injury. "How do you feel? Might have it just been...weird magic?" It would have been different from the magic Cyeria'd preformed previously, but was a vision of the past truly all that different from seeing something projected onto your reality?
But one thing was true enough, she supposed, and that was that Cyeria believed it. There was no reason to distrust her. Not once had she said something fantastical and had it not be true; that wasn't the sort of person that Cyeria was. Remin might doubt how true the fact that a god had appeared to Cyeria was, but she can't doubt that Cyeria saw a god. "...somehow, the fact that it sounds so utterly insane only makes me believe you more." She admits, reaching for Cyeria's hand with her spare and squeezing it gently. Not only the fact that it sounded like insanity was convincing, but Cyeria's tone, as well. This wasn't something to take lightly regardless of its truth. She was nervous of it. "If it happened, then it happened." And if this was some complicated trick of Cyeria's mind, then they'd handle the consequences of that when they arose. "Who do we have to thank for reaching out?"

 

[Aerynth]

"Or maybe something weird I ate, right?" Cyreia chuckled. "I mean, it wouldn't be at all strange if the local food gave me hallucinations." It wouldn't have been the first time, either. To be fair, though, the past cases of food poisoning had been caused not by the military rations, but by berries of questionable origin. (Berries she had eaten to avoid the military cuisine, however, so maybe it still counted in some small way.)

"No, I'm sure I didn't do anything. There's no magic strain at the very least." While it had gotten significantly more manageable than it had been in the beginning, Cyreia was certain that she would have still felt terrible if she had created an illusion of such magnitude, especially without aiming to do so. Wild magic always took a toll on the body. 'Speaking in simple terms,' one of her teachers had said, 'the magic has to break down the barriers in your mind to get out if you don't suspend them willingly. That's why it's so much worse.' Since Cyreia felt... well, fine, or as fine as she ever would considering the circumstances, they could rule that possibility out safely. Remin, too, seemed to arrive to a similar conclusion.

"I know, right? I'm not a great liar, but even I would try to make it more believable," Cyreia smiled and stroked her cheek. God, how she loved her. How many people would just... choose to believe her after sharing such a fantastical story? Not many of them, she wagered, but her wife was one of them. "And they introduced themselves as Pextian. Which, I'm aware, doesn't make it all that trustworthy, but I don't think that they want to double cross us. They seemed too delighted at the chance to terrify the enemy soldiers. Moreover, they don't require us to do anything special. Just... to continue with our plan," Cyreia shrugged. The worst they could do was not to appear, really. (Or join their enemies for a cheap laugh, though her accepting or not accepting their assistance couldn't influence that anyway. It wasn't like she had walked into a deal that would doom them all.) "I... still don't know what to think about it," she admitted after a while, dropping her gaze down. "It's a good thing that they offered us help, but it's-- it's a lot."

 

[Conifer]

"Maybe it's not them," Remin suggests quietly. "Maybe it's just some worshiper of theirs who has powerful magic." That was reasonable, wasn't it? It...perhaps didn't explain why they knew Cyeria to be Cyeria, but...the walls of a tent weren't soundproof. She'd used the name, and they'd discussed the plan in here. "Maybe it's just someone who overhead us and decided to approach you, trying to...I don't know. Earn your trust. Cause some trouble." Perhaps even genuinely want to help, but if they were a worshipper of Pextian....'genuine' wasn't something oft used. 'Helpful', maybe, but in an incredibly roundabout way that caused more trouble than it was worth. How much trouble would be worth it here, though? A good amount, Remin was decently sure. Stopping a war, however small, before it properly began? And if they could help deal with whatever mystery the sisters brought? It would be worth a very good amount of trouble. "Even if that's the case, though, I...don't think we're in much position to turn down anyone who wants to come to our aid." They couldn't afford to drag this out for too long, and...again, that looming feeling that something terrible was going to happen sooner than later, with whatever bit of the plot that they're missing. "They want us to continue our plan? So we'll do that. Either they do help and it will work, or they won't, and nothing will have changed from a few hours ago."

 

[Aerynth]

"Maybe," Cyreia agreed. "And if I could convince myself of that, I'd sleep soundly at night, but I can't." It was... difficult to explain it to Remin. Her mind naturally reached after logical conclusions, just as hers usually did, so it made sense that she would try to look for a more mundane explanation. After what Cyreia had seen, however, mundane explanations didn't seem to suffice. Pextian's presence had just been... too much. You just had to experience it, it seemed. It was like-- like using a sword. Cyreia could talk about it for hours, explaining all the little tricks she knew, and someone who had never held the weapon in their hand wouldn't understand it anyway. Not truly, at the very least. "I don't know. Perhaps it is foolish, but I believe them. I've never seen the kind of magic they demonstrated, either. The strangest thing about it was that-- well, they seemed to be using it with absolutely no effort. Almost like they were made of magic rather than just commanding it." Was that what gods were? Beings vowen out of pure magic, given form by... something? Their followers' minds, perhaps, or something even greater than them? Something humans couldn't really comprehend?

"You are right, though. We definitely cannot afford to reject assistance. I'm just-- confused, I suppose," Cyreia shrugged. "It's difficult not to ask myself all these questions now, you know?" That had always been her problem; asking far too many questions. Back in the army, it had usually landed her in trouble. A curious soldier was often a hindrance more than an asset, which had translated into Cyreia spending many, many nights doing the most unpleasant tasks her superiors had thought of. It was ironic, then, that the same kind of curiosity had eventually led to all of her promotions. "I'm fine with potentially being wrong about the existence of gods," she started slowly. "I'm often wrong, so it's not a difficult thought to get used to." Besides, Cyreia had never claimed to be right about that, either. It had been just a guess, and one she couldn't have confirmed or disputed, so getting too attached to it would have been foolish.

"No, I'm struggling with the implications. As in, do the gods watch us all the time? Pextian did say I was their favorite source of entertainment, so it doesn't seem like an unreasonable guess. And if they can help easily, why do they... usually not do that?" Incidents that should have never occurred were so painfully, frustratingly common that Cyreia would need an entire lifetime to name them all and it still wouldn't be enough. How could they wield the power to prevent them without using it? That was what she couldn't wrap her mind around; the utter apathy and disregard for human lives.

 

[Conifer]

"That would...make sense," Remin admits a bit, as if she's reluctant to let Cyeria's truth be real. Maybe she is. The thought of gods being real must scare Cyeria more than it does herself, who has never exactly not believed in them, but it's still some amount of unsettling. While she believed in them, it had seemed impossible that they walked the lands, and even more impossible that she might ever meet one. Most of her hoped that she never really would, and that Pextian would keep their mischief and communication to Cyeria. Though, if they follow through on their promise to help, then she'd see them just as well as everyone else. "The gods are all...formed in different ways," Remin says, because it's easier to deal in stories than facts sometimes, and now is one of those times. "Some of them are born as gods. Some of them make themselves gods, through gaining immense power. Some are made gods by the others, who decide that they've showed enough...whatever's worthy of godhood. Pextian's...tricky, and honestly, if this is all right, it might make sense that they've taken a liking to you. Supposedly, they were mortal at one point, and a lot of the story there's been lost to people making up things that sounded more awful, or more valiant, or more...anything, really? People don't often like the truth. Not that I know the truth, of course, I just...have heard enough of the stories and it's easy to find the places where they've been painted with a bit of grandeur. Most hold this, though - Pextian was orphaned and grew up difficult and mad at the world, and the gods, for it. A lot happened - here's where the stories are all different - and eventually, when they died, Cassiet, the god they worshipped most before they turned their back on them all, decided that godhood would be a suitable apology. Really, there's plenty of people who argue that Pextian - or anyone formed that way - isn't quite a god, but that's pedantic and no one reasonable cares." She presses a kiss to Cyeria's knuckles. "So depending on your level of pedantry, perhaps you're not wrong about the existence of gods."

"It's all complicated," Remin's more than willing to agree. "I don't know any better than you how the gods might see us. Even knowing this, it's hard to think of them as anything but stories. But...I don't know. Why don't we help everyone we can? We're capable of more, you and I. We have the influence, the power, the resources. And we're trying. But at some point, we just...can't. The whole has to be focused on, not the pieces, or the whole will suffer. Maybe it's the same way for them, just...larger. The pieces even smaller, the whole even larger. Maybe they can't handle it all. Maybe they're trying just as much as we are."

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia listened to Remin's story, silent and thoughtful. It... wasn't difficult to see the parallels between her own life and Pextian's supposed history, even if it made her a bit uncomfortable. She, too, had been mad at the world at some point, before the edges of that anger had been dulled by resignation. Resignation and a lot of distraction. Who knew what would have become of her had she not found a purpose in life? Had she not directed all of her energy towards seizing some amount of power and doing something, anything meanigful with it instead of screaming into the void? Cyreia couldn't tell. Not in any exact terms. In one way or another, however, she was sure it would have destroyed her. Had that happened to Pextian? Had they been eaten by their inner demons and then elevated to godhood despite never asking for any of that? That... kind of made her see them in a different light. In a more pitiful one.

"If that is true," Cyreia said quietly, "then it would explain a lot. I mean, I don't know what I'd do if someone made me a god. I'd like to think that I'd use my powers to improve the lives of others, but who knows? Maybe I'd be too bitter about having it done to me without my consent." About being separated from Remin. Spending the enternity somewhere away from her? That seemed downright awful. Hell, now that she thought of it, Cyreia didn't like the idea of eternity itself. Even now, she felt... tired at times, older than she really was, and living forever sounded more like a punishment than a reward. No, resting in a grave would be a far kinder fate. Hopefully no god thought her to be deserving of that dubious blessing.

"And perhaps you're right," Cyreia sighed. Of course it was likely far more complicated than she could grasp, and assuming that the gods were uncaring or even malicious would likely do nothing but make her feel worse about the whole arrangement. "It would make sense. I'm just not sure whether I'm ready to accept it," she admitted after a few seconds of silence. "I don't know. I was never angry at them in the first place because I didn't believe there was anything to get angry at, so maybe I just need to nurse that old anger for a while before moving on." Because she inevitably would, but-- it would take some time. "Is that childish?"

 

[Conifer]

"Absolutely," Remin murmurs, pressing a kiss to Cyeria's cheek. Her tone is teasing, but there's truth to it, honestly. The two don't need to be exclusive, and they certainly aren't here. "But we could always use some time to be childish. Especially you." She knew so little of Cyeria's life, really, but...what she /did/ know assured her that the woman could use every moment of still being a child instead of a solider that she could get. Couldn't they both? Perhaps comparing them was unfair to the things that Cyeria had gone through, and Remin wasn't comparing, not really, she was just...it was different, but it was the same in the same regard. All the same, Cyeria deserved to let herself feel this anger, and Remin would feel it with her, quietly and more manageable, for the gods failing to aid her wife when she'd needed it. For all she'd defended them, it was hard to not also feel that same sort of questioning. Yes, they couldn't help everyone, or fix everything, but how did they choose who to aid and who to scorn? Was it random? Favoritism? Something cosmic and unknowable? Whatever it was, it was cruel to those who fell to the wayside. "I'm sorry for what they didnt do for you, my love." She says, even softer, so gently. "But I'm very glad you've ended up here beside me." Would they ever have met, had they not? Was that cosmic, unknowable decision-making process dependent on where they would someday be, and they'd known that Cyeria would someday end up beside her? That felt...cruel, almost more so than the alternative of randomness. Why let people suffer for a someday-win? Someday didnt matter now.

 

[Aerynth]

Similar thoughts came to Cyreia as well. Was what had happened to her the price for getting to meet Remin? It certainly looked like that to her. An Athean princess would have no reason (and likely no opportunity, either) to interact with a Eupriunian... what, seamstress? Probably; it only seemed natural that she would have followed in her mother's footsteps. And if they had met and somehow gotten married despite all the odds? They wouldn't have survived for more than a few weeks because Cyreia wouldn't have had the skills needed to deal with their enemies. As much as she hated it, many things in her past seemed to be almost purposeful now. Had it all been some twisted kind of training? Training for the position of a king? The thought would have been easier to stomach if that training hadn't resulted in everyone she had ever loved dying. Everyone aside from Remin. Remin, who was trying her best to empathize with her.

"I love you," Cyreia murmured and kissed her gently. "And I'm also glad to be here with you. I'm very much not complaining about that; ending up here was the biggest stroke of luck in my entire life." What an irony considering the fact that she had thought the exact opposite of that upon arriving here. Oh, if only she had known. (Perhaps it was better that she hadn't, though; discovering that gradually had been pleasant as well. Almost as pleasant as slowly falling in love.) "But anyway, I suppose we should continue with our preparations. They could discuss these things later when time wasn't of essence. It always seemed to be, though Cyreia was sure they could an hour or two for a debate once the rebellion had been crushed.

"Before that, though, is there anything special you'd like for dinner? I'm sure that if I ask the cook, he will prepare it for you, as long as we have the ingredients. The guy who cooks for the nobles is supposedly good, so you may want to take advantage of that." It probably seemed silly to bring up so comparatively unimportant things now, but it was important for Cyreia. Remin hadn't eaten properly since she had rescued her from Wellan's prison and a few pastries wouldn't fix it. No, her wife needed more than that.

 

[Conifer]

Remin settled against Cyeria's chest after their kiss broke; the important parts of conversation seemed to be settled onto the backburner, at least for the moment, and so she could find comfort and warmth in her wife's embrace once more without feeling it be a distraction from what they had to talk about. "And I love you." Remin echoes, leaning up to press a kiss to the underside of Cyeria's jaw, soft as anything. "There's so many things that could have been better. But we'll just...have to make the rest of our lives better together." Gods or not, they'd found each other now, and that was always going to be something incredible.

Cyeria was right enough that they should continue with official chatter, but admittedly, Remin was hungry. There were a lot of things that sounded nice right now - soft and warm things, filled with comforting memories - but that was too specific and really, they were in the middle of a war camp. Her standards had dropped considerably. "Something light in meat, especially the mystery sort." Remin says, as lightly as she can. It's honestly the least of her worries about the effects of all of this, and she doesn't want to make this sudden distaste a concern for Cyeria, either. How could she stomach it still, Remin wondered, with all the deaths on her hands? Inumerably more than on Remin's, surely, and...well. Perhaps it was an eat or starve situation; she'd have push through the turning of her stomach at the sight of greasy bits of dark meat eventually if that and rice was all that was presented to her. Perhaps eventually bodies stopped being made of meat and started being even more abstract than that, when there were too many of them to remember how that looked and sounded as they died. Some other time, she might ask. She might ask how Cyeria managed it, how Cyeria dealt with all of it, how she wasn't...ruined like this over it. Right now, though, there's worse things to worry about than the marginal blood on Remin's own hands. "But besides that, gods, I'm not feeling very picky right now."

 

[Aerynth]

"Something light in meat? That shouldn't be a problem. People usually demand more meat, really, so granting that request will likely be easy." Why Remin didn't want it, though? Cyreia hadn't seen her avoid meat before, except for today and maybe also yesterday. Did she feel sick? Meat, after all, could sit heavy on the stomach. The thought was a little concerning, but Remin had every right to be a little unwell now. Besides, what she ate didn't matter as much as the fact that she ate something; Cyreia certainly wouldn't criticize her choices.

It would have been beautiful if they could spend the rest of their day in the tent, wrapped in one another, but today wasn't one of those days. It rarely was, though circumstances were even more pressing than they usually were; according to the word of the scouts they had sent ahead, Wellan's response to the humiliation Sreigh had suffered seemed to be imminent. By that point, he must have discovered that Remin was gone, too, and that surely only served to feed his ire. Their forces would clash soon, which meant that they had to be ready.

In the next few hours, Cyreia did everything in her power to ensure that they would be exactly that. The first battle she won was convincing the lords and ladies to lend their magic users to their cause; even without asking them to stage a god's appearance, it was far from easy. ("You are going too far, Ianes," Harlina said, fire in her eyes. "You think you're being clever, but the gods will surely frown upon such influence." The opposite seemed to be true, though Cyreia, of course, couldn't say that aloud.) They argued until her throat was hoarse and voice raspy, but finally, finally they relented when she pointed out that, should they succeed, it would be a genuine proof of the gods' favor. And since they had it, they didn't have to worry about their anger, now did they? Lady Beleret's claim, after all, was legitimate, unlike of her treacherous brother. That argument promptly shut down any complaints.

Deep in her heart, Cyreia doubted Pextian's word, so she also contacted the soldiers she and Remin had deemed to be safe earlier during the lunch. What? Pextian had told her to continue with their plan, so it wasn't technically even an insult to their credibility; she was just following their instructions. (Following someone else's instructions while twisting the orders so that they served her purposes was a skill she had acquired early on, and she intended to use it even now. Cyreia didn't like the possibility of Pextian just... not appearing and them not having any back-up plan.) Thankfully, they hadn't misjudged them, and the men agreed. Hopefully they wouldn't need their help, but if push came to shove, they would have it.

As always, time flew fast when there were so many things to do, and before Cyreia realized it, the sun set. The horizon was red with alpenglow; a premonition of blood that would be shed. How much of it would there be and to whom would it belong? To a large extent, that depended on Pextian. What a horrible, horrible thought. Perhaps that was the reason why she slept so poorly, although that had also been true in the past. Pre-battle nerves had rarely allowed her a peaceful rest.

When the dawn broke, the camp came alive with the sounds of steel; soldiers put on their armor, swung their swords and talked to one another loudly. Cyreia, too, put on her armor. While she wouldn't fight, she had to leave the camp as well to watch the battle unfold in order to direct the war efforts effectively. It... was a strange situation to be in; many commanders preferred it, but she had always fought alongside her men. Some of her instincts still pulled her towards the battle, made her want to risk it all, but-- no, she couldn't. Cyreia had promised. That, and she also had other things to do with her life than to throw it away at the first opportunity. "Would you like to join us, my love?" she asked Remin with a gentle smile. Leaving her in the camp sounded more reasonable, though she didn't like the idea of abandoning her so shortly after a similar decision had led to her getting kidnapped. "My position won't be particularly dangerous. I'll be watching from afar; me, a few of our allies and some guards."

 

[Conifer]

Remin helped where she could manage it, but her lack of practical strategy was overwhelming in the face of all of this. She could talk hypotheticals with the best of them, but when it came to action, she trusted that everything was best left in Cyeria's more than capable hands. She accompanied her when she went to speak with the lords and ladies they needed the aid of, hoping that her presence there would offer some sort of solidity to Cyeria's plan, but it was genuinely hard to tell if she was a help or a hindrance. Where the soldiers revered her, the nobility reacted substantially differently; some of them seemed eager to please her, while others - while most, it seemed - found her opinion to be a challenge to their own tiny domains. Cyeria won out in the end with clever words, and were they not pressed into a too-full tent, she might have kissed her for how impressive it was. She'd already realized that Cyeria here was different than Cyeria home, but every chance she saw of that confirmation was strangely breathtaking. Would this slow understanding of the woman she married, she loved, ever come to a halt? Remin hoped not. It was a bright part of each day, even in the darkest of them.

The day was dark, though, that much was true. The storm that hung over them, invisible against the blue sky, only grew more heavy with each task that there was only time to half-complete. Remin helped, still, where she could...but also still, this wasn't the set of skills she had been trained for. Her life had been lived inside, over tapestries and maps and historical texts, not stubborn leaders and scared, young soldiers. Always the abstract, never the present. She had been sheltered from this, for better or worse. Remin tried desperately not let it get in the way, and where she could, not show it at all. She hoped Cyeria might find this ineptitude charming instead of frustrating - and wondered if this might be how she felt, back at the castle, among all the paperwork and planning. Overwhelmed and simultaneously under- and over-worked. Eventually that blue sky turned darker, turned red, turned deep, turned black, and there was no time left despite there being hours of things to still complete. It was frustrating, but Remin found herself grateful for the opportunity to settle into bed beside Cyeria when they were both too tired to continue working.

It wasn't the blissful comforting experience it might have been without battle looming over them, and the night made it far harder to sleep than it had been when she'd napped before. The camp was unsettlingly quiet, too, and Remin found herself awake until she physically couldn't be, startling over the smallest sounds. There was no fire to light here, and a lamp would draw attention that they couldn't spare. No, she'd have to manage this. She stared up at the pitched roof for so much time that it would be irresponsible to count it all, trying to keep her breathing slow and steady enough that she wouldn't alert Cyeria to her inane paranoia if the woman was to pay her any amount of attention in the moments she tossed and turned.

This left Remin exhausted in the morning, but Cyeria hadn't seemed to notice, and that was what mattered. Her wife being rested as well as she could be and with her attentions focused on the battle ahead was far more important than Remin. She dressed when Cyeria did, borrowing some of her wife's clothing. They'd only bought one dress to change into before, and...if things went horribly today, pants would be preferable over a heavy, thick skirt. Yes, it would be suspicious, but anyone whose minds were wandering to her and Ianes' relationship likely needed the moment of relief from the worries that today would bring. Let them. Those rumors could be handled later. "...I'll join," Remin agrees, without too much hesitation. She doesn't want to be left here, even if there would likely be guards as well. There had been guards in the castle, and they had done no good. And perhaps experiencing some of this would help to fill in the gaps in her education, for, gods forbid, the time they might have to do this all again. "If you're sure I'd be welcomed, I think it'd be better to be near you than the alternative."

 

[Aerynth]

"I think it might improve your standing in the locals' eyes, actually," Cyreia smiled softly as she watched Remin get dressed. Even in trousers and a simple tunic, she still looked almost unfairly attractive; the clothes just accentuated her curves in a different way, and she found it difficult not to stare. Was Remin even capable of not taking her breath away? With each passing day, Cyreia was more and more convinced that she'd manage to do that even in a potato sack. "I mean, I am very much not an expert on how these people think, but I believe that those things are universal. It's easier to respect a leader who is there with you, as opposed to a leader who sits in her fancy castle and knows nothing of your struggles." King Loran understood that well, which was the reason he participated in various military operations so often. The participation was mostly symbolic, of course, though even that had won him the adoration of many soldiers. The commanders and lords usually viewed it in a more cynical light, but-- well, you couldn't please everyone. Besides, the nobles would always find some reason to be unhappy; that was how those people worked. Complaints gave them a political leverage.

When the two of them left their tent, some of the units were away already, marching to meet their fate. Those that hadn't left yet were very much ready to do so; they just awaited their commanders to give them the order. Cyreia and Remin, however, walked past them. Instead of the common soldiers, they were to join a small group of nobles and magic users that specialized in relaying messages. Not having to depend on messengers or ravens was yet another luxury Cyreia would have welcomed in during her military days. Sending a word and knowing it would actually reach the ears of those it concerned? What a tremendous, tremendous advantage. Too many good plans had gone awry just because communication had failed somewhere along the way. It wasn't entirely guaranteed that it wouldn't also happen here because the magic users deployed on the battlefield might be killed, but there were no real certainties in war anyway. "We're going to stay in the rear," Cyreia explained to Remin, "and we will watch the battlefield from above. There's a very convenient hill near here that is suitable for these purposes."

The nobles waiting for them were, unsurprisingly, praying at the altar. Did they ever do anything else? It seemed that, no matter what time it was, at least one of them could be found kneeling there. Did any of them worship Pextian? Somehow, Cyreia doubted it. The trickster god's role was to be blamed for accidents and misfortune, not to revered. How ironic, then, that they were to become their salvation.

Lady Yngran rose first. "Good morning, your highness, Ianes. Shall we be leaving soon, then?" Apparently she didn't expect an answer to that because she turned to Remin immediately. "It is a great honor that you've come to see us off, my queen. Worry not, we will emerge victorious. Wellan will pay for his crimes." Harlina's eyes narrowed slightly, though, when she noticed the attire Remin had chosen. Immediately, her mouth became a thin, hard line. "Or do you intend to join us? With all due respect, that would be inadvisable for one such as you. Should something happen, you must not fall into the enemy's hands."

 

[Conifer]

Remin should have expected Harlina's distaste at her plan. She might have, had she not been tired enough and more worried about petty squables over nobility's opinions of her instead of the actual battles they faced today. Praying with the woman the evening before as she'd asked had been pleasant enough, even if it had cut into the time she had available to do other, more important things. Even if Remin struck no real faith in the gods, prayer wasn't foreign to her, and it was...an almost comforting ritual, to allow for a moment the illusion that this was all out of their hands. Wasn't it, though, if Pextian were to be believed to exist? Gods. Perhaps she might have prayed to them. Maybe that would have done them some good - though if any story about them was to believed, then praying to them would only make it more unlikely for them to appear. Desperation was humorous when the outcome didn't impact you. She'd hoped, though, that the time spent together would cut down on the woman's need to question her every action.

"I do, actually." Remin agrees, voice firm. "The enemy has shown that it matters little where I am - and I'd rather be beside the men I'm asking to potentially die for me than hiding away from this." Distantly, Remin wondered what the public's opinion of the Lady were; did they respect her? Or simply see her as another wavering noble? She had a hunch that it was the latter. "Ianes will keep me safe enough, I trust. And if the enemy reaches us, then we have a much larger issue on our hands than my life." The battle would be long lost by then, and her life would be in the hands of the enemy regardless of where she might be in relation to the field. "Come on. We have little time to waste today." She also had little patience to spare for Yngran.

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia didn't even bother to hide her frown. Did Yngran have no shame, speaking like that to her queen? The finer details of courtly manners still eluded her, but it was obvious even to her that the manner in which she had addressed Remin was unacceptable. Did Harlina not know? No, that seemed unlikely. Someone raised as a noble surely knew where the line was; they had to dance around it every single day, from the moment they became adults until they closed their eyes to rest in their graves. Did she do it intentionally, then, as a way to undermine her wife's authority? If so, then her little scheme had failed because Remin shut it down promptly. God, Cyreia was so proud of her. "Yes, it is touching that you care so much, my lady, but her highness' safety is my concern, and I have judged that it will be safe enough. We won't see any actual battle," she reminded her. Harlina, after all, also didn't plan to take up weapons; despite the nature of her words, Cyreia doubted that she could wield a sword more proficiently than Remin. Hell, it was likely that Remin had more experience with that than she did!

Harlina didn't seem all to pleased with their reactions, but she capitulated in the end. "Very well. Let us hope, then, that your judgment won't lead to our downfall." Cyreia could feel the poison hidden in that remark, but honestly? She couldn't be bothered to argue with Yngran now. If the nobles wanted to bicker among themselves over things that did not matter, they could very well do so, though she would not play that game with them. Not so shortly before the battle. "Yes, certainly. I really believe we should go, though. The battle won't wait," Cyreia said instead of acknowledging her challenge, which... might be even more insulting than actually arguing with her now that she thought about it, but she didn't care about that, either. Bruised egos could be dealt with later.

They rode in silence, more or less; even lady Yngran shut up for once, likely burdened by her own worries. This was, after all, more difficult for them than for her. Cyreia did not enjoy war and death, but-- well, the people involved in all of this were just strangers to her. Yngran and her lot, though? They would have to slaughter their brothers, neighbors, friends. Perhaps Harlina's behavior could be excused; the pressure placed on her must have been immense. Who knew how she acted during peace? Hopefully they would have the opportunity to find out.

Lost in her own thoughts, Cyreia barely noticed that they reached their position already. The view it provided was breathtaking, or it would be if they were looking down at anything else than impeding doom and death. Masses of bodies that would be massacred soon, a lot of them inevitably wearing their colors. God, how Cyreia hated standing here and watching, watching, watching while others bled and died. That was, nevertheless, her new purpose. "Come, Re-- her highness," she corrected herself immediately. "Come and look, and tell me what you see. Tell me what you think of those formations." Back in the castle, Remin had been teaching her all there was to teach about ruling; now it was Cyreia's turn to impart her knowledge. For that, though, she first had to grasp how Remin perceived the situation. Just how much of an instinctual understanding did she have?

 

[Conifer]

Remin bit back an inappropriate smile as Cyeria payed little attention to Harlina's doubt of her abilities; if this was elsewhere than the literal dawn of battle, the sky streaked orange-red-blue above them, then there might be time for her to be properly amused by the whole ordeal, but given the situation it only provided some small amount of humor that felt distinctly out of place. Still, it proved an effective method, as Yngran's expression turned sourer and she stayed quiet through the rest of the process of moving towards their place for the battle.

Whenever Remin was to picture a battlefield, it was..abstract and unremarkable. Flat, muddied grass, with the horizon fading off into the fog of vague ideas, unnecessary to play out the scene she might need to envision in her head. The view they were met with, in comparison, was...strange. The mountains stretched in the horizon, catching the light from the rising sun in a way that painters would envy; the trees were statuesque and stunning, strewn about the landscape, framing the whole thing. Small buildings were visible off in the distance; a farm there, a cabin here, the just-visible bits of a village, the brown-grey streak of a road. Inviting awfulness here felt...cruel. And that's what they were doing. Perhaps they hadn't sent the invitations, but they had some hand in this themselves, and it was like taking a knife to a masterpiece and dashing it apart with no regard for the artist's work. There could only be so many flat, abstract fields though - battles would have to be fought in beautiful places if battles were to be had, and despite no one seeming to like them very much, battles seemed inevitable.

There's nothing that Remin can be besides honest when Cyeria prompts her. "They look like men walking to their deathbeds because we asked them to." She swallows thickly, reminding herself that it was all more complicated than a simple ask. It would always be more complicated than that, she would make sure of that. No one would be harmed needlessly. An actual answer to Cyeria's question, then, and not a pointing out of the fact that all this was terrible that Cyeria already more than knew. She took a few more steps past the crest of the hill to see it all laid out before her better, all those men marching. "...the distance between the groups may be a blessing or a curse," She says, carefully. "It will keep them from being lambs led to slaughter should the enemy charge in with something large, but it would make it difficult for anyone to come to anyone's aid should they need it. Besides that, though...I'm not really sure what to be commenting on. The way the men are laid out is logical; those who can work ranged or can heal in the safer positions, with the rest of them in varying places."

 

[Aerynth]

"I can't say that's not true," Cyreia sighed. Technically, she had asked them to live despite all of this, but that didn't matter much. If it hadn't been for petty politics - for the borders drawn centuries ago and contracts written in blood - those men would have had no reason to risk their lives today. They would have been working or resting or maybe even celebrating some joyous occasion; surely, the possibility of death wouldn't have crossed their minds. Now, though? Cyreia was certain that was all they could think about. "It is good that you see that, though. Too many nobles don't." In her experience, many of them didn't even see the soldiers as people, really. To them, they were just abstract numbers; numbers that would determine whether they won or lost. Cyreia actually... understood that, perhaps more than she would have liked to. It was all too easy to forget about the soldiers' humanity once you looked at the big picture. What sickened her, though, was that they didn't even feel ashamed of themselves for thinking like this. Human lives, it seemed, only had value as long as they could benefit from them somehow. (Remin, of course, wasn't like that, though. Her sweet wife would never lose sight of what was truly important here.)

"And you're right," she nodded. "You see what's there, which is a good start. That's not the only thing that a good leader is capable of, though. A good leader also sees what will be there. And the best of them? The best of them bend the events of the battle to their will." Of course, Cyreia didn't expect Remin to be able to come up with complex plans herself, but it wouldn't hurt for her to learn something about the way commanders thought. Who knew? It might prove to be vital one day. As beautiful as it would be, it was naive to assume they'd only have to deal with this war. No, it seemed far more likely that there would be more conflicts for them to handle, more blood on their hands.

"I presume they taught you how to play chess?" In Eupriunia, at least, they called it the game of the kings, and for a good reason. Kings had to understand warfare; hell, the early phases of her own training had included frequent games of chess, too. "It's similar. Not as similar as some people would have you believe because there are far fewer rules in war, but the main principle is the same. You want to lay a trap and crush your opponent as quickly as possible. Now, one of the best things you can do is to manipulate your enemy into attacking where you want them to attack. When done well, you can respond with devastating effectiveness. Now, if you were to achieve something like that, how would you go about it?" Cyreia could just... tell Remin, but if she discovered some of the methods on her own, the knowledge would feel far more valuable to her. Depriving her of the sense of accomplishment that came with inventing new solutions would have been far too cruel. No, she'd rather let her think about it for a while.

 

[Conifer]

Less rules in war. That was...sad, but she didn't doubt the truth of it; how could she? It was easy to see how scattered all of this was when you took a step back. Yes, the men marched in even lines, and the tents were set up straight and steady, and the armor gleamed as best it was able, but on the larger scale, this was all just a violent schoolyard game played by people who were desperate to win. Chess had a tendency to be boring, but it was safe; this was exciting, but in the worst possible ways. "...Yes, I know the game." She admits, watching for any sign of their incoming enemies from the treeline. How long would it take before the inevitable began? The waiting was awful. "Either make someone easy bait." She says. "Healers. Leave them undefended - or under the illusion of it, at least. If they're brought down, then it'll be easier to bring down the rest of it, and they don't prove much threat themselves. Or -- someone who's a powerful threat to them, and they know it. Separate them from the rest of the pack - again, or so they seem - and they'll want to take care of that problem as soon as they can." She'd had some amount of military training, enough to be able to keep up somewhat when conversations were happening around her, but almost none of it was meant to be practical use. There were other people for that who were far better at any of this than she could ever hope to be - Cyeria, for one. She didn't mind this lesson (far from it,) but it made her feel like a child again, sitting between her parents at a table that was too big for her, in a chair that dwarfed her, and scrawling doodles over scraps of spare parchment as the adults talked of serious things around her. It wasn't her place, but it was just as much her place as it wasn't. Perhaps it just wasn't her place yet. Did she want it to be?

 

[Aerynth]

"Yes, that's it," Cyreia smiled softly. It had been obvious from the very beginning that Remin had a good head on her shoulders, but the fact that she was able to think so quickly in a situation so wholly unfamiliar to her proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. Her ideas were somewhat unrefined, of course, though she had expected that. What truly mattered was the thought process that had led her to that conclusion, which was completely sound. "You can't make it too obvious, though. I mean, we very well may be dealing with idiots, but it is dangerous to assume that. I'm not saying every commander is a genius, though it is a title based on merit, and so those people generally know what they're doing. Do you know what I'd think if I saw an unprotected squad of healers? Right away, I'd consider it to be a trap. Protecting your healers is-- well, the number one rule, basically." Or at least in the Athean context. Eupriunians kept their healers safe, too, but since they didn't use magic, the services they provided weren't as strategically important. As a result, they also weren't targeted that often. "So if someone abandons that rule, either they're in real trouble, tragically incompetent or setting up a trap. It is also somewhat risky to use the healers as a bait because things can always go wrong and if they do, suddenly you don't have any healing available." Something like that had actually happened during the Eupriunian conquest of Athea, though Cyreia didn't feel like telling Remin that particular story to prove her point. Her wife may have gotten used to-- well, to her being Eupriunian and everything associated with it, but surely this would still be a sore spot for her. That wasn't likely to change.

"So," Cyreia tilted her head aside, "what you need to do is to minimize the risk to your own army while making the bait look real enough for the enemy to take it. Real enough and still irresistible. How do you do that?" Again, Cyreia could simply tell her what she had thought of, but that would have been a poor approach to teaching. Describing new ways of thinking would do exactly nothing for Remin; she had to try for herself. Still, perhaps she should give her a hint? It wasn't easy to free your mind of conventions and see the picture in its entirety when you hadn't been trained to do just that. "Remember what I said about the absence of rules? Utilize that. There really aren't any, and that's a good thing. Think of every tool you have at your disposal and abuse it. That's how battles are won."

 

[Conifer]

"The easiest thing to do would be to make it look like an accident." Remin says after a moment, puzzling her way through this complicated game. "But that's...predictable. And likely harder than it sounds, I'm sure. I suppose how you'd do it would depend entirely on what you think your enemy might expect of you. Some might expect a trap, and some might be too inexperienced or too prideful to expect that you've laid a trap. I...don't know how one might cater to those situations, though." She might be able to figure it out if she had to; if she knew the enemy better, if she had the time, if so many things, but here in this land of hypotheticals, Remin found herself at a loss. "I suppose," She says, glancing at Cyeria, teasing so lightly, but there's a seriousness to it too. "That the best thing to do would just simply be entirely better than your enemy. Or, at least, have more men. Then strategy doesn't matter. You just have to overpower and outlast them."

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia burst out in laughter. Oh, if only it was that easy! "Why hasn't that occurred to me before? How simple and yet so very effective. Just be better." How did Remin do it that she managed to make her laugh every single time, no matter the circumstances? It had to be some kind of magic, Cyreia was sure. "It's not entirely true, though," she said when she got a hold of herself. "Strategy is always important. There were battles in which three hundred men managed to beat three thousand men. Those cases are rare, granted, but it can be done if you take advantage of the terrain and such." Cyreia had studied them extensively back when she had been training in the army and it had taught her that one should never underestimate one's opponent. It had also taught her that very few situations were truly hopeless; as long as you didn't panic, there was always a way out. Well, maybe not always, but almost always.

"Anyway, what we are going to do," Cyreia said with a smile, "is that we're going to resort to trickery. You had the right idea when you said that we should make it look like an accident. And how do we do that? I had our scouts spy on the enemy army to figure out what kind of attacks they use. Among other things, they apparently also employ flashy elemental magic, kind of like what Vestat did. Fire and such. We'll wait for the right moment and then we'll make it look as if one unit - the one protecting the healers - was practically decimated by fire. Our illusionists will take care of that; they are waiting for my signal. Once they see that healers are ripe for the picking, I don't think they'll be able to resist. It may be predictable when we talk about it here, but in the heat of the moment? It'll be utterly chaotic, and also an opportunity to deal us a deadly blow. Oh, and our healers aren't actually healers. I had one of our elite units dress like them to avoid placing them directly in the line of fire," Cyreia beamed at her wife. "And before they have the chance to understand what's really happening, we'll... show to them that the gods are on our side." If Pextian kept their word at the very least. And if not-- well, even the comparatively poor illusion they'd manage to craft on their own should do. When combined with the mayhem on the battlefield, the impact it would leave on their minds would be much, much stronger. "What do you think? Any questions, any concerns?" While Cyreia was confident enough in her ability to invent a decent plan, she wanted to encourage Remin to give her feedback instead of just... blindly accepting her ideas as the best course of action. Thinking critically about these things was the first step on the journey to become a good leader.

 

[Conifer]

Remin loved this woman. She was long aware of that, but in moments like this it still hit her like a ton of bricks. She was in love with this remarkable woman, and she wished that she could tell her so much right now. Even reaching across the space between them to take her hand was impossible. Showing any amount of that love was impossible, with the way that the nobility hung behind them, watching and listening to them, far too nosy for their own goods. Speaking about strategy was safe enough, but anything beyond that...She couldn't. Not until later. Not until all of this was done - and then she would be sure to show Cyeria every ounce of that love that they hadn't been able to fully indulge in the past few days. "I..think that were I your enemy, I'd be doomed." She replies, again, teasing with so much seriousness behind it. And, gods, wasn't that exactly how it had gone? How much had Cyeria had a hand in Athea losing the war? The time to hold that against her had long passed, though; it didn't matter anymore. She had simply been doing her job as she'd had to, without knowing what future might await her, and now she was doing that again with just as much fervency for Athea. "I suppose all there is to do now is wait. Wait, and hope, and marvel at your strategic ability." The plan might even work if Pextian weren't to show up. Cyeria was clever, though - she wouldn't hinge her entire plan on a trickster god who delighted in chaos. Sure, that might be a low bar to know to not hinge an entire plan on, but Remin was still going to credit Cyeria's mind for covering for the likelihood that Pextian wouldn't arrive so well.