Fantasy All's Fair

[Aerynth]

Somehow, despite everything she had said, the discussion evolved into pleasantries. Of course, that was mostly thanks to Remin. Cyreia imagined that her wife probably wasn't all too happy with her idea of diplomacy, at least judging by the way she had changed the topic so quickly, but she knew men like Flyrne. Men like him were out for blood. If she hadn't put him in his place, he would have taken it as a sign of weakness. The Athean king couldn't be weak, especially not with the country in such turmoil. If Flyrne had to become her enemy in order for Cyreia to avoid the brand of a coward, she would pay that price. I suppose that I should watch my back now, though.

To be frank, Cyreia felt bored to death. Boredom was something she should have expected, really, because a king's life seemed to consist of endless interactions with people far too rich to have a sense of humor, but she had forgotten about this aspect of her duties. It had been easy to forget about that when she had been too busy panicking over... well, this entire situation. Now the reality of it hit her full force, though. I should probably be grateful. If boredom is my greatest problem as a king, it means that I'm very lucky. Cyreia, of course, listened to Remin and the councilors as they talked, but she didn't really have anything meaningful to say. Not when they were talking about relatives, events and places that she didn't know. I really should read every single book in the royal library when we return back to the castle because this, this is just embarrassing.

Because there wasn't much for her to do, Cyreia spent most of the time eating. Eating and drinking. She didn't really like wine much, but since there weren't any alternatives, it had to do. After about half an hour, her head started to feel... strange. Oh no, don't tell me that I'm drunk already. Cyreia had always been a bit of a lightweight, but feeling like this after two glasses? Really? Her tolerance for alcohol must have dropped even lower during all those years of abstinence. Then, all of a sudden, her eyes couldn't focus. She blinked a few times, even shook her head, but the problem persisted. No, scratch that, it actually got worse. With each passing second, the world around her got blurrier and blurrier. Her stomach, too, felt like it was going to reject her last meal, and rather violently at that. Cyreia stood up abruptly, her hand clutching her chair for support. "I, uh, I think I need some cold water. If you'll excuse me." The councilors would probably perceive this as undignified - and honestly, they would be right - but Cyreia figured that vomiting all over the table would have been even worse. She stumbled out of the dining hall, hoping that her sudden retreat didn't look too bad.

 

[Conifer]

The conversation stretched on - thankfully the council seemed content enough to allow them the mercy of not having the topic focused on their relationship for the most of the next short while. Remin took advantage of the situation to try to ease some of her nerves with a few more sips of wine. She wasn't much of one to turn to the cup, but it was an indulgence she allowed herself on occasion - and right now, that occasion was 'a difficult dinner with people who probably agree with the apparent idea that I'm a traitor'. A good enough occasion, she thought.


That was what she thought the issue was, until very suddenly, it wasn't. Just a bit too much too quickly, coupled with the tension of the situation. That made sense to her for long enough that whatever was wrong swept the fact that anything was wrong right out of her head. Distantly she was aware of Avther getting up and saying something. Water? Gods, her throat was parched. She reached for her glass again as he left the room, but her fingers were clumsy where they wrapped around the stem and it tips over, spilling the dark liquid over the nice linen. Her vision blurs as she watches it, and it seems to move in hyperspeed and slow motion all at once, seeping like blood into Avther's shirt sleeve the other day, seeping like -- seeping like-- gods, she can't keep steady in her chair, she realises as soon as she's out of it, sunk onto the floor. Wine drips onto her dress, and it's all she can see clearly.

 

[Aerynth]

Vomit was rising in her throat. With no time to lose, Cyreia turned to the closest flower pot, collapsed on her knees and threw up. Violent spasms seized her body and before it all ended, she was drenched in cold sweat. It did end eventually, though. Cyreia stood up, her legs still shaking. The taste of vomit lingered in her mouth and she felt weak, so weak that walking took a lot of effort, but at least her vision was stabilizing. Well, that was... certainly something. How did they even make wine in Athea? Cyreia had tasted cheap, headache-causing wine before, but this was supposed to be expensive stuff. A drink worthy of a king. Oh god, I will have to return there, won't I? At this point, all she wanted was to head to her room and sleep, sleep, sleep for three days straight, but a king had no such privilege. A king had to go back and face the consequences of his actions. Cyreia sighed. God, this was going to be so embarrassing.

All thoughts of having caused a scandal, however, evaporated the second she entered the dining hall. Somehow, chaos had engulfed the room in her absence. Servants were running around frantically, the councilors were talking to each other in hushed voices and Tamrel was trying to pick up Remin from the ground-- Remin. Her Remin, pale as a corpse, motionless. And suddenly, it all made sense. Poison.

"Nobody leaves this room," Cyreia said, cold anger in her voice. It was a perfectly controlled anger, the kind of anger that burned so deep that it didn't reach the surface, and that made it all the more terrifying. "As for those who try to leave," she spoke to the panicking bodyguards, "slay them." If the councilors didn't want to do this the civilized way, Cyreia saw no reason for it, either. Oh, she would show them the Eupriunian approach. They would reap the fruits of betrayal. Not before tending to Remin, though. Hurriedly, she helped Tamrel pick her up. Her arms ached in protest, still weak from her own experience with the poison, but she paid it no mind.

"Avther, you too must have--"

"I threw up. I'm fine."

"Let's get her to her room, then," Tamrel nodded. He, too, was deathly pale. "Sarah knows her way around antidotes." The two of them grabbed Remin and carried her all they way to her chambers. Everything after that happened very fast. Sarah opened Remin's eyes, presumably to look at her pupils, and then she proceeded to put her hands on her throat. That was apparently enough for her to recognize the poison; she ran off somewhere only to return a few seconds later with two black vials.

"Will she be alright?" Cyreia asked as Sarah forced Remin's mouth open and made her swallow the substance.

"Maybe. Yes. Hopefully. It's a very fast acting poison, but she got the antidote quickly, so not all is lost. Drink it, too. By gods, I'm surprised that you're still standing."

"I threw up," Cyreia repeated, "I don't think that it's necessa-"

"Drink it now! Do you want to die so much?" That was a fairly convincing argument, so she took the second vial and emptied it in one gulp. It tasted flowery and bitter at the same time. Cyreia wiped her mouth, trying her best to mask her disgust.

"When will she wake up?" When, not if. The idea of Remin not waking up... no, she didn't even want to think about it. She just will. She has to.

"I... don't know," Sarah admitted. "It may happen in five minutes or in five hours." Or maybe never. Those words remained unsaid, but the possibility hung in the air nevertheless, all of them painfully aware of its existence.

"I will wait for her awakening, then," Cyreia decided. She grabbed a chair, placed it next to Remin's bed and sat down. "Thank you, Sarah and Tamrel. I... just, thank you." The two nodded and left the room, leaving her alone with the unconscious Remin and her own thoughts. Cyreia stared at her pale face, trying to process what had just transpired. It all felt so surreal. In one moment, she had been laughing and joking with her, so full of life, and then she was suddenly dying. No, not dying. She will be fine. Except that Cyreia had seen death from up-close - a lot of deaths, in fact - and this looked very similar. Too similar for her not to make the connection. She caressed her hair, gently and clumsily, as if that could save her. Remin, please. Please don't. Death had already claimed so many of those that she had held dear. Cyreia couldn't handle it happening again at this point.

 

[Conifer]

Remin's distantly aware of the world erupting into chaos around her through thick layers of fog that make everything muddled and distant. She hasn't attended the theater in a long time, it's vaguely how she remembers it, all distant action she can't touch, that doesn't impact her, not really. She struggles to wade through the heaviness that presses down on her, but the best she can do is take in shallow breaths that spread fire through her mouth, her throat, her lungs, and Gods, it hurts. She wants to drown - any alternative would be better than this and it might do some to soothe the pain in her chest - but her drifting isn't the liquid sort. She wants her mother. She wants Avther. She wants the world to stop being so bright and loud. She doesn't want to take another breath. What are they arguing about, anyways?


And then it's all blurry in a different way. There's a pressure against her head, and she can't move her limbs, and her mouth tastes bitter in the worst sense. It stretches into the places the fire had been, but now, the shaking breaths she manages to pull in do some good to rid her body of the pain - for a moment, at least, before she feels her mouth fill suddenly with bile. Instinct makes her turn, her movement sharp and shuttering, and the vomit that spills from her mouth ends up thankfully on the cool tile floor and not on herself or the bed she finds herself laying on. She hasn't been on a bed before, had she? The bitterness is replaced with a different sort, but the pain doesn't accompany her next breath quite so badly as she draws it in like a man starved.


A few breaths down and she allows herself to collapse back onto her back again. Her limbs still feel heavy, but her vision's clearing, and -- oh. Avther. Tears well up in her eyes (for so many reasons she doesn't, at the moment, understand) as he comes into blurry view above her and she wonders for a moment if he's some sort of celestial creature, too bright and beautiful in this moment for her to entirely comprehend. But she doesn't need to comprehend him - he's here at her side and that's all she can ask for. Why is he here, though, watching her? she wants to ask, but her mouth moves uselessly, her body refusing her requests for it to move. She tries to reach for him instead, but the best she gets is a twitch of her hand at first. A few more tries proves more successful as the heaviness starts to fade, and she reaches clumsily for him, fingers clattering softly against his face.

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia was sitting in silence, her eyes never leaving Remin's face. How long had she been waiting now? Minutes? Hours? Time had slowed down to a crawl, so it was difficult to tell. It didn't matter, anyway. She would sit here for as long as necessary. The councilors could wait. The entire world could wait, for that matter. Remin's chest was rising and falling in a steady rhythm, which gave her some hope. As long as she was breathing, Cyreia could pretend that Remin was just asleep. She could, technically, but she wasn't trying to. Closing one's eyes to hide from reality never worked. Reality didn't particularly care about her opinion of it; it just did its own thing and she had to adapt. It's my fault, Cyreia thought. I should have predicted the possibility, should have done something to prevent it. Deep inside, she knew that it wasn't as simple - that these things simply happened to powerful people, as terrible as it sounded - but having someone to blame was easier.

And then-- oh. Remin, Remin was waking up and touching her face. She tried to smile in response, but tears welled up in her eyes instead. Tears? Cyreia could swear that she had forgotten how to cry a long time ago, but here she was, tears streaming down her face. Normally, she would have tried to hide them, but the relief was too all-consuming. Pride, reputation, displays of weakness; none of that mattered in that moment. "Oh thank god, you are... you are alright," Cyreia stuttered and clasped Remin's hand tightly. She couldn't find the right words to say, words that would express even a fraction of her feelings, so she defaulted to pragmatism. To things that needed to be done. "You must be thirsty. Let me get you some water."

Sarah had left a jug on the table, so she poured her a glass of water. Cyreia then helped her sit up and handed her the glass, supporting her the entire time. "Here you are. Careful, don't... don't drink too fast. You've just been poisoned, so, uh, you shouldn't... shouldn't push yourself."

 

[Conifer]

Poisoned? Oh. Oh, that...explained a good amount. She leans heavily against Avther as he helps her sit, whole body stiff and aching with the effects of the poison, and despite his warning, drinks too quickly. It spills down her front, but honestly, that's one of the last things she even cares about right now - what matters more is the sturdiness of Avther against her and the coolness of water making its way down her throat, finally ridding her of the burning, and returning some semblance of function to what felt like her entire body. She still leaned against him as she finishes drinking, unwilling to go far and too shameless at the moment to care for her silly wants.


'What--" she tries to speak, quietly and voice strained with the effort. "Is everyone else okay?" That was the important part. She was alive, Avther was alive, but the council? Had this been an attack on all of them? The stress of the moment lessened the dread that came with the idea of that sort of loss. She didn't love the council, that was true enough, but they ran the city effectively, and she'd known most of them since she was a child. A loss there would be horrible, never mind the work and paperwork that would have to be done to find a replacement before the city devolved into chaos at the news and the sudden lack of complete rulership. And that was if even only one was affected by the attack - if multiple were? If all?

 

[Aerynth]

Was it too wrong of her that despite everything, some part of Cyreia still enjoyed the physical proximity? Remin smelled nice and she was soft and-- What is wrong with me? She had almost died. Using that moment of vulnerability to derive some sort of sick pleasure from it was low; that wasn't who she was. Oh god, that was exactly who she was now, wasn't she? Cyreia had expected to discover some new aspects to her personality on her journey to kingship, but certainly not that. Something had to be done about it, clearly, but... not now. She, too, was only human. All too human, apparently.

"Yes," she sighed, "everyone else is okay." Cyreia caressed Remin's hair absent-mindedly, enjoying the silky feeling between her fingers. "I was poisoned as well, but... I wasn't as affected for some reason. Maybe badly calculated dosage, I don't know. It hardly matters anyway. We have more pressing issues to deal with at the moment." She hated burdening Remin with such unpleasant matters in her current state, but her wife was a queen. A ruler in her own right. Had Cyreia been in her place, she would have wanted to know the truth, too. "I'm fairly sure that the council was behind that attack. They didn't seem to approve of... well, of our union, and we were the only ones targeted. Logically, it must have been them. The only other people who had the opportunity to tamper with our food were Sarah and Tamrel and... yeah, I don't believe that." Cyreia realized that she had dropped her pathetic attempts to speak in a refined manner in front of Remin somewhere along the line, but she didn't care. They were familiar enough now, as Remin had said earlier.

"I still don't know what to do about them," she admitted. "I should have them executed. That would only be fair; an eye for an eye." The Eupriunian way. It seemed so tempting, except that now when she could think clearly, Cyreia only saw disadvantages to that approach. "But, what would people think of that? I can't just execute the entire council of Caldora within three days of being crowned. That would be insane. The locals would turn them into martyrs. They still have to be punished somehow, though." Why did everything have to be so difficult?

 

[Conifer]

That news sapped any strength Remin found herself left with, and she tucked her head against Avther's shoulder. Sue her if she wanted comfort - she's nearly died and now it was being theorized that the council had just tried to kill them both. She should have expected this, especially after the incident in the park earlier. They shouldn't have even gone on this trip this early, not before they could get a general census of the sort of opinions they were going to be subjected to, and thus the sort of dangers. Though, logically, she's aware that any surveys into that sort of thing likely wouldn't have even found this. The council knew what they were doing. Not well enough to not be caught, but...well enough that they wouldn't have even been suspected. She took an unsteady breath. In, out.


"...killing them's definitely not the solution." She sighs softly, shaking her head where it lay against him. "I don't even know that anyone knowing about this is the solution, not when the opinion of us might...be less than ideal." She took a moment, running through the options. "We'll send word to the advisors. They can handle this. What's most likely to happen is that they council will be 'politely' asked to step down, and we can elect new people in their place."

 

[Aerynth]

"Yes," Cyreia sighed, "yes, you are right. That sounds reasonable." It also sounded completely outrageous. Letting them live after what they had just attempted? What an insult. What made them more deserving of mercy than those bandits she had slain the other day? Their inability to succeed at killing their targets? That didn't matter. The intent had still been there; hell, Remin had only survived thanks to sheer luck. No, what protected them was their status, their importance in this city, and Cyreia resented it.

"You know, Remin, I think I liked being a soldier more," she smiled sadly. "It wasn't... great, most of the time, but it was a lot more honest than this. Yes, you risked your life, but you knew who your enemies were, knew what to expect. You knew who was trying to kill you, with the added benefit of them using a sword. A sword is kind; you can always dodge a sword and if not, well, you are at fault, you should have been more careful. Poison, though? You can't dodge that." Would Remin understand her position? If not, it wouldn't be that strange. Cyreia was rambling at this point, but her feelings regarding the matter were complicated. It also didn't help that she had never really explored them, at least not with another person, and so the right words didn't come easily to her. In her mind, it made perfect sense. How to phrase it, though?

"What I'm trying to say, I suppose, is that as a soldier, you are in control. There are limits to it, of course, but nothing is ever absolute. Here, however, I feel as though my hands have been tied." Cyreia embraced Remin tightly, almost as if she was trying to regain some of that control she had just spoken about. "If nothing else, I wanted to be - still want to be - just. But how can you be just when the same crime can't be met with the same punishment?" Back in Eupriunia, Cyreia had often wondered why the law only seemed to apply to poor folk at times. Was she destined to uphold this tradition?

 

[Conifer]

“Because,” she replies softly. “Sometimes being just causes more trouble than it’s worth. People could see that the bandits were harming society. No one was going to riot for the sake of their lives after you dealt with them. Here...these are the people who have been doing a decent job of running this city for the past twenty-odd years. One or two new faces, but...all in all, the people trust them. The people like them. Some people wouldn’t even believe that they’d made attempts on our lives if we told them, they’d see it all as an attempt on your part to take over even more power.”

She finally gently pulls away, sitting up in the bed and properly looking at Avther. Her body aches and she wants to sink back into his arms in a way she’s not dealing with analyzing right now. He had proven himself to be safety- that’s all it was. She wanted safety. But- “Whatever you decide to do, I can’t stop you.” That had been part of the deal, upon Athea’s surrender, and upon their marriage. She would marry who the Eupriunian king decided she would, and she would somewhat abdicate her power to them. She could provide guidance, but...on issues like this, her decisions were useless on threat of re-ignited war if Eupriunia found out they’d disagreed and she’d moved forward with her ideas instead of Avther’s. “Have them executed if you find that being just outweighs the cost. We can manage it. But we’re already not well-loved, with obvious proof."

 

[Aerynth]

"I know," she said quietly, her voice barely louder than whisper. "I know. I just don't like it, that's all." Remin was obviously right. Cyreia could see the possible consequences of her actions in vivid colors. An Eupriunian usurper executing the faithful councilors of Caldora who had served the country for so many years upon their first meeting? There was no way they wouldn't consider her a tyrant. Investigation and fair trial likely wouldn't help. Atheans would revile her more than they already did, and what was a king surrounded by enemies in his own country? A dead man walking. So far, Athea was turning out to be like a rose; beautiful, but not without its thorns. Could she risk endangering them even further just for the sake of her ideals? The memory of Remin, deathly pale and helpless, flashed through her mind. No. No, she couldn't. "I was just complaining, really. I won't have them executed even if that would be the right thing to do."

Cyreia looked on the floor, obviously displeased with the entire situation. Oh come on, what am I doing? Remin almost died and I'm dragging her into some stupid fight about ideology. This isn't the time for that sort of thing. It really wasn't. No, Cyreia had to lighten the mood. "Three days and I'm losing my morals already. I know they say that power corrupts, but I would never have suspected for it to happen so fast," she said, a hint of old humor in her tone. "I'm not giving up on my principles, just so you know. I've merely... readjusted my priorities. I will win the hearts of the Athean people first. That way, they will be more inclined to accept my decisions later down the line." Some changes, it seemed, had to be gradual. That was fine. As long as she had a vision, something to strive for, Cyreia would pursue it.

"Remin, I... I'm really glad that you survived. I don't know what I'd do without you," she admitted in a sudden fit of honesty, a gentle smile on her lips. "Is there something I can do to try and salvage what surely has to be the worst honeymoon in the world history? Anything you want right now?"

 

[Conifer]

Remin sinks back against Avther as he states his intentions for the council. He hadn't seemed to mind the first time she'd leaned like this against him, and so she hoped that he'd welcome it a second time. Near-death had left her wanting for the reassurance that there was someone who had no intention to take her life (at least- she hoped. It would be all to easy to kill her now, if somehow he'd been involved. He'd played the part of concerned king, and now they were alone. No one would question too much if she died now - whatever had brought her back from the brink just didn't work, so sad, so tragic,) at her side. Despite everything, she trusted him. Her death would look suspicious on him, and as they'd just agreed, now wasn't the time for controversy. Gods, she was a traitor, wasn't she? Putting the needs of the interloper over the good of the city that now had attempted murderers at its head. And his confessions of his gladness that she was alive...she wasn't much for determining liars, but it seemed genuine enough, in this quiet moment.


She shakes her head softly, before settling it against Avther's shoulder again. "We should get up. Handle this…" she waves a hand vaguely. "Mess." She's tired, and she aches, and the thought of facing the men she thought she could trust who just tried to murder them both fills her with utter dread. "I'm not sure our honeymoon gets to be much of a honeymoon, at least for the next few days."

 

[Aerynth]

"No, I suppose not," Cyreia nodded. "And yes, we shouldn't keep them waiting for too long. You don't have to go with me, though. I can handle them on my own. It's not like I can possibly make this situation even worse with some diplomatic blunder, can I?" Certainly not after ordering their bodyguards to slay them if they tried to leave within their earshot. Remin didn't need to know that, though. Cyreia didn't want to stress her out more than necessary, even if she thought that her treatment of the councilors had been completely justified. They had tried to murder them, after all. "Just rest and try to regain some strength. I'll tell everyone that you're fine."

She ended up doing just that. When confronted with the news, Sarah shrieked and practically ran to Remin's room; nobody dared to stop her. Cyreia supposed that anyone foolish enough to try would have been fed to the dogs, and quite deservedly so. It was obvious that the woman had been beside herself with worry. The councilors, on the other hand, looked mostly shocked. Were they shocked because both of them had survived, because of the treatment they had received from the bodyguards or had it finally dawned on them that they had tried to do something heinous? She didn't know and didn't care. Their shock only increased when Cyreia simply opened the door and gestured at them to leave. "What are you looking at? Go, just go. And I certainly hope that you shall sing praises of Remin after what you've tried to do," she told them in a low voice, "because if it were up to me, I would put you down like rabid animals." Not entirely true, but Cyreia figured that Remin would be safer if they saw her as someone who could control her anger. A maiden who had tamed the beast. That was another reason she had wanted to speak to them alone. Cyreia had a creeping suspicion that her wife wouldn't approve of this approach, but really, it made sense. If there absolutely had to be attacks, she should be the primary target. Unlike Remin, Cyreia knew how to defend herself. She was also ready to die, even if she didn't actively desire it. A soldier had to be ready to die. Yes, that was the only reason. Her inability to deal with the idea of Remin dying had nothing to do with it.

The next day was dedicated to Remin's recovery. Sarah didn't want to hear anything about her getting up from her bed any time soon and Remin had to obey, queen or not. The woman actually attempted to confine Cyreia to her room, too, but she protested so adamantly that Sarah let it go in the end. "I've never seen anyone recover from this type of poison so fast," she told Remin at one point. "Your husband is a beast." Cyreia spent a lot of that time with Remin, but being her usual restless self, she didn't manage to stay in one room for the entire day. At some point, she went to explore Caldora on her own, enjoying the fresh air and anonymity of leaving the bodyguards behind ("Guard my queen," she had said, "Caldorans don't really know what I look like anyway, so I'm in no real danger.") The walk in the crowded streets of Caldora allowed her to think, and there was much to think about. Remin, for example. Or, more accurately, the feelings associated with her. They had appeared out of nowhere and confused Cyreia endlessly, but she was sure about one thing; they were unwelcome. Not just because of her secret, but also because being close - or being perceived as such - endangered Remin. The reaction of the councillors had told her all she needed to know about that. I have to distance myself, Cyreia decided. Cruelty, of course, was out of question; she still wanted to be friends with her wife, to rely on her and help her in return, but... it couldn't go further than that. No matter how much she wanted it to.

The day after that, Remin recovered enough for Sarah to allow her to join them at the table for breakfast. "Good morning, Remin," Cyreia smiled at her wife. "How do you feel today? You know, yesterday, I heard something about a festival being held at the local temple. I think it was called... Yram, or something like that. Either way, it sounded important. What is being celebrated?" Maybe we should go; that was the unspoken implication. Cyreia wanted Remin to decide that, though, so she didn't just ask outright.

 

[Conifer]

The next day was boring, but blessedly so. Remin spent most of it in bed, constrained there by a Sarah who was very enthusiastic about her healing - she was fine, especially the next morning - her body barely ached more than it did when she turned to magic just outside her ability. It was uncomfortable, yes, but not unmanageable. A headache persisted through most of the day, but it also wasn’t terrible. But Sarah made good company, and Tamrel visited on and off as well. There were only a few moments of loneliness between them and Avther. (Avther who she decidedly didn’t allow herself the closeness she had the day before. It was a dangerous moment of weakness, honestly, and she wouldn’t allow herself that again any time soon. Unless there was another attempt on her life, in which case she made no promises.) Still, she wanted to be up and doing things. Wandering the city more with Avther, or at least tending to something. Gods knew that there was going to be enough mess to deal with soon. She did, at least, draft a letter to the advisors, letting them know the issues, and the decided response to it. Remin figured that Avther would want to have a hand in appointing new members to the council, if at keast to learn how the process worked, so she simply told them to find some names they would suggest, and they’d handle the more formal parts of the designation when they returned from the trip.


The next morning, Sarah released her from her gilded cage with the promise that Remin would take it easy. The lightheadedness that swept through her as she descended the stairs to breakfast made breaking that promise downright impossible if she wanted to stay upright today, so it was an easy trade. “Good morning,” She greets, finding her seat and sinking into it, catching her breath for a moment as Avther continued to speak. “Oh, I’d nearly forgotten that was this time of year.” Remin smiles softly. “It’s a celebration dedicated to the goddess Temera’s lover, Nuhena, who...well. It’s a very long story. But Nuhena saved Temera, and so we celebrate her bravery and strength.” She explains, though the explanation is light. “We could attend, if you wanted to see what it’s like? There’s lots of music and art - dancing, paintings, food. She was a highly creative person - it’s theorized that she made a few of the sculptures in the city. None that we saw yesterday, though.”

 

[Aerynth]

"Oh. So it is a religious celebration, then." Cyreia wasn't particularly religious herself, even though she had paid tributes to the nameless Eupriunian god back in her time. It was simply something everyone did, so she hadn't thought about it too hard. Her mind had been too occupied with non-spiritual matters for her to truly care. Atheans, however, at least from what she had heard, worshiped a wide array of different gods and goddesses. It seemed a bit excessive, to be honest. Why did they even need so many deities, anyway? Still, Cyreia wasn't one to reject new things and questioning Athean religious practices would have been dangerously stupid. It would also have been entirely unnecessary. So what if she wasn't a believer? It wouldn't hurt her to pretend to be one.

"That does sound interesting. I'd like to go. Now that I think about it, I don't know much about your religious customs, so this could be a good opportunity for me to learn." It could also be a good opportunity for Atheans to learn something about their new king; namely the fact that he wasn't going to impose the Eupriunian culture on them. All solid reasons to go, really. And the chance to have some fun with Remin? That hadn't influenced her decision at all. Alright, maybe a little, but her duties, of course, took precedence over her childish whims. At least most of the time.

"Are you ready to go or do you need some time for preparations?" Cyreia gave Remin as much time as she needed. Eventually, they left the mansion, the guards once again following their every step. It all looked very similar to the events from day before yesterday, really, and yet, there was a stark difference between the two situations. Unlike back then, Cyreia never touched Remin. She walked by her side, smiling warmly the entire time, but her hand never reached for hers. It felt strange not to do that, especially after they had been so close, but it was the right thing to do. It has to be.

Cyreia cleared her throat. "So, Temera and Nuhena. It seems like it's quite a story. What happened between them? And is there anything I should know before we get there? Things that are forbidden to do during the festival, for example? I don't particularly wish to cause a scandal." They really didn't need one now. Well, that, and Cyreia also wanted to ease the pain of that newfound distance between them somehow. Talking would surely help.

 

[Conifer]

It takes her an unfortunate amount of time to ready herself, but thankfully, Sarah slips into the room to help, and it moves the process along a bit faster (even if she does get some good-natured chiding and warnings to take it easy, and not a second to get a word in edgewise.) She’s joining Avther by the door a short while later, the guards falling into step beside them as they leave the manor.

“It’s a fairly easy holiday,” Remin assures him. “There’s not too much to avoid, nor much expected of you. We’ll purchase some art, of course - so if you see anything you’d like at the castle, let me know, and we’ll purchase it - but besides that. it’s...Fun. It’s really just fun. There’ll be some more subdued, religious services evening, but...while I may attend, you don’t have to.”

She launches into an explanation as they walk - equally not reaching for him. That whole mess when they’d first sat down, and the council had commented on their closeness, had only reinforced the need for caution.
“Temera had been cast down to Caldora when this story starts,” she explains - she realised that Avther probably didn’t know much at all about their religion, and even starting there would be a bit confusing, but...starting at the beginning would be hours worth of explaining that would test his care for the topic. “Nuhena followed Temera closely, as Temera’s domains lean towards the tangible arts. Sculpture, pottery, carpentry, that sort of thing, and that’s what Nuhena worked in. Sculpture, for the most part, but she painted them so beautifully,” this was getting off topic already, gods. “Ah, but. She didn’t recognise her at first, when they met in the flesh. Gods don’t really look how they look when they’re mortal. But the two were drawn to each other. Nuhena because she already loved the goddess, and Temera because - well, fate, I guess. But eventually Temera fell sick, and was forced to admit her nature to Nuhena. Gods can’t exist separated from their power for terribly long, and it had already been too long. She’d expected that to be a goodbye. And it was - because that evening, Nuhena packed her things, sold her supplies for passage on a ship, and vanished. The story goes a little different depending on who’s telling it from there, but she eventually ended up in the deepest depths of the sea, where the rest of the gods live. Kind of.” Godly residence was an entire other story for some other entire other day. “It was guarded by terrible creatures - ten leviathans of the likes no one has ever seen. And yet she made it past them - some of them she tricked, some of them she charmed, some of them she killed. The gods were so impressed that they allowed her an audience with them, where she offered up everything she had to allow Temera to return to them, and be cured of the sickness. They took her up on her offer, but Varissa - goddess of lasting love - took pity on them. A human lifespan is nothing to a god, and so they offered to wait. Temera and Nuhena spent the rest of Nuhena’s natural life together, and when it was time for her to pass, they both returned to the bottom of the ocean. There, Nuhena was turned into one of the leviathans she vanquished, where she still guards her love.”

“It’s...a fantastical story in places,” she admits, guessing that some of those aspects are what Avther will protest first, remembering how he’d reacted to her explanation of fate. “But that’s what happens when you give artists control over a story for a few hundred years. Suddenly people are breathing underwater unaided through the power of love and determination.”

 

[Aerynth]

"Oh, but I'd like to," Cyreia protested. Sure, praying wasn't her idea of fun to put it mildly, but a king had no right to let that guide his decisions. Atheans believed in gods; apparently, they were an important part of everyday life. What kind of message would she send by not coming? That their king simply didn't care? That he was a foreign barbarian who disrespected their traditions? No, Cyreia would come even if she had to fight back tears of boredom the entire time.

She was silent as Remin spoke, clearly paying attention to every single word. With her mind focused on the story, it was... easier for her to ignore the feeling of emptiness growing slowly somewhere inside of her. Had day before yesterday been just a dream? Cyreia could swear that they had been close at some point, that there had been something that she hadn't really experienced before, but now they were strangers again. It didn't make sense to be sad about it. It really didn't, especially since they had no other options. That knowledge, however, did very little to soothe her heart.

"Well," Cyreia smiled, "perhaps it was meant to be symbolic." Weren't myths always laced with symbolism? "Maybe the storyteller used it as a metaphor to represent the depth of Nuhena's devotion or the lengths she was willing to go to for the sake of her love." It sounded obviously made-up, almost fairytale-like in its structure, but she could appreciate a good story. Arguing about it would have been stupid; it was just a legend, after all. Nothing less, nothing more. "Tell me, does Temera still love her Nuhena even in her new, monstrous form?"

As they walked, the temple emerged in their line of sight. It shone brightly, just like the rest of Caldora, and towered over all the other buildings. Various stalls had been set up around the temple; stalls that sold food and items of artistic value, but also more mysterious stalls that didn't seem to be selling anything in particular. Cyreia supposed that people in charge of them provided some services, but what kind of services? That was impossible to tell, at least for an outsider like her. The whole place was bustling with activity and she found herself feeling a bit overwhelmed. Thankfully, people didn't scrutinize them too much. Their presence didn't go unnoticed, certainly not with the guards watching them faithfully, but everyone seemed to be too busy enjoying the festival to keep their eyes on the royal couple for too long.

"I don't know what to do first," Cyreia admitted.

"Well, why not try having your future read, then?" An old man from one of the stalls asked. He was bald and looked completely ordinary; like someone's grandfather. That, however, also meant that he seemed familiar and trustworthy. "I'd be honored to do so, your highnesses."

 

[Conifer]

It’s been a long while since Remin had really found time to attend a festival in the capital. Other places celebrated as well, of course, but nothing was quite as large as what happened here. It was as comforting as it was overwhelming - someone recognising them was nearly inevitable, and she wasn’t sure she could handle that today. She would, of course, she had to - but she wasn’t looking forward to it at all. More children accusing her of being a traitor when she most assuredly was - well. Not a great start to her rule.

But that was a problem for when it happened. No one seemed to be paying much attention to them for the time being, and she could only hope that would continue for a short while at least. Remin looked around, admiring all the colorful stalls, filled with wood carvings and trinkets, fortune tellers and food. The air was heavy with the smells of spices.
“Of course she does,” Remin agrees as they head towards the temple. “She loves her regardless.”

“Oh,” Remin glanced at the fortune teller, before looking to Avther. “I’m not sure…” She trails off, allowing Avther to decide. She’d had her fortune told countless times over the years, and it’d be a first for him. Attending the festival was one thing, but this was entirely another.

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia frowned. She still wasn't comfortable with any of this, really. With fate, fortune-telling and magic in general. Even though she would never admit it aloud, it scared her on some level. What if the use of magic truly caused some kind of mental rot? Logically, Cyreia knew that it couldn't be true. Atheans had been using magic for hundreds of years; surely they would have noticed any grave side effects by now. Besides, Remin had cleaned her wound with magic the other day and... well, nothing had changed about her. She was still the same person, at least as far as she could tell, except that her arm was recovering faster now. What am I, some kind of coward?

"Why not?" Cyreia finally asked. And, really, why not? Trying to avoid magic in Athea of all places would have been foolish. She had to face her fears at some point and now was as good a time as any. "I did want to get familiar with the country, after all. And since magic seems to be the lifeblood of Athea, I've come to the right place, don't you think?" It almost sounded like she was trying to convince herself instead of making a case for it, but if the fortune-teller noticed, he didn't say anything.

"Yes, you certainly have, your highness. Now, give me your hand."

"Which one?"

"Your dominant hand, your highness."

After a moment of hesitation, she extended her left hand. The man grasped it gently, almost carefully, and traced the lines in her palm with his index finger. He did so methodically, without care for the outside world. And Cyreia? She found herself waiting with bated breath.

"I see that you are not what you seem to be, your highness, but that is quite alright," he began and Cyreia flinched visibly, almost as if she'd just been bitten by a snake. Not what I seem to be? Does he know? But how? Her head was spinning, her pulse racing. "What do you mean by that?" she asked quietly despite dreading the answer. "I do not see far enough to know the details," the fortune-teller shook his head. "I do know, though, that you are where you are supposed to be. Waver not. You shall be whole again in due time." He let go of her after what must have been an eternity; by that time, Cyreia felt feverish. Feverish and entirely disconnected from what was happening around her.

"I... well. Thank you. That was... interesting," she smiled weakly, suddenly looking terribly lost.

 

[Conifer]

The tricky nature of fortune telling was how something that meant nothing to someone could shift someone else’s entire world ninety degrees. Rarely had Remin witnessed this firsthand - most her experiences with divination existed alone, behind closed doors, perhaps with one of her parents there. She hadn’t seen it done on another person in her memory, and she hadn’t seen it leave someone looking so...drifting. She’d barely even ever felt that herself in her own experiences with it. She’d read about all of this, of course, in silly romance novels where the protagonists realised they were fated for each other the whole time, or when the detective in some crime story learned that the criminal was someone near to them the whole time. But it was different to see it. In books, you were privy to the character’s thoughts, and you knew the whole context, even if they didn’t yet. But here and now...All she was capable of was watching the emotions flash across Avther’s face and wondering what it was that all those words that seemed to mean nothing meant.

She wants to reach for him. She wants to give him solid ground - she wants to give him safe harbor. There’s too many eyes, though, and so she doesn’t dare. She cannot touch the enemies skin in the way she had before, not in public, and for the safety of it, not in private. It was easy to get lost in the idea of the rings around their fingers, and the worry, and the need to feel safe, but that was over. The rings were more chains than promises of affection, and the worry and lack of safety was over.

“My king,” she says, falling back into old language, but then, softer, impulse replacing reason. “Avther.”

The fortune teller beacons her over, though, and she’s not one to refuse. Remin reaches out her right hand, arm outstretched and quickly taken in by the dry, wrinkled touch of the man. “Ah,” He hums softly, dragging a finger across the lines on her palm. “You know your future. It wasn’t wrong the day you wrote it, and it hasn’t been wrong any day sense. Patience and understanding will serve you well in its pursuit, and will do you just as much good after.”

Remin swallows, glancing up and away from the man. That was the other tricky thing about fortune telling. Sometimes its vagueties left little to work with. That could mean anything, truly. Most of her fortunes had been written down somewhere, and tucked away into some book or journal. She didn’t mind too terribly, though - in the crowd of Yram was not the place to learn of a horrible fate. She’d take mundanity any day.

“Thank you.” She pulls coins from her bag, handing over the fee for herself and for Avther.

“And thank you, your highnesses. Come back by if you want to know more - and they always do, even if they pretend not to.”

There’s no comment made to that, as Remin sweeps them away back into the throng of people and off into some tucked-away corner near a stall (selling wood recreations of the various statues in the town). “How are you, my king?” She asks, quietly, wanting to give him the space to recover should he still need it. “Was your first taste of divination too much?”

 

[Aerynth]

It took some effort to just stand there and breathe in that moment. Remin said something, probably something addressed to her judging by the intonation, but it didn't reach her. Cyreia heard the fortune-teller's words instead; his accusation of her being a fraud that had, strangely enough, come along with the assurance that she was right where she was meant to be. It certainly didn't feel that way. It had never felt that way, not even back in Eupriunia. Not fully. Not when everything Cyreia had ever had had been hers through lies and deceit. The Athean throne, too, had only become hers through coercion. How could healthy fruit ever sprout from such rotten roots? How could this be right? How could she ever be whole? And, besides, Cyreia didn't even want to be here. Now more than ever, she wished to go home, back to the life she had built there; life just as dishonest as this one, granted, but at least full of familiarity.

What she wanted didn't matter, though. Cyreia didn't matter. Avther mattered and, along with him, his duties. The people of Athea were stuck with her, as unfortunate as it was for all of them, and she would not fail them.They are the victims here, not me. Feeling sorry for myself because of something I decided to do in the first place? How pathetic. Some king I am. In order to truly serve her people, Cyreia had to steel herself. Steel herself and rise above her petty concerns.

"I'm fine," she replied to Remin automatically, but that particular lie didn't sound convincing even to her own ears. "I will be fine." There, better. That almost sounded true. Cyreia found herself craving the same kind of solace Remin had enjoyed in her arms earlier, but she didn't dare to cross that boundary; not just because they were in public, but also because she didn't know how. Seeking consolation from other people was an alien concept to her. Providing it? That she was fine with, from time to time. Receiving it, though? How did one even ask for a thing like that? No, Cyreia would deal with her pain like she always had. Alone. "Sorry for... all of this, really," she waved her hand and smiled. There wasn't a lick of honesty in that smile, but at least she tried. That had to count for something, right? "I didn't want to spoil the mood." There was still an air of melancholy to her, but at least she didn't look so broken anymore. "Thank you for your concern, Re-- my queen," Cyreia corrected herself swiftly. Yes, her queen. That was all she was and all she ever would be. "Let... let us do something different. What would you prefer? Since my ideas apparently aren't that good, I feel that I should let you decide."

In truth, Cyreia didn't want to do anything. She wanted to go back to the mansion and sleep the day away. Such behavior, however, would have been unacceptable for a king. It would have been unfair towards Remin, too; she had seemed to be fed up with staying indoors after her near death experience. Just like so many times before, Cyreia would grit her teeth and play her role. It was for the best.

 

[Conifer]

She looks him over, wanting to reach out to him. He looks better, given a few moments of space, but there’s still something...off. She doesn’t know what to do, and she should. She’s his wife, and a queen - but a wife who didn’t ask for it, and a queen who’s already failing her people.
She takes a steadying breath, nodding. It wasn’t her responsibility to be what he needed, especially if he didn’t tell her what he needed.
“Well,” she says. She can, at least, be a little considerate. “There’s a small gallery. We can go look at the paintings.” That’s bound to be a bit quieter than these busy streets.

And it is, thankfully - the shaded pathways lined with various paintings was cluttered with a handful of people, but they were talking quietly if they were talking at all. There were a few people who glanced at them as they entered the hall, and a few hushed whispers, but no one seemed to want to approach them. It was a good enough space to hide away until she was a little more confident that Avther was alright, or until he was a little more specific than ‘I will be fine’.

“Here,” She murmurs, guiding him over to a large painting hung on their right. It was all abstract shapes that two days ago she would have joked with him about. Now she finds herself faltering for anything noteworthy to comment on. The colors are lovely, the scene they represent emotional, but….But it also, honestly, looks terribly silly hung right beside an ornate, incredibly detailed garden scene, the contrast between the two making the effort put into both of them look absurd. “Isn’t it nice?” She says, instead.

 

[Aerynth]

A gallery? Why not. Looking at pictures didn't really seem terribly exciting, though it beat standing outside and wallowing in self-pity. A low bar to pass, certainly, but it wasn't Cyreia's strongest moment. Besides, if Remin wanted to go, it made no sense not to indulge her. She deserved to have some fun before they had to commit themselves to their duties entirely. "Sounds like a nice way to pass time. Let's go, then."

Cyreia followed her wife to the hall, suspiciously quiet. The transformation felt almost jarring. She was the same person as always and yet she wasn't; even the way she walked, with her shoulders slightly slouched, looked different. Thankfully, not many witnesses were present. Remin then pointed her to a particular painting and, to her own surprise, Cyreia chuckled. She couldn't help herself. It was just too bizarre. "Yes, truly, a pinnacle of art. The masterful way the painter depicted this... uh, square... shows his inner conflict. Very deep."

She glanced back at Remin and for a second, everything seemed to be alright; life returned to her eyes, sincerity to her smile. Unfortunately, one vaguely funny picture could hardly fix anything and Cyreia found herself sliding back into her old mood. No, I can't do that. At least not without an explanation. Remin seemed to be affected by her state of mind to some degree, too, and she didn't want to feed the growing awkwardness between them, didn't want to drag her down with her. But what was she to say in this situation? Don't worry about me, I'm just feeling sad because my entire existence has been one prolonged lie? And oh, by the way, I've been lying to you as well, sorry about that? "My queen, I... Well. About that divination. I've done... things that I'm not terribly proud of and the way it was worded made me remember. As you can see, it weighs on my mind, but I will do my best to get over it. I should probably... find a way to not think about it." Easier said than done. "What do you to get rid of unwanted thoughts?" Asking Remin that question wasn't too imposing, was it? Because it just occurred to her that she really didn't know how to do that. Back in simpler times, Cyreia had just trained, trained and trained until her body had shut down entirely, but she couldn't do that now. What else was there?

 

[Conifer]

It was a little jarring, that Avther filled in the space she’d wanted to fill with humor. She hadn’t expected anything like it at all, not now, not when they seemed all...off. She can’t help the small smile that the comment brings to her lips, but she also can’t help how it fades as Avther continues talking to her, shifting the relief on her face just back to concern she doesn’t know what to do with at all. She doesn’t even have time to process what had happened, and joke back with him, before the whole scene had been swept out from under her like it was never there.

The question leaves her struggling for an answer. The honest truth would be that she didn’t do anything. They just get pushed away to the tiny box of things she didn’t have time for in the back of her head, hoping that that wouldn’t be the thing to make it spill, overflowing onto everything else in her life. It was a dangerous game that she’d been playing since she’d realised that her life would be a lonesome one, and even more often since the horribleness that had left her alone. Mourning could only last so long before there was too much business piling up to have space for mourning anymore. “I...embroider, my king.” She says, instead of any of that. It’s not right, but at least in some form it’s not wrong. “It keeps the mind and the hands busy, and untangling the string helps untangle one’s thoughts.” It sounds so fake, so forced, so false, and she can’t bear to look at him anymore. Eyes back to the painting (a red triangle this time, which she thinks represents the sun,) she hesitates. He’d been there for her when she was poisoned.

“If there’s...ever anything I can do,” Remin offers carefully. “Lend a listening ear, perhaps.” What was a queen to do besides listen to her subjects? (She hates that this is who she is right now, instead of the Remin who had been comfortable in the closeness with him even just yesterday. Her words feel hollow even to herself.) “I’m here. You know that.”

 

[Aerynth]

Embroidery. Fitting for someone like Remin, certainly, but the mere idea of Cyreia picking up a needle felt laughable. She didn't even know how to hold one properly. Besides, her hands weren't made for delicate things. They were caloused and rough and stained with blood. All good things when you lived the kind of life she had lived, but now? Useless, completely useless. Kind of like her.

It didn't escape her how uncomfortable Remin seemed. And really, was it that strange? Only god knew what kind of atrocities she imagined when Cyreia had spoken of deeds she wasn't terribly proud of. There were many opportunities for a soldier to slip, to forget all about the responsibility that came with wielding a blade. Did Remin consider her to be a monster now? Had she ever thought differently? Well, it's not like she wouldn't be justified in that point of view. The day they had spend together in the park? They had just forgotten, momentarily, who they were. Maybe they could have been... something else, had they met under different circumstances, but the gap seemed too wide to bridge now. Insurmountable.

And yet, despite everything, here she was, offering her a listening ear. The offer seemed tempting, dangerously so. In that moment, Cyreia genuinely felt like spilling everything to this woman she barely knew because nobody had ever said that to her and all those secrets had been threatening to choke her for far too long. The moment came and passed. "I do," Cyreia replied quietly. "Thank you. I mean it." She really did, even if there was no way she could ever take her up on that offer. Still, it did make her feel better, just knowing that Remin cared on some level. She didn't have to try to help her, after all. Leaving her to her sorrow would have been a completely reasonable reaction. "I... appreciate the patience you have shown me so far. Hopefully I will get to repay the favor. I do intend to take care of you, just as I have promised." Their wedding vows. Was she foolish for referencing them? Perhaps, but Cyreia did take them seriously, or at least as seriously as their arrangement allowed it to. A promise was a promise. "Even if it seems that you're the one who takes care of me all the time."