Fantasy All's Fair

[Aerynth]

"Oh my poor, poor Remin," Cyreia burst out in laughter, "those must have been dark times. The good woman should get a medal for keeping you alive long enough for you to meet me eventually," she said, her tone teasing, but genuine sympathy was reflected in her eyes. It hadn't occurred to her before that even something as mundane as meals was subject to fashion at the court. Everything had its drawbacks, it seemed. Back when she had been a kid, Cyreia had gotten every meal she had requested, provided they had the ingredients at the time. Remin had had to suffer through the aspic hell just because someone had decided that that particular trend should be followed for... reasons. It was just a reminder of what she had known from the beginning instinctively; that Remin hadn't had much of a childhood. Probably never had much of a life in general. And yet, despite being so sheltered, she seemed to be adjusting to new situations just fine. How many noblewomen would have reacted to Hadsberry the way she had? Not many of them, Cyreia guessed. Perhaps nobody at all.

"You're wonderful, you know that? Before we got married, I didn't think that we'd get along, not just because of who I am, but... well, due to all of the aspects of who I am." Bringing the country to its knees had been the greatest obstacle, of course, but Cyreia hadn't thought that a princess who had spent her entire life in a gilded cage would have a lot in common with someone like her. Frankly, they really didn't (despite certain shocking similarities), though that didn't matter as much as she had feared it would. It was actually kind of wonderful. Getting to see the world through such a different perspective without being judged for her own opinions? How many people were lucky enough to experience that? She started caressing Remin's hand in a slow, circular motion; her smile grew gentler as she did that, the teasing edge completely gone now. "Yet you never make me feel less than. You never did, not even at the beginning. I mean, you did look like you hated me, but for all the right reasons."

 

[Conifer]

“I hated the situation, certainly.” She agrees. “And-- admittedly, still do.” There was little chance of her ever liking it any better. She was never going to like being forced to do that to her kingdom, her people. She was never going to like this marriage being one that always held the burden of surrender. “But I’m very glad that I’ve met you out of it. And I’m exceptionally glad that you insisted on this trip. Gods know how differently this might have gone if we weren’t forced to get to know each other.” She likes to think that someday they might have grown this fond of each other - but gods know how long that ‘someday’ might have taken. She was sure he was terrible after that first night. Would they have ever recovered from that?

“I feel like I’ll be a better ruler with you at my side, because of all our differences. Because of our opposites.” Remin continues, smiling softly at his honesty and the way that it sweeps warmth through her. “And - gods, what would I talk about with someone who was just myself again? I wouldn’t hear about any of the things you’ve told me about. Just-- more aspic. Which is never allowed in our home, no matter how popular it may ever become again. No fish in aspic, no fruit, nothing. Not a drop of it.” She giggles softly, taking another bite of her dumplings. “These, however, are fully welcome.”

 

[Aerynth]

"Oh, I get that," Cyreia said with a pained smile. Would the spectre of their wedding ever stop haunting her? Even if she hadn't come up with the idea - wouldn't have dreamed of it - she was still complicit in taking away Remin's right to choose. It had worked out in the end somehow, or at least it seemed that way to her, but that was wholly irrelevant. Just a lucky coincidence, an unexpected compatibility, rather than a result of conscious effort. It didn't absolve her of guilt for having participated in the ceremony in any way. Well, there was no sense in crying over spilt milk now. Cyreia would just have to love her and treasure her for the rest of her life to make the memory of their wedding a little less bitter. That didn't look like a terrible fate to her. Not at all.

As Remin spoke, Cyreia could feel her insides turn into jelly. She felt soft and vulnerable and just so touched by her words that no amount of description could do it justice. Remin managed to make her feel like that with shocking frequency; with her by her side, it almost seemed as if she was worth more than the sum of her worst actions. More than the blood on her hands. Would Remin still think so even after inevitably learning the truth about her? That she had been deceiving her all this time? God, it scared her so much. The very real chance of her learning to like Avther the hero, but not Cyreia. Not Cyreia the liar. It was unclear to her where one part of her identity ended and where the other began; the two seemed to be one and the same after spending so many years in Avther's skin. Would Remin see it the same way, though? That question would have to be answered later.

"I'm honored that I got to know you, too, even though it was a side effect rather than my intention. I really meant for this trip to be just business." It seemed so absurd in hindsight, with the two of them sitting in this cozy cafe and drowning in each other's eyes. Had there really been a time when she hadn't felt this for her? "Had I known aspic was such an important part of Athean culture, I would have arrived coated in it," Cyreia laughed. "No, no, don't hit me, it was a joke! Add mushrooms to the list of forbidden things and we'll be good to go. We'll build a home where every meal will be a joyous occasion."

The people around them were chattering happily and ordering their food from the menu, clearly enjoying some moments of leisure in between their busy day. Witnessing that made her think of something. "I've been meaning to ask you for a while, but something always got in the way. What's the general level of education in Athea? Can everyone read and write?"

 

[Conifer]

"For the most part." She nods. "Olyveire - a magic school - works together with the government to to send teachers into communities - usually they're recent graduates, or people soon to graduate. We - or occasionally the communities they're working in - pay those teachers for their work, and they'll teach the in the communities where they're stationed how to read, how to write, and how to do sums if they can manage it. Some teach more, some teach less. Some of the children then continue onto school, but a good amount don't - it's at the very least a baseline of education. And magical abilities usually start showing signs in young childhood, we're able to keep an eye out for cases that need or want education, and help them attend Olyveire."


"There's improvements to be made, like there is in any system," Remin admits. "Continuing education isn't always accessible or practical, even if it's magical, and we can't force anyone to learn so there's some that slip through the cracks, but we're proud of what we've managed all the same. Our population is becoming one of the most literate. We're hoping to get there one day, but the program's only existed for about ten years so far, and it's far more difficult to encourage adults to take time from their work to learn how to do something they've managed fine without for their entire lives. Some will, but most won't."

 

[Aerynth]

"That's a... very good system," Cyreia said. "I wish we had something like that. I mean, we do have universities and such in Eupriunia, but they're only really accessible to children of aristocrats and wealthy merchants. The tuition fees are ridiculous from what I heard. It's not much better with lower level education, either. Hell, I only learned how to read and write when I was seventeen," she admitted with some degree of shame. "That was when they decided I showed some promise and should have responsibilities other than just swinging my sword." A nostalgic smile crossed her lips at that memory. "Oh, how I hated it at first. It was rather... intense, having to train with the sword during the day and spend the nights with candles and books. My teacher always made me feel really stupid for not advancing fast enough, too. But in the end, it opened my eyes, you know? I went from despising the very concept of letters to hiding books pretty much everywhere and reading secretly when I was supposed to be asleep," Cyreia laughed.

"Maybe we should invest some effort into making people realize how life-changing education can be. I mean, yes, we shouldn't force them, but chances are great that they're rejecting something they don't really understand." That was the problem with education. You didn't know how useful it truly was until you already had it; Cyreia knew that from experience. Unfortunately, experiences of this kind seemed to be untransferable. "And perhaps it would benefit from some standardization as well. It's one of the things I'd like to take a look at when we return home." As Remin had said, any system could be improved and this looked like a good cause to pledge herself to. Something constructive. Something infinitely distant from the war.

"Olyveire intrigues me, though. A university of magic, you say? Perhaps someone there could help me with my little problem." Her magic hadn't caused issues since the incident with Vestat, but that didn't mean that it had disappeared. That would have been too convenient. No, another accident was probably just a matter of time. "Are we going to visit them as well?"

 

[Conifer]

Gods, their lives had been different. She’d learned to read as soon as she was able to be taught, shoved in amongst all the other things she was forced to learn as soon as she could sit in a chair and pay attention. She minded all of that far less now than she had at the time, understood her luck in it, but it was terrible at the time. And yet they seemed to have similar experiences in that regard - their opposites, again, overlapped neatly.

“It wasn’t in the plans,” She admits. “It’s about this far from the capital, but to the north. It’s fairly remote. But it isn’t a terrible idea to visit them if your abilities continue.” Which, they would - but how often? They hadn’t been anything but helpful yet, and hadn’t happened a lot. “We could make it a duel-purpose visit. Speak to them about standardizing the program, and speak to them about your new abilities.” It would make a good excuse, if they had a reason besides sight-seeing or new magic. She was sure that Eupriunia wouldn’t be pleased to hear that their hero had been in the country for barely any time at all and was showing signs of the magic that they despised so much - it was probably best to keep that all quiet, at least for now.

“Has anything else happened since --the last time?” She asks. They’ve been together most the time since then, and that didn’t feel like something that he would keep from her - intentionally or not - but it never hurt to be sure. “Any strange feelings, even?”

 

[Aerynth]

"Well, it's not terribly urgent. I haven't blown up anything yet and I don't think I could, judging by how drained I felt by doing something as minor as slowing down our fall, so it can wait. Probably." For all of her earlier reservations, Cyreia was getting used to that feeling of uncertainty that came with the magic coursing through her veins. Would she have rejected that gift had she had the opportunity to do so? Well, yes. In a heartbeat. Even if it didn't scare her as much as it had used to, it was hard to see it as anything else than a major complication with potentially disastrous consequences. What would happen if the word about her abilities got out and king Loran heard of it? Cyreia had the same title as him now, but her position didn't feel very secure; it was more akin to hanging in the air and being supported by flimsy ropes that could be cut off at any time. If he decided to depose her, what would prevent him from doing so? Her subjects that despised her? That didn't seem too likely. Still, none of this was really new to her. When had Cyreia ever been truly safe in her position? Everything she had ever gained for herself hinged on deception of some kind and hiding her magic was just a continuation of that old trend.

"No," she shook her head, "I don't believe there has been anything else, or maybe I was just too tired to notice it. Perhaps I should just work myself to death every single day. I mean, if there's no energy to be consumed by magic, I shouldn't be able to cast anything, right? It's a foolproof plan," she beamed at Remin, half-joking and half-serious. As a stopgap measure, something like that could possibly work. Of course, this assumption relied on her instinctual understanding of magic that may very well have been wrong. There were no axioms for her to base her guesses on, so realistically speaking, they were probably worthless.

"Say, Remin, is it normal for people to have such unpredictable magic? When you spoke of..." Vestat and his sister, Cyreia wanted to say, but she stopped herself before those words left her lips. That could still be a sensitive topic for her wife and bringing her attention to it now, in a moment of relaxation, didn't seem like a good idea. "... other magic users, you talked about seers, soothsayers, those who wielded practical magic. It always seemed like they specialized in a certain type of magic. Now, I don't really know anything about my abilities yet, but they appear to be rather erratic in contrast." Perhaps there was some common theme to it, but Cyreia certainly couldn't see it. That, of course, didn't mean that someone more educated in those matters couldn't.

 

[Conifer]

"Seeing the future is...a different sort of magic. It doesn't cross over a lot with practical magic." She replies. "Seers occasionally can do other magic, but not necessarily. But practical magic's much more varied - people usually find themselves better at, or enjoying more, aspects of their abilities, and they'll focus on them after they can keep the rest of it from happening at random." She hesitates. "I think you might be a special case, though. I don't know, not really, my magic training has been minimal, but I don't know how often seeing the *past* occurs with physical magic. But then again, maybe that was just a fluke. We have no idea at this point."


Magic was terribly complicated, and when she hadn't shown too much promise for it, that aspect of her education had been reduced to tiny lessons at the ends of others, or answers to questions that she had. She had no true idea how any of it worked, and she hadn't regretted that until now. It wouldn't do them too much good, but it could at least calm some of that worry hidden in his features. She rubbed her thumb over his skin in soft circles instead, hoping that brought comfort.

 

[Aerynth]

"Ah, I see." Not receiving an exhaustive answer would have bothered her once, but Cyreia discovered that she was getting used to that, too. To not knowing things. Ignorance still wasn't a pleasant state to exist in, of course. Nothing changed about her resolution to learn as much as she could about Athea and its people. That tiny pang of dread that had tended to follow the realization that she didn't have access to important information, though? Somehow, it had lost its edge. Cyreia could feel the remnants of panic, yes, but it wasn't nearly as pronounced as it would have been. Maybe that was a good thing, too. If nothing else, it definitely proved to be less stressful for her. "It seems that we should contact the experts if we want to know more. Still, thank you for always trying to answer my questions," Cyreia smiled, lifted her hand and pressed a kiss on it. It was short and formal - so different from the kisses they had shared earlier - but her pulse still sped up a little with the contact. God, her reactions to their physical proximity had grown even more intense since she had gotten her first real taste of intimacy. Wasn't this supposed to get more bearable with time? Apparently not. "That can't be easy, considering how many of them I have."

Cyreia managed to clean her plate during the conversation, so she put it aside. It was time to pay for their meals and move on; ordering a coffee or two and spending the rest of the afternoon here in a lazy bliss sounded divine, but they couldn't do that. They could never really do what they wanted, it seemed; especially not with the time constraints placed on this particular trip. "So much for the pleasant part of this day," she lamented after they left the cafe and ended up in the crowded streets of Thornhold once again. The sun was shining with such fervor that she had to shield her eyes for a bit before they got used to the brightness. "I really hope that they'll have something close to my size, but I won't hold my breath." Buying clothes had always been an issue, mainly because a lot of men's fashion didn't tend to cater to her body type as much as she would have liked, and many of the pieces Cyreia ended up with were either vaguely uncomfortable or too baggy. That made sense considering the fact that she wasn't a man, but it still felt unfair.

They managed to find a tailor's shop quickly enough; Cyreia could tell that this was an establishment for rich patrons because everything in the window display looked more expensive than all of her old clothes combined. It still baffled her that anyone was willing to shell out so much money for clothing out of all things, though she didn't have to understand everything. Maybe just accepting these things silently was the key to happiness. Oh, if only she could do that instead of having to fight the urge to flee. This, too, is a part of my duty. I'm doing it for the kingdom, she said to herself, but it didn't really lift her spirits. Why can't I face some bandits again? Surely, getting rid of them would be more beneficial to the country than this.

Unfortunately, no bandits seemed to be present at the moment. "Welcome, welcome," the owner said as they entered, "are you looking for anything in particular?" The story was empty aside from them, so they had his full attention. Cyreia looked at Remin wordlessly, annoyance written all over her face despite her attempts to hide it. Obviously, her wife was more well-versed in the matters of fashion, so it only made sense to leave this up to her, right?

 

[Conifer]

“...Yes” She finally turns back to the tailor - she doesn’t seem nearly as annoyed with this whole situation as Avther does, but there’s a tinge of it. She’s really not annoyed, not truly, she’s just...doing this means that they’ll have so much less time to just exist how they wanted. That was always going to be inevitable, though. It doesn’t help that Avther’s whole dislike of the situation seems to be rubbing off on her. What was the point of this? He didn’t want new clothes. She didn’t want to pull herself into a dress heavy in beadwork. Gods, she just wanted to run off with him and hide in some little cottage on the beach for the few days they were supposed to be here.

But that wasn’t possible. “We don’t, unfortunately, have a lot of time. Only a couple of hours. But we’re attending Lady Everbright’s party, and he needs something to wear.” A place of this class would hopefully know of the event, and would know something appropriate without them having to get deep into detail. “My dress is a dark green - we don’t necessarily have to match, but shouldn’t look entirely disjointed. Just...do what you can. I know it’s a bit more rushed than ideal, but we can cover the cost to compensate for that. He doesn’t have much experience with any of this, so…” She shrugs slightly, uselessly. “Be gentle.”

The tailor looks Avther over for a moment - his eyes behind his glasses are sharp and wide and focused. “Strip down as much as you feel comfortable. The closer to skin, the more accurate I can be, and the less I’ll have to adjust later. But I’m very good at what I do, and I can guarantee my estimates within the inch regardless of what you leave on.”

 

[Aerynth]

Well, the tailor certainly wasted no time. Cyreia usually preferred that approach, but not when people asked her to strip down. The annoyance so clearly displayed on her face transformed into something closer to embarrassment. It wasn't exactly that, though. There was also a hint of something suspiciously similar to panic. This is fine, she told to herself. Everything is fine. Of course, nothing was fine, especially not all of this, but Cyreia had been through worse situations. At the end of the day, this man was a mere tailor. He had no authority over her and couldn't make her remove her clothes without her consent. People like him - those who primarily focused on rich clients - weren't exactly notorious for bullying their customers. Quite the contrary. They had to be good at dealing with various whims of aristocrats without offending them in the process; that was a skill just as important as their actual trade. With some careful maneuvering, Cyreia could probably come off as strange, but not really suspicious.

"Well, in that case, measure me as I am," she told the man and offered him her best smile. It probably looked terribly insincere, but Cyreia didn't really care about impressions right now. Much more than that was at stake. If he considered her to be overly uptight, well, that was a small price to pay. And if Remin found her behavior to be outrageous? She would probably get over it. It wasn't like her wife hadn't gotten over greater obstacles during the course of their marriage than her eccentric relationship with formalwear. "I'm not wearing much underneath my robe, so it shouldn't pose a large problem. Besides, I'm not terribly interested in overly tight clothes. I don't mind if it's a bit looser than it really needs to be. Actually, I'd prefer it to be a bit loose. I don't care for anything else. It's..." safer "... more comfortable. Yes, comfortable. I'm very invested in the idea of my clothes being comfortable," she nodded, feeling terribly clumsy in her excuses. This certainly couldn't be described as 'careful maneuveing', but hopefully it would work. "I can also just tell you my measurements. I know them, more or less," she offered after a moment of silence.

 

[Conifer]

He looked over the man for a moment, not hiding the fact that he looks entirely unimpressed with Avther’s response to his request. “...Right. No, that isn’t necessary, thank you.” He looks him over for a beat longer, before turns on his heel to slip into a back room of the small shop.

“...Avther, I know you don’t want to be here, but unfortunately this is part of your life now. And no one is comfortable at these sort of parties.” Remin says. His behavior was unexpected, certainly, and not in line with the Avther she’d come to know. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Despite all of it, they did barely know each other. She sighs softly, giving up chastising him for it. There was no use. It was clear he knew what he was doing. She didn’t have to like it, but if he wanted to make an embarrassing fool of them both, there was little she could do to stop him. “Nevermind.” She turns from him to admire some of the clothes that fill the space. “Just do be aware that we’ll have to do this again when we return home.” That, at least, she wouldn’t have to be present for.

The owner didn’t give her time to say much more, which she was grateful for, as he came back out of the back, some robes thrown over his arms in various colors. “Here. Try what you like of these on - there’s a curtain here,” He gestures to the corner of the room, where it’s set up to offer privacy. “Most will have to be fitted better to you, but that’s easy enough.”

 

[Aerynth]

Ouch. Cyreia was aware that she had managed to sound like a spoiled brat in her desperate attempts to find an acceptable excuse, but being chastised by Remin wasn't any less unpleasant. Knowing that her rebuke was wholly reasonable actually made it worse. What was she supposed to do, though? Actually strip down? That would have resulted in even greater trouble. "... I know," she said with a sigh. "I'm sorry. I should learn how to handle these situations more gracefully. I'll... I'll work on it." 'Work on coming up with better excuses' would have been a more honest way of phrasing it, but Cyreia didn't think that Remin would appreciate that. I really need to tell her and I should do it sooner rather than later. Not just for the sake of their budding relationship, but also to avoid similar situations in the future. Living like this for much longer seemed unsustainable, really. It had looked unsustainable from the very beginning, if she were to be entirely honest, though Cyreia had fooled herself into thinking that it could work. She wouldn't have been able to go through with the ceremony otherwise.

"Thank you." Cyreia grabbed the robes and hid behind the curtain. Some of the nervousness dissipated with the privacy afforded to her, but another problem emerged. With growing horror, Cyreia realized that she didn't actually know how to put any of these on. The designs were so elaborate that it wasn't immediately obvious to her untrained eye. Oh god, what if she managed to rip one of them in the changing room? Paying for the damage likely wouldn't be a problem - not with the royal funds - but it would be so embarrassing. Remin would die of shame.

Due to these fears, Cyreia progressed more slowly than she would have under normal circumstances. The tailor's eye was good, though; she had to give him that at the very least. Certain robes were a bit too tight, particularly around her hips, but some of the clothing also fit her almost perfectly. Alright, Remin said that she was going to wear green, so blue isn't a terrible choice, right? The two colors didn't seem to clash too much to her, though fashion obviously wasn't her area of expertise. Perhaps it was a bad idea. Still, Cyreia kind of liked it, mainly because it fit her rather well. The sleeves would have to be shortened a bit and all those frills were admittedly ridiculous, but ridiculousness was apparently the whole point of here.

"Is this alright?" she asked hesitantly as she presented herself to Remin.

 

[Conifer]

“Well enough.” She agrees after a moment of examining him. It, admittedly, wouldn’t have been her pick of the ones presented, but she wasn’t the one to be wearing it. If he liked it, then that was more than enough, especially if it meant they could be out of this shop sooner than later. And he did look remarkably nice in it, if she were to be honest with herself - he never hurt to look at, but dressed in clothes that actually fit him, and complimented his appearance... It was nice. It was very nice. She wouldn’t complain. “You look handsome.” She smiles softly at him. “It’s a nice color on you.”

“Very nice, very nice.” The owner agrees absentmindedly, moving over to after to inspect the fit of the robes. He moved much like a hummingbird - flitting and pulling on fabric on one side, then somewhere else, and somewhere else again, pinning and folding and marking until whatever needed to be adjusted had been noted. “Give me an hour and it should be done. Quiet day, you’re lucky. Not too much other work in front of you. Go take this off. Carefully, please, mind you, or I’ll have to put it back on you again and re-pin.”

 

[Aerynth]

"Thank you," Cyreia smiled at Remin; it was the first honest smile since they had entered the shop and her face lit up. She didn't think that it suited her that much - the person staring at her from the mirror simply didn't look like her usual self - but if stuffing herself into this ridiculous outfit meant receiving compliments from her wife, maybe there was some value in doing so after all. Wait, since when did she care about things like that? About being complimented? Well, probably since falling in love. That had changed pretty much everything and wanting to feel desired by her partner was likely one of the least strange things on the list.

The seemingly erratic actions of the tailor made her a bit nervous, but she suppressed the instinct that told her to move away from his reach. The poor man's job was probably complicated enough even without her contributing it. Still, it felt weird, letting a stranger touch her without knowing what exactly they would do. Weird as in distinctly unwelcome, but Cyreia could deal with it. He didn't mean to hurt her, he really didn't, and it wasn't his fault that her experiences with physical contact had largely consisted of people trying to do just that. Well, at least until her arrival in Athea. "I'll be careful," she promised and returned back behind the curtain. Slipping back into her old clothes was almost liberating. Perhaps she would get used to wearing fancy clothes in time, but for now, they felt needlessly stiff. Maybe that's a purposeful design, Cyreia thought. Maybe it's meant to remind the wearers to always be on guard. Given the occasions that demanded wearing such apparel, it was probably a warning that should be heeded. "We shall return in an hour or so, then. Thank you for hard work," Cyreia bowed slightly.

"Well," she said as they emerged in the sunny streets again, "that went faster than I expected it to." It hadn't been as terrible, either, or at least it wouldn't have been terrible had she managed to keep her tongue under control. "Remin," Cyreia looked at her wife, "I would like to apologize for my behavior once again. I... well, I know that it's not an excuse, but all of this is still very new to me and some things are more difficult than others. I will try my best not to disgrace you in public again."

 

[Conifer]

Remin’s hand slipped into Avther’s as they exited back onto the street - no one had recognised them yet, and she was dangerously confident that no one would at this point. And if they did - she wanted to be affectionate with her husband. Was that terrible? (Yes, in the circumstance, but she willfully ignored that.) “...It’s alright,” She assures him with a bit of a sigh. “I just-- can never anticipate what will be overwhelming to people who didn’t grow up with it.” Not that she’s ever really had to analyze her life like that before now. “It was an unfortunate situation all around. I don’t blame you for it, not really. And no one, to my knowledge, has died of any embarrassment that can be found in a tailor’s.”

“It will be easier, I hope, when we return home.” she squeezes his hand gently, wandering idly down the street with him. They had an hour to kill - they might as well see what they could. “Our tailor’s lovely, and everything can be done in your own room. More private, and more comfortable.” She knew that would likely do little to calm his nerves over the whole event, but it at least hoped that it would offer some more security. But then again, her home had only been his for a day thus far. It might even be worse. “But we’ll order enough that you won’t have to deal with a tailor unless you’d like to after that.” That, at least, she hoped would do some good to relax him.

“Now,” Remin says, turning to face him slightly as they walked. “We have some time. Everything is being handled. I’m...not terribly familiar with here, but there has to be something interesting enough to devote some time to. What do you say we try to find it?”

 

[Aerynth]

Oh, her sweet Remin. Always so kind, always so understanding. And here she was, taking advantage of that kindness and lying to her. Well, not technically - it really did feel overwhelming, after all - but obfuscating important details still counted as a lie in her eyes. It would have been easier to stomach had she gotten mad at her, really. That way, Cyreia could have shifted some of the blame onto her wife and pretend that she was a victim of unreasonable expectations. Nobody was being unreasonable here except for her, though, and Remin's warm reaction only made her feel more guilty. I don't deserve her.

"I'll try to... warn you in advance next time. I mean, I do have a general idea of what might make me react in less than desirable ways. I'll still do my best to not behave in an embarrassing manner, of course, but I should at least let you know that it might be hard for me," Cyreia said quietly as she leaned closer. That was a fair proposition, wasn't it? Since their reputations were intertwined, Remin had the right to know when to brace herself for the worst. "In general, I have a problem with being touched," she confessed. "Not with you doing it, but with people I don't know. I haven't had the best experiences with that." Again, just a partial truth, but a truth nonetheless. That was undeniably a part of the issue, except that Cyreia could have dealt with her hang-ups surrounding the matter had that been the only complication. Her feelings, after all, didn't matter that much in the grand scheme of things. Her secret did, though.

"Still, thank you for trying to make all of this more bearable to me. You efforts are appreciated, even if it may not look like that at times. But yes, let's go find something fun to do." Cyreia didn't know Thornhold that well, either, though that couldn't stop her. On the contrary, exploration in itself was a worthwhile goal to pursue. They walked aimlessly, more or less, though she could tell by the general layout of the streets that they were heading towards the square. Cities tended to be built in certain ways and once you understood the general pattern, getting familiar with new places became much easier. As they approached, Cyreia could hear music in the distance. And indeed, when they reached the square, there were troubadors and musicians performing for a moderately large crowd. It was a bit overwhelming, but in the best sense of that word, really. The melody was mixing with sounds of laughter and the colorful costumes of the performers almost made her eyes hurt.

"Is this a good time for our impromptu dance lesson?" she smiled at Remin and offered her her hand. This might be just what they needed, really. An opportunity to unwind a bit while doing something vaguely related to their duties? That seemed like a good balance.

 

[Conifer]

“I couldn’t dream of a better time. Here,” Remin murmurs as she guides his hand that isn’t held in hers to her back, before mirroring the positioning on him. It’s thrilling, to be this close to him with so many people surrounding them - none of who seem to be paying attention, blessedly. The entertainers have caught everyone’s eyes, leaving none of them to stray to the two of them. “This is...default, I suppose? You certainly won’t insult anyone with it, which is all that really matters. Be sure to keep your hand high on the back, and don’t hold too tightly with your other hand.

“If you dance with anyone else at the party,” she hated how that thought filled her with - what, jealousy? She had no right, not really. He was her husband, yes, and he was her...whatever they were at the moment, but jealousy was uncalled for. It was dancing, that’s all it was. It wasn’t a threat to their budding relationship. And yet, she found the idea of another woman in his arms as she was now awful. She pushed on anyways, trying to ignore those thoughts. “They’ll likely expect you to lead. But I will, for now. All you really have to do is pay attention to what I’m doing and follow along.”

She had no intentions of teaching him something complicated, so she starts simply, just guiding him around the small space that isn’t populated by other people who have joined in on the dancing. The music’s too bright, too fast, too much, really, for all of this, but the anachronism is more fun than it is a hindrance as she tries to teach him basic steps. It’s easy to get lost in the movement and the proximity to him, in the warmth of his hand against her back, and she lets herself. The rest of the world around them hardly matters beyond not bumping into someone as she leads him through the dance.

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia nodded, absorbing all of the instructions like a sponge. "One hand high on the back and I should avoid crushing my partner's hand. Makes sense." She could imagine more exciting ways of holding her than keeping her hand firmly on her back, certainly, but something told her that none of them would be received well at the party. Maybe she could do that if they decided to dance together just for fun, but in an official setting? No, absolutely not, even if the thought of leaving her flustered did seem appealing on some level. Appealing? God, I shouldn't even be thinking about something like this, Cyreia realized with growing horror. She didn't really have time to ponder over the inappropriate nature of her fantasies, though; not when their little lesson started.

It was difficult to focus on the right steps with her wife in her arms, so deliciously close that she could smell the faint aroma of the shampoo she had massaged into her hair not so long ago. No, Cyreia shouldn't dig up that particular memory now. Not if she wanted to retain her ability to think straight. They really didn't need to end up on the ground once again, after all. The people around them likely wouldn't care too much as they seemed to be too wrapped up in the performance, but still. "I don't really want to dance with other women, though. I doubt they would welcome it when I inevitably step on their feet," Cyreia laughed gently. "I also doubt that any of them could be half as charming. That's a factor too, you know."

"You really are good at this," Cyreia said with a hint of admiration in her voice. True, they weren't really doing anything complicated, but the fluidity in Remin's movements was plain to see. She moved like someone who had been born on the dance floor, light and elegant, almost swan-like. The same couldn't really be said about Cyreia. Technically speaking, she hadn't messed up so far, or at least not terribly so. There had been no real missteps and Remin's feet remained untrampled, but the way she moved seemed stiff. Her entire body was stiff; she maintained the position Remin had put her in, except that there was no real grace to it. That, of course, could be a problem in a discipline like dance where grace was the entire point. "How do I improve this?" Cyreia asked with a slight frown. "It doesn't really feel right for some reason." It had to be the slowness of the dance that threw her off, really. The slowness and the uniformity of the steps. When they had danced earlier, back when they had been practically coerced into it at the festival, it had felt natural because Cyreia had had to improvise. It had been easy to get swept up in the fast-paced music and lose herself in the rhythm. This was the opposite of that, though.

 

[Conifer]

“You relax,” she answers, guiding them into a slow spin. “Once you get more familiar with the motions and don’t have to focus on them so much, it’ll be easier. But you’re doing wonderfully, honestly,” It was a little clumsy, a little unrefined, but the only people at the party who would think any less of him for that would be people that already think less of him than the average. They could easily survive that. “But ...this is little more than a conversation, really, if it helps to think of it like that?” That’s how it had been explained to her in her lessons, and it hadn’t helped terribly for a young girl who didn’t have much experience with conversations yet, but it might serve him better than it ever served her. “Or a fight, I suppose?” She adds, remembering his sword. “You just-- have to pay attention to your partner. Try to keep the two of you on a level playing field, without either of you being overwhelmed or dragged behind. So maybe not like a fight at all,” She laughs quietly. “But I’m sure you’ve duelled or something, to practice? Without intent for someone to win or lose? Either way, and I know this is far easier said than done, try to exist exactly in the moment. Don’t think ahead, don’t think behind. What’s behind has already happened - if you’ve messed up, it’s already done and over with, and thinking about it will only distract you and allow you to be dragged behind. Thinking ahead will make you leave your partner behind. You’re jumping ahead in the conversation. Perhaps you’re not even on the same topic as your partner anymore. But if the two of you exist in the actions you’re actively taking…” Perhaps she was overexplaining this - she probably was - but it wasn’t unintentionally. He paid attention when she spoke (which felt overwhelming in the best way; to be seen, to be heard,) and having his attention on her words instead of his feet would hopefully take some of that overthinking from him. “...then you’re having a conversation. You’re reading the signs. Not unlike the other night, my uncultured soldier.” She teases softly. “All of that was barely different than a dance.”

 

[Aerynth]

"Just relax? That's all? If only I knew how to do that," Cyreia laughed. How was she supposed to relax when she had to pay attention to so many things at once? To her legs, Remin's movements, the music and the other people (in order to avoid bumping into them)? Downright impossible. How did Remin do that? She talked and talked, the stream of words seemingly endless, and yet she didn't miss a single step. It had to be some kind of magic. Maybe her wife was some kind of magic, too. All those metaphors made her head spin as she tried to follow them and the steps at the same time; dividing her focus so much proved to be surprisingly difficult, at least for someone so used to concentrating on a single thing to the exclusion of everything else. That had benefited her on the battlefield, but not here, definitely not here. It almost felt like trying to keep water in a creel; no matter what she did, it kept escaping from her. In the end, Cyreia just let go. Let go and looked at Remin, really looked at her, to soak up her words fully. She was providing an explanation, after all, so paying attention to her now made more sense than trying to imitate her elegance fruitlessly.

"No," she shook her head, "no, you're right. Fighting is like a conversation. Not those parts about trying to stay on the same level, certainly, and it's also different in the sense that you usually aren't trying to kill your partner during a conversation, but, well, there are similarities. You have to pay attention to your opponent, for example. Read his moves, anticipate them and act accordingly. You mustn't look away and you mustn't get ahead of yourself; the timing needs to be just right, or your life is forfeit. Which, I suppose, doesn't happen when you dance, nor does it happen when you talk to people. You're right, it probably wasn't the best comparison," Cyreia giggled. Talking about something she actually understood gave her a boost in confidence, though, and it translated into her moves. She didn't compare to Remin - she couldn't, not after such a short while - but there was a marked improvement. A certain kind of airiness that hadn't been there before; a promise that she might be a decent dancer in the future, if she put her mind to it. The allusion to the events of that particular night, though, made her falter a little. Cyreia wasn't sure whether she liked the way Remin could unravel her with a few words whenever she wanted to, but that was the reality of her life now. Two can play that game.

"Really? How interesting," she tilted her head aside and pulled her wife even closer, so close that the two could kiss should they desire to do so. Her hand slid down from the socially acceptable position on her back; the new position, on the other hand, was almost scandalous. "And what about this, am I reading the signals right? You should know by now that I'm a terrible conversationalist, after all," she said with fake innocence. The people around them were forgotten for now; not that they mattered much. None of them seemed to recognize them anyway.

 

[Conifer]

She deserved that, she supposes, but that knowledge does little to return the air from her lungs that the slow, deliberate slide of his hand down her back swept away. Gods, she felt like a fool every time every time he managed to do that to her, but it was a positively thrilling kind of foolishness. She knew she should pull away, knew she should move his hand back to its proper spot. But. Her own hand slid from against his back to rest against his shoulder. There would always be ‘but’s when it came to him - perhaps she was ignoring them far too much lately, but nothing terrible had happened yet. Maybe it wasn’t ever as truly a terrible idea as it seemed.

“You’re being terribly presumptuous,” She teases softly. The music around them shifts - still nothing more appropriate for dancing like this, and she’s sure they looked terribly silly, slow dancing to such an enthusiastic tune, but it was different and a little softer than the previous one. “But I’ll do my part and take part in this changed conversation, my king. If only to make you look not a fool.” And entirely because she craves this - this touch, this closeness, this sort of visibility.

 

[Aerynth]

Did nothing ever faze her? Just once, once in her life, Cyreia would have liked to see her utterly baffled by her actions. It appeared that she would have to try harder to achieve that, though, because Remin adapted quickly. Not that it angered her. The game was fun, after all, and the way she accepted every challenge Cyreia threw at her? Delightful. Delightful and formidable at the same time. In a different word - in a different life - circumstances could have forged her into a fearsome warrior. Now she was hers, though, sweet through and through, and that was much better.

"So that I don't look like a fool?" Cyreia raised her eyebrow playfully. "Do you really think you have the power to prevent that? Maybe I am being presumptuous, my dearest queen, but you, you are being naive." God, they were so close that Remin could probably sense her heartbeat. She must have known, then, how jittery she felt despite the confidence in her words. The reactions of her body betrayed it. It's fine. I just have to make her feel the same way and we'll be even. How to proceed, though? They couldn't afford to do much in public. People would eventually notice if they got too handsy with each other and they... wouldn't approve, to put it lightly. Cyreia ended up bringing their connected hands closer to her lips and placed a series of small kisses on her long, elegant fingers. That would have been sort of acceptable - not one hundred percent polite, but fine - if not for the occasional flicker of tongue she added to it. "Here's an idea, though. Being a fool is perfectly alright. Only a fool can do whatever he wants," Cyreia looked up at her with a smug smile.

 

[Conifer]

That was much, much more than enough to leave her breath catching in her throat and her heart pounding more than it had been even just moments before when he’d pulled her closer against him. To anyone glancing at them, they’d barely notice her reaction, but she felt like it was all written clear as day across her features for Avther. “Then I’d wish I were a fool,” she says, when she gets her voice back, the words hanging in the place between steady and breathless. “And I’m glad that I’m in the presence of one.” She didn’t pull her hand from his - she was decently sure she /couldn’t/, had she wanted to. His lips, his tongue, against her skin had turned her to stone where they had touched. Remin licked her lips. Her hand that was on his shoulder moved to tug at the scarf she’d wrapped around her neck to hide the mark from before - had that really been such a short time ago? Time seemed to stretch strangely around him. She didn’t pull it off, didn’t even pull it far, but when she moved her hand back to his shoulder, the pinkish-purpling smear was plain and visible against her tawny skin, to anyone who looked hard enough. She was /so/ glad she’d sent the guards off. “But,” She adds, softly, a smile playing across her face. “I think your foolish influence might be rubbing off on me.”

 

[Aerynth]

That look of not really knowing what to do with herself? Delicious. Breaking through her pose, if only for a moment, felt more satisfying than most of her military victories. Remin wasn't about to leave the metaphorical gauntlet on the ground, though. The thing was, Cyreia hadn't really seen the bruise before - just its emerging form minutes after giving it to her - and now she couldn't tear her eyes away. It looked perfect against her skin, which only filled her with the desire to do it again. To mark her as hers some more until there were no doubts left. Until nobody could deny it. No, she told to herself, not here and not now. Oh, how she couldn't wait until they got home and didn't have to hide from the guards, various gossipers and... well, everybody, really. Nobody would dare to bother them in their own castle. That was a problem as well, of course, because everything seemed to be a problem these days, but... how had Remin put it? Try to live in the moment? A piece of wisdom could be found in that advice. Yes, Cyreia would take it to heart.

"Perhaps I can teach you how to be a proper fool, then," she suggested with a smile. "Lesson number one: surrender to a fool's whims. That in itself is a foolish act." She adjusted their position a little (though her hand stubbornly remained on her lower back) and they began dancing again, this time with her leading. She would be expected to assume the male role while dancing, after all, and following Remin's lead would only get her so far in her practice. The dance she had chosen wasn't terribly complex, so Cyreia had a general idea of what to do by now. The execution, though? That still left something to be desired. It left a lot to be desired. She wasn't supposed to hold her this close, wasn't supposed to caress her back and certainly wasn't supposed to watch her so intently; watch her in a way that would make a polite lady blush. Maybe she was tired of the words 'suppose to,' though. "Would this be good enough for lady Everbright's birthday party, hm? What do you think, Remin?" Cyreia teased softly.