Fantasy All's Fair

[Aerynth]

Yes, crisis averted! No tailor for her, or at least not in the immediate future. Avoiding one for the rest of her life would probably prove impossible, but she didn't have to deal with that particular problem today and that was good. Worrying about the inevitable would get her precisely nowhere, so Cyreia decided to just... not think about at the moment. Who knew, perhaps the solution to the problem would emerge on its own later! "I am sure that whatever you wil find will be fine," she waved her hand and offered Remin one of her smiles. "Certainly better than my current clothes. And if worse comes to worst and there's not anything in my size after all, I can always don a potato sack to express my humility." Was it a bad time to joke? Remin's reaction would surely let her know soon.

The topic of the local nobles, however, didn't lend itself to any jokes. The sparks disappeared from her eyes and Cyreia looked serious once again. "You are right, obviously." Remin's assessment of her abilities cut deep, and not because of any pride. Cyreia was the first to admit that she hadn't come exactly well-prepared for kingship. Still, since she had always based her selfworth on how well she was able to perform the tasks delegated to her, having the outcome of her efforts be determined mostly by chance felt foreign. Foreign and terrible. No, not by chance, Cyreia realized. It's not like I have to speak with them much, after all. "Worry not, my queen. I am... decent at protecting my privacy. And if it turns out that the game is too complicated for me to play with certain people, I can let you speak instead. I realize that... well, it likely won't paint me in the most positive light, but it's still better than revealing something I shouldn't, is it not? I do believe that I can pull off looking fairly intimidating, too, so there's a chance that they will be too shocked by my behavior to notice that I'm not really the one calling the shots." Cyreia would have preferred not having to rule with fear, but it was one of the tools at her disposal. Avreth's reputation was a hindrance in Athea, baggage she had to deal with, but perhaps it could also be used to her benefit.

"I've also been thinking about the gifts to bring. I do not know what the nobles would deem as acceptable and as much as I don't wish to overburden you, I think it would be for the best if you chose them. I do, however, have an idea about gifts for the common folk. I have come with... personal food supplies. Nothing fancy, it was originally meant for my men accompanying me on my journey here, but it is food and it is the kind of food that is easy to transport, easy to prepare and doesn't really spoil. We could bring it to the poorest communities." It was becoming increasingly obvious that they didn't have much time to organize everything; they would have to start as soon as possible if they were to make it in time.

"Is there anything else that should be discussed, my queen? If not, I suggest we commence the preparations for our journey."

 

[Conifer]

Remin was admittedly surprised that Avther’s plan actually sounded-- reasonable. Good, even. But then again, he knew these people better than she did. She wasn’t too proud to admit that. She was, maybe, too proud to admit that - at least on paper - their skills and familiarities were a decent compliment to the other’s. Even his easy agreement to defer to her, when needed, showed that to be true. It didn’t make her like this situation any more. If anything, it made her like it less. “I’ll handle the gifts for nobility,” She agrees, though most that task can be delegated away to people who knew the intricacies of each individual better than she did. Remin could easily generalize about what would be appropriate, but she hadn’t had much reason to know the likes and dislikes of each person until recently. More work to do, when everything was settled, she supposed. “But your idea sounds appropriate. We can supplement it with fruits and the like, which I’ll work on arranging.”

She smooths her fingers over the scratch she left against the table, and took one last look at the map. What a peculiar honeymoon this was going to be. “The advisors will prepare our transportation, and whoever’s accompanying us.” There, really, wasn’t much for Avther to do. She wasn’t going to ask him to roam around the castle in search of whatever clothing people that didn’t know him could spare for a few weeks, and she couldn’t count on him to arrange the availability of fruits in each of the towns they’re planning on extending their gifts in. Gods. It wasn’t his fault he was no noble, but she couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed and wishing the partner she’d been saddled with knew the processes involved with this sort of life a bit better.

“Research might do you well,” she suggests. “Learn some of what you’re lacking, while I’m tending to all of that. Whatever interests you. There’s a few books here,” Remin gestures towards the short shelves that line the room - books of omens and predictions, books of strategy, books of war - “Though more in the library. It’s just down the hall, through the third door on the left.”

 

[Aerynth]

"Ah, I... I see. I'm not really used to letting other people do my work." Well, not the intellectual work at the very least. Of course that Cyreia hadn't slain each and every enemy personally, even though certain people were ready to believe that. She had, however, been responsible for matters pertaining to strategy, logistics and anything that had been needed to keep her unit in good working order. "I suppose I should abandon that mindset, though. It would not be very kingly of me to run around and tend to every little thing." We'll see whether I'll manage to do that. Habit was a prison one rarely escaped from, after all, and Cyreia had spent way too much time in this one.

"Yes, I do believe that this is a good idea. I've wanted to read some of these for a while, anyway." She approached the boolshelf and inspected the titles, caressing the books almost lovingly in the process. The ones related to warfare roused her interest immediately, but Cyreia left them on the shelf. I'm not here to learn more about they ways of military, she reminded herself. Even though new perspectives could surely be found in those books, those perspectives wouldn't serve her well during the journey. In the end, Cyreia picked a book about history, a book describing the origins of Athean customs and a book containing family trees of the great Athean houses. An eclectic collection to be sure, but she had to start somewhere. "I think I will take these with me on our journey as well. I'm not the fastest reader, I'm afraid." In order to grasp its contents fully, Cyreia liked to spend a lot of time on any given book; if she read it too fast, the information refused to stay in her head.

"Well, should you need anything, you know where to find me. I'll be either here or in the library." With these words, Cyreia sat down, opened the first book and started reading. "Oh, and my queen?" she asked without looking up before Remin could leave the room. "Thank you for being so helpful. I realize that this must be... difficult and unpleasant for you, and I appreciate how you go out of your way to accomodate me." Cyreia suspected that this wouldn't mean much to Remin, but she wanted her to know nevertheless. It was a simple but powerful truth that people generally liked hearing that their efforts were recognized.

Cyreia spent the rest of her day soaking in whatever pieces of knowledge she could get her hands on. The process wasn't very pleasant. Her back was still sore after the night on the floor, so she couldn't find a position that would be comfortable enough. What was even worse, her eyes started hurting after a few hours as well, unused to extended periods of such intense focus. Every hour or so, Cyreia dropped whatever she was doing and went for a short walk in the courtyard; surely she would lose her mind if she didn't move once in a while. Each moment of reprieve filled her with new resolve to study, and study she did. Even if the books were pompous in style and much more complicated than necessary, they were also genuinely interesting once you deciphered the prose. Everything still seemed disjointed to her - she had no context, no convenient mental box that would store the new knowledge easily - Cyreia believed it would get easier in time. It always did in the end. When it got too dark to read, she decided that it was enough studying for one day and went to sleep; this time to her own room. If the servants judged her, none of them dared to show it. Honestly, even if they did, Cyreia was too tired to notice and too thankful for the smallest semblance of privacy to care. She fell asleep fast that night, unburdened by the thoughts of tomorrow.

The next day started out rather frantic. The maids had brought her some Athean clothes - courtesy of Remin - and once she put it on, it was time to go. The whole castle was buzzing with activity as the preparations neared their climax, the servants practically running down the hallways to finish everything in time. It's just two weeks, Cyreia wanted to say, no need to get so worked up, but she kept silent in the end. This, too, was a part of the royal lifestyle. "Good morning, my queen," she greeted Remin; they two met in the courtyard. Their carriages were awaiting them there, along with their horses. Cyreia got to keep her old horse - a large white stallion - and it surprised her how much it pleased her to see him again. It hasn't even been that long! It really hadn't, but in a way, Ehasham represented a precious link to her past. Cyreia shouldn't preserve such links, but she decided that the horse would be an exception to that rule. "We should probably be on our way."

And so they embarked on the journey. It felt good to get away from the castle; the air was fresh and sweet-smelling, and while Cyreia would have preferred to ride faster, the wind still caressed her hair in a way she knew and loved. There was a unique kind of freedom one could only experience on horseback, or at least she thought so. And Athea? The country was... beautiful. Not as green and lush as Eupriunia, but still not without its own charm. The charm would certainly disappear once they reached some of the wartorn areas, yet for now, Cyreia could sightsee in peace. And there were many things to see! She spotted trees and plants she couldn't categorize at all; a reminder that she should also study the Athean flora and fauna next time, not just its people. And speaking of things she had studied... "My queen?" Cyreia got closer to Remin, who had been a few steps behind her. "I learned a lot of new things yesterday, but certain things still seem cryptic to me. The way you... use magic, for example. Will we come across magic users? What should I expect in this regard?" Eupriunian considered the Athenian use of magic to be blasphemous; they used it too much and, in doing so, departed from what was natural. Cyreia tried not to hold any prejudices, but she had to admit that she was feeling slightly apprehensive.

 

[Conifer]

It was, at the very least, nice to have something to keep her busy. Traipsing around the castle didn’t give her mind much time to linger on Avther and the upcoming trip, besides the very narrow amounts of both she was focused on. The finding clothing took a bit more work than the rest of it, but by the time she’d exhausted her options, there was a tidy set of clothes that would do for most occasions. Some might hang a bit large, not fit quite right, but it would have to do. Tailors could be called in when they returned, before they took over as king and queen properly, and needed to look the part more than they did now.

The work was occasionally punctuated with polite farewells to guests that had stayed the night - polite swapping of pleasantries that left a taste in her mouth like bitter chalk. ‘Oh, yes, of course we’re both very happy.’ ‘Yes, it’s such a lovely match, don’t you think? And he’s so handsome at that’ ‘Well, it’s always tricky in the beginning, but we’re off to a wonderful start, I think.’ A dozen lies made in the sake of security. As much as she wanted to trust the people that she spoke with, every one of them had something to gain by driving wedges wherever they could manage. She wasn’t going to give them the opportunity, even if it left her feeling more and more isolated with every word. But that was the life of a princess-turned-chess-piece-turned-queen, wasn’t it? Isolation? It had served her most of her life. That wasn’t going to change now.


And yet the emptiness of their room when Remin turned to bed didn’t provide her any peace. She didn’t want Avther here. She didn’t. That much was incredibly true. She didn’t want a repeat of the night before, where they’d argued themselves to sleep and then mutually pretended it hadn’t happened in the morning. She didn’t want to press formality into her skin and pretend like it existed there naturally while she readied herself for bed. She didn’t want any of the things that came along with sharing a bed with her new husband, but she still found herself wanting for something. Something that, it seemed, fate was never going to allow her to have.
(She tried not to think hard of the diviner that had, once, taken her hand in both of hers in the dim of a room lit with dozens of candles, all casting different colors from their flames, and had told her that she would, one day, find love in the shadow of purpose. Predictions of love were never to be trusted. People were too complicated, too fickle, to really rely on the fortune telling of feelings. And, at any rate, the words made very little sense. That night she’d still written it down on a scrap of paper - a quiet reminder of, at least, potential - and stuffed it under her mattress like some sort of protection spell.)


The morning was quiet. She woke early, and set to work tidying up any loose ends of the trip before she bothered getting properly ready for the day; the guests were gone, and the staff in the castle that now felt a little hollow had seen her in worse early-morning states. Eventually, though, she made her way into the courtyard from which they were leaving, and stood beside her husband. “Good morning,” she greeted softly back, before moving towards the carriages at his prompting.


She was content in the silence as they started to travel, occasionally listening in on the conversation being had by the guards behind her - they’d been sent with five in total, of varying skills, to protect them, then two drivers for the carriages, and a maid for the rest of it. It was a small envoy, the ten of them, but an envoy all the same. “Yes, my king?” Remin snaps back to attention at Avther’s address. “...We will, yes.” She confirms. “What you should expect...well, there’s some future-tellers, though there’s also a lot of people who will tell you a false future in exchange for some coin, so be wary of them. Then there’s others that you may not even notice - people who use it to take stains away from clothes, those who use it to help their flowers bloom a bit longer, or their vegetables to grow a bit faster. Simple magic. Common magic.” She had some of her own, but rarely used it. It felt like dredging weights up from the bottom of a well when she tried, and left her muscles aching for days if she did anything more complicated than threading a needle. “Then there’s others that do more complex things. Change the color of one thing to another. Change fabrics from cotton to silk. Pull rot from food, or sickness from people or animals. Influence the earth to do their bidding. There’s far fewer of those than anything else, honestly, but we’ll stay with a couple of them during this trip.” She’s quiet a moment, looking out over the landscape. She’d made this journey a few times, and it felt familiar. “Eupriunia doesn’t tend to use magic much, do they?”

 

[Aerynth]

It was utterly baffling. Remin spoke of such miracles in the same tone one spoke of braiding their hair or their favorite food; in other words, ordinary things. Well, they are ordinary to her if the stories about Athea are to be believed. Oh, the stories. Cyreia still remembered. Back when she had been a child, innocent and still herself, mother had told her many stories about their mysterious neighbors. How deftly she had weaved narratives of ancient curses, dragons and vengeful spirits! Remin may have failed to mention any of these, but the more mundane kind of magic she had described still felt... well, just as magical to her. And just as unsettling. Strange, conflicting feelings were awakening in her chest. On one hand, magic was treacherous. Every Eupriunian knew that relying on it too much weakened the human spirit, and was an affront to god. But on the other hand, Cyreia felt pulled to the unknown by the same instinct that had dragged her towards pursuit of knowledge so many times before. Some of it, she had to admit, sounded exceedingly useful.

"Hmmm. Who would yearn to know what future has in store for them? Isn't it easier to live without the knowledge?" Cyreia's tone wasn't argumentative; it was curious more than anything else. "Imagine that something terrible is to befall you. You can't prevent it because it's written in your future, so the only thing that changes with the prophecy is that now you know. What a terrible fate!" No, ignorance was way kinder, at least from her perspective.

"Well, we do use some magic. Nothing too complicated nor too awe-inspiring, but we don't shy away from it entirely. Take my sword, for example." Cyreia touched the scabbard hanging from her waist, caressing it lightly as she spoke. "It is heavily enchanted by our standards. There's a spell that is meant to keep it from breaking; a blacksmith is still needed for it to remain in the best shape possible, but it can take a lot of abuse. This type of enchantment is very common and applied to almost every single sword made in Eupriunia. What's special about this weapon is that it is also enchanted to feel lighter to my hand. The weight is not actually reduced and my arms still ache if I use it too much, but I don't realize that they ache until after I have put it back in my scabbard." Suddenly, Cyreia chuckled. "I used to get myself injured all the time with this blade when I first got it because... well, I couldn't rely on my body to know that I have had enough and I just kept practicing, swing after swing. I think I even passed out once because I forgot to eat." That was a part of why Eupriunians frowned upon magic; it severed the connection between the body and the soul. "Now that I think of it, I don't believe we use magic outside of combat situations."

Cyreia did not know whether Remin was interested in all those details, but for some reason, it talking to her felt... easy. Perhaps a little too easy. Some part of her was convinced that she had said too much - that it wasn't wise to describe Eupriunian military affairs to an Athean queen - but then again, Cyreia belonged to Athean nobility now, too. And it's not like she can actually use the knowledge to do anything. No, Remin did not deserve her suspicions when she had been nothing but helpful so far.

Their envoy moved slowly, but it didn't take too long for the first houses to appear on the horizon. As they got closer, it quickly turned out that the majority of them had been damaged, probably by fire. The roofs suffered the most; they were missing entirely while there were holes in those that had escaped complete destruction. The fields surrounding the little village seemed barren, as lifeless as the rest of the settlement. Ah, I was not looking forward to this. Cyreia would have preferred to look away, but she didn't dare to. This is the fruit of my efforts. She had always tried to minimize civilian suffering, but one person's will only stretched so far. It hadn't been her hand that had burned the village, but it might as well have been. "What's the name of this village?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral. I wonder if there are any survivors. If so, where are they hiding?

 

[Conifer]

“Telling the future...it’s never cut and dry. If it were, we’d have been better prepared for the war. But in the cases where it does predict a death, or illness...it’s better to know, wouldn’t you think? To have time to sort out whatever you need to sort out. Part of the tragedy of death is how sudden it can be.” Her voice goes softer there, and she wonders what might have been different if anyone had been able to predict the death of the king and queen. Would they still have gone? Would they still be alive? It’s with a voice that doesn’t hold the steadiness she’d like it to that she continues. “And it doesn’t-- you can change it. Sometimes. If you’re told that you’ll stub your toe tomorrow, then you probably will. But if you’re told that you’ll stub your toe in the stables tomorrow, and you don’t stub your toe, then-- then it’s not going to happen, obviously. They’re just possibilities. Some are more able to narrow down those possibilities than others, tell you things that are going to happen, instead of just could - but it’s an art. Not a science. It’s never perfect.”

She listens to Avther as he talks about the application in his homeland, and it sounds- utterly peculiar, to her. As much as they use magic commonly, it’s rarely brought into the battlefield. Yes, of course they employ magic users - it’d be nearly stupid to not take advantage of people that could throw boulders the size of small elephants or dredge up waves that sent troops scattered - but it was never done quietly. Swords were swords, and you could trust one to be one. You could trust it to cut, or to break, when it should. You could pick up a sword from a fallen friend and use it in their place, and not have to learn the complications that came along with their weapon. And, she supposed, it was cheaper. Their military wasn’t as solid, as well-populated or funded, as Eupriunia’s. Their country wasn’t, either.

“...Easthaven,” Remin replies, slowing her horse a bit, scanning the horizon. She’d been able to see the smoke of it out her bedroom window the week it burned, and it lingered in the air for what felt like years. “It was one of the last places hit, before the war was ended. At least, the last this far in. I’m sure border skirmishes continued.” Might even be continuing, admittedly. She was never war-minded, and trusted others to handle that better than her. She tried to stay in the loop, but - all the activity of the past few months, preparing for the wedding, left her kind of at the wayside when it came to petty fights along country lines.

 

[Aerynth]

"Easthaven," Cyreia repeated softly. Many villages had been burned down in the course of war, more than she could count, but the sight had never ceased to disturb her. Dying on the battlefield was one thing; such a death could be honorable, even glorious. Cyreia herself wouldn't mind it that much. There was nothing glorious about dying in your home, though, cornered like a wild animal by men who were armed to teeth while you wielded an axe at best.Wars really do bring out the worst in our species at times. "I... I want to look," she practically whispered. "I mean, I believe that we should inspect the place. It is possible that someone is still there." Most survivors had probably fled for other villages and cities, seeking ther luck elsewhere, but it that didn't mean that Easthaven was necessarily empty now.

"It's... not that unusual for people to stay behind even if all is lost. Some are too attached to leave, and so they persist." This was particularly true in villages, at least in Eupriunia. Whole generations of people often grew up in one village; when the roots of your family ran this deep, the thought of leaving felt almost sacrilegous. "If someone still lives in that place, we should ensure that they get the help they need." Cyreia didn't actually want to get closer. Quite the contrary. The mere idea of entering the burned settlement made her nauseous - every single nerve in her body was screaming at her to just ride past it - but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Not when she had a duty towards her people. Not when she herself had been found in a village sharing a similar fate so many years ago. For a moment, the sight of the village made her feel as if it had happened yesterday and she was still that little girl, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. Of course I'm not her anymore. I am Avther, the Athean king. Cyreia gripped the reins tighter; the only visible sign of discomfort she didn't manage to hide.

Ehasham approached Easthaven reluctantly, afraid of the smell of death hanging in the air, but he kept getting closer nonetheless. When they arrived to the village gate, Cyreia got off the horse and continued on foot. Some of the houses, she noticed, looked rather well-preserved; it seemed that the sacking of the village had been haphazard, likely due to the lack of time. Other houses, however, had turned into ruins. I wonder who sanctioned this, especially since the war was practically at its end already. Well, it's not like it matters. "No corpses," she realized after a while of silent exploring. There should have been some, even many of them, but Cyreia didn't see a single body. "Someone must have buried them or burned them. Probably not the soldiers because they seldom care for things like this." It was in that moment that someone made a terrified sound and the door not far from her closed shut. Apparently they did have a company.

 

[Conifer]

The guards murmur dislike of Avther’s plan, but with quiet ‘Your highnesses’, follow after the man atop the horse. Remin, as well, shifts her own pale horse’s path to follow.

Drifting ash and the smell of smoke still hung heavy, tinting the light from the sky an unnatural orangish haze . They hadn’t had much wind or rain since the burning, and so there was nothing to discourage it. Remin brought a handkerchief to cover her nose and mouth, hopefully blocking out the worst of it, but her chest still felt tight. “In the fields, likely. We tend to bury, here.” She murmurs, before there’s the sound ahead of them, and she, too, holds tighter to the reins. She’s never been more glad that she found Athean clothing for Avther. Enough ghosts walk here already for anyone still here to have to see another in the things he wears. She wonders what it is that they should do - stop? Try to greet the people that remain? She knows they should, she knows Avther’s right, they should try to help, but - she should have sent help in the first place. She should have sent aid. Instead, she’d failed them, like she had so many. The crown hadn’t entirely been hers, yet, nor the responsibility, but that wouldn’t matter much to people scrounging in burnt out skeletons of homes. It didn’t matter much to the guilt that suddenly felt like it would crush her. All of this, while she watched the smoke rise from her bed, safe and stupid to it. Her movements carry her off the horse before she can even think twice about it. This is what war does.

(She wonders, distantly, if anything like this happened on their side. If they tore through homes like this. It’s in all likelihood that it did, and that rests heavy on her shoulders too.)

“We’re not meaning harm,” She calls, and her voice feels infinitely loud, though she’s not even certain it reaches the door. “We-- we can help. We have food, supplies.” Mostly their own, but they could buy more at the capital. They wouldn’t starve before then. These people might. “We can send for medical aid. Whatever you need.”
She feels like she’s yelling into the void. Something clatters, off in the distance, but the door doesn’t open for a moment. Two moments. Five. Had they imagined that? Was there even anyone here?

 

[Aerynth]

Too lost in her own thoughts and observations, Cyreia hadn't actually noticed that Remin had followed her until she spoke. It... surprised her. In its current state, Easthaven was no place for, well, anyone, but certainly not for a young woman who had never faced such horrors before. Perhaps it would have been kinder to order her to stay back. Then again, Remin was a queen now, a ruler in her own right, and couldn't afford to remain blind to the plight of her people. Cyreia respected that desire to learn.

She stayed silent as Remin talked, partly because there wasn't anything else to add and partly because her throat suddenly felt very dry. Would anything even come out if she tried to speak? It was getting difficult to breathe with the smell of burned flesh etched into the soil. Cyreia leaned on the nearby fence, desperate for some stability. Get a hold of yourself, you fool. You have no excuse. Not one.

Indeed, she didn't. She was still alive, unlike those who had met their demise here. To collapse here because of a memory would have been an insult. And so she didn't do that; instead, Cyreia swallowed her pain and straightened herself once again. Given how quickly her guard was back up, the moment of weakness might as well had never occurred. The only evidence that pointed towards the incident was that her olive skin looked slightly paler than usual.

They waited and waited; it seemed that not even leaves on the remaining trees moved. The time itself stopped in its tracks. Then, when she was almost ready to believe it had been just their imagination, the door opened just enough to reveal a cautious face. It was an old woman, probably old enough to be her grandmother, and suspicion was reflected in her expression. "They'd just take it anyway. Begone. We shall manage on our own."

"Who?" Cyreia found her voice. "The war has ended, good woman. You have nothing to be afraid of anymore. We've come to help." The woman laughed and it wasn't a happy laugh; she sounded dead.

"The war may have ended, but the vultures still feed on the corpse of this country." Vultures? Ice replaced the regret in Cyreia's eyes. She had suspected that such problems would arise sooner or later as bandits and profiteers of all types thrived where common folk suffered, but that didn't reduce her disgust for what was happening in any way. If there was something she hated more than misdirected military violence, it had to be those lowlives taking advantage of it.

"Where?" she asked. "Where do they come from?"

"The nearby forest."

Anger flashed through her veins and Cyreia touched her sword instinctively. Clearly, this issue had to be dealt with.

 

[Conifer]

Remin’s oblivious to the reaction Avther has beside her. Her eyes, instead of to him, go to the thick trees in the distance; a few are blackened and dark with the effects of fire, but not much of the forest was touched. It was, unfortunately, a wonderful place for people to hide in and sneak out of when night had fallen or when people were otherwise defenseless. “Tirsi,” She says, turning to one of the guards - she rode fast, and at the moment, that’s all Remin needed. They could fix this. They had to fix this. She had to fix this. She had a responsibility that she hadn’t fulfilled before now. “Head back to the castle. Gather volunteers to flush the forest out, and one or two people to remain here until we’re able to fix this problem more securely when we return. Bring supplies. Food, clean water.” Even this feels pointless. She’s delegating. She’s barely going out of her way, at all. This is nothing compared to everything they’ve lost, and she has no idea how to do anything else.

Tirsi hesitates. “Your highness, I’m not sure--”

“I am.” She says, more firmly, and that seems to be enough. “We’ll meet back up in the capital.” She’d stay herself, if she could, she tells herself. She’d stay if it wouldn’t throw off hours of planning, if it would really do anything useful. She was useless. She knew- theory, not practice. She knew books. She didn’t know people. She didn’t know what she was doing, and she felt- worthless. Floundering.

 

[Aerynth]

It doesn't seem that large, so finding them shouldn't be too hard. Cyreia obviously didn't know that particular forest, but she knew how criminal groups operated. There could only be so many places in there that were suited to serve as a hideout. It would take her, what, two to three hours? Maybe less if they had been stupid enough to leave a trail of crumbs for her to follow. And crushing them? Oh, that should be even easier. Cyreia refused to believe even for a second that capable fighters would prey on civilians.

Remin, however, seemed to have a different idea. So this is the difference between me and her. Remin's way was the way of a queen; she gave out orders with such an ease and such an unquestionable authority that it really seemed as if she had been born for the role. Was that the reason behind the existence of royal bloodlines? Cyreia felt inadequate in comparison. Clearly, her wife's approach was superior. It didn't make sense to risk the king's life for a bunch of pawns, not in chess and not in real life. Cyreia knew that much. The problem with knowing something was that cold logic was powerless when faced with the fire coursing through her veins. No, she couldn't let this go.

Well, first things first. And what is more important than tending to the survivors? "I do not doubt that you can take care of yourself," she spoke to the old woman, "but you will not be left to the wolves. Not you and not anyone else deserving of help."

Cyreia then approached Remin, her expression unreadable. "My queen," she spoke in a voice soft enough that it very well could have been whisper, "I can take care of this. It wouldn't take long; I have had to get rid of such pest in the past and I know how to smoke them out quickly. If I get to lead the operation, losses on our side can be minimized." Perhaps it was the side of her that was used to receive commands, but Cyreia didn't wish to go against Remin's wishes. If an agreement could be reached, that would be ideal.

 

[Conifer]

She presses her lips into a thin line, and, despite herself, glances at the town. They deserve better than more people sweeping in. They deserve-- they deserve someone like Avther. Someone who can do them some good without shoving the problem off on someone else. Her mouth feels dry, and it takes her a moment to reply. “We-- the losses on our side need to be /none/, my king.” She says, just as quietly, and then feels immediately guilty for it. Easthaven had lost so much. She’d lost, comparatively, so little. “I just mean that--” She tries, but it feels useless even to her, and she cuts herself off with a small, shaking breath. This is what she wanted. To help. Actively. Even if she’s not doing it herself - gods know she’s no good with a sword - it’s what she wanted. Remin turns away, looking back towards the forest. The guards would protect him above all else. He would be fine. That’s all that mattered, in the terrible scheme of things. “It’s your call, my king. We can make up the time elsewhere. If you trust in your abilities well enough, then...I defer the decision.” Again. Simply delegation. It was comfortable, though, and she hated it as much as she easily settled into it.

 

[Aerynth]

Seeing Remin's mask slip and reveal the distraught young woman she was at the moment felt a little heartbreaking. Her wife was the kind of woman who, upon having to marry a foreign invader, showed nothing but cold formality. Cyreia didn't know her yet, not really, yet what she did know was that Remin wasn't a coward. The contrast between the face she had allowed her to see in these past two days and her behavior now felt striking. It wasn't like she didn't understand, though. In a way, Cyreia approved even. This reaction demonstrated above all else that she cared for her people; the mark of a true leader. Looking directly in her eyes, Cyreia placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. It may very well have been the first time she touched Remin out of her own volition.

"No losses. Understood. I promise you that there will be no more shedding of innocent blood." The blood of those lowlives, on the other hand, will flow, her expression said. The sword hanging around her waist was getting thirsty. "I will leave one of the guards with you for your own protection." More would have been ideal, but Cyreia wasn't particularly feeling suicidal. They hadn't come with many men and giving up even one was... inadvisable. I cannot leave her here unprotected, though. She already hated the thought of abandoning Remin in her current state; leaving her in Easthaven completely defenceless would have been unthinkable. "This will probably take a few hours as I am unfamiliar with the terrain. I suggest, if you're not opposed to the idea, looking for other survivors while I am gone. They may be scattered all over the village, some of them possibly hurt. And even if they are unhurt, I'd wager that they'd be happy to see a friendly face. At least some of them." Remin, too, could do a lot for these people, possibly even more than her. Cyreia would remove the threat plaguing what remained of Easthaven, but its dwellers had already been through hell. Her actions would prevent further suffering, true. Nothing about it would lessen the old suffering, though, and Remin could tend to that.

Cyreia took a step back and bowed to Remin. "I shall be back." With this promise, she went to speak to the guards. "There has been a change in our plans. I will serve justice to the vultures personally and you will assist me. You," she pointed at one of them, "will stay here and guard my queen. The rest of you will go with me."

"But, your highness, that would be too--"

"My decision is final." The authority that rang in her voice promptly shut them up. To be frank, she didn't enjoy treating them like that. Guarding someone like her was probably a bodyguard's worst nightmare and normally, Cyreia would have tried her hardest to avoid making their jobs even more complicated, but this had to be done. She owed it to her people. She owed it to Remin, too. Even to herself so that she could sleep soundly at night. And so Cyreia got on her horse and rode towards the dark forest, followed by her reluctant companions.

 

[Conifer]

Remin hadn’t really connected the man standing before her to the stories of military victory he’d led before the moment when she saw that expression on his face. This was a man that had killed. This was a man that would, again, kill. It left her dizzy.
She’d been scared of a lot of things, going into this - she’d been scared of what the marriage would change about her daily life, and what it might change for the castle, and what it would change for the nation. But she hadn’t been truly scared of him, until now, despite the stories. Not until he reached out and set a hand on her shoulder and looked at her like that. All justice and bloodlust. It looked so natural on him - this is where he looked like he belonged. And that scared her.

But, she supposed, it’s what the kingdom needed - and that might scare her even more.

She watched as he pulled away, murmuring a quiet “My king,” before he turns to the guards, and it’s a disjointed blur until he’s walking away, leaving her feeling wound tighter with every step he takes like some sort of clockwork doll. When he’s as good as gone, the doll shudders into movement, and she sets about doing the task he assigned her.

There isn’t, honestly, much to find. Easthaven is a shell of a place. She stumbles through burnt-out shells and finds things that only make it worse - shattered idols of deities among otherwise unbroken belongings, beds looking like someone will be back to sleep there tonight, tools engraved with initials, shirts and dresses and pants in closets. A stuffed toy. Yes, there’s a few people, but as best she can tell, there’s maybe fifteen, twenty left in a town that had a couple hundred. And none of them are exactly happy to see her.
Which is fair. She wouldn’t expect them to be - if the places had been swapped, then she wouldn’t be exactly happy, either. The best she can do is pass on the message that the king was handling the issue of bandits, and that they’ll send supplies and aid as soon as they can to help make up for the things that have been taken from them, by either war or fire or theft. She passes out the food they can spare, and when she hands a roll of bread to a child who can’t be more than 12, who doesn’t seem to have anyone with her, she tries not to let her emotions get the better of her. They’re fixing this. They’re fixing this as best they can.

“We should return to the carriage, your highness,” The guard she’s left with - Hawthorne, she’s decently sure - advises, once they’ve passed out food to the last person they can find. She doesn’t feel like arguing, and does feel like hiding away from all of this, so Remin doesn’t need much more convincing than that. The maid sits there with her as well, but the two of them don’t speak as Remin waits for Avther to return, curled inelegantly into the seat and staring out the window, towards the forest.

 

[Aerynth]

The forest, Cyreia thought, looked like a grave. Dark, strangely quiet and cramped with all the trees growing very close together. It clearly hasn't seen an axe for a long, long time now. They had had to tie their horses outside because riding would have been impossible in this terrain, but Cyreia welcomed that development. The lack of space would help them find the bandits faster; if they had trouble moving in this forest, they must have faced the same kind of trouble and, inevitably, chosen the path of least resistance. That was how people worked. And indeed, from time to time, Cyreia spotted a sign that they were following the right track; a branch broken in a peculiar way here and an old arrow there. Clear evidence of human activity.

The guards were mostly silent, only speaking to each other in hushed voices. Cyreia didn't speak at all. She probably would have, had she still been with the men from her own unit, but they were somewhere in Eupriunia now, enjoying the short period of peace before another inevitable conquest. She missed them. They knew her, knew her methods and - most importantly - weren't afraid of her, didn't dislike her. The same probably couldn't be said about the four guards following her. At least that was what Cyreia got from the way they, well, didn't communicate at all. It didn't bother her all that much, though. They could hardly be blamed for not being too friendly to the new king-usurper. For all they knew, any sign of informality could end in their own death.

Now that they had left Easthaven behind, Cyreia felt clear-headed once again. It probably helped that she also had a clearly defined task; to find and destroy the den of bandits. She slipped into the old mindset of vigilance easily, finding a strange kind of comfort in it. This was what she had been trained for for a large part of her life. It felt like coming back home.

They wandered around for what Cyreia guessed could have been an hour when they finally emerged at a glade. The scenery might have looked rather charming if it hadn't been for the impaled corpses decorating the entrance. All young men, likely the ones who resisted during their raids. Mere farmers by the look of their clothes. Certainly no knights. A textbook intimidation tactic; "don't get closer if you don't want to end up like this," the display said. It only served as a fuel for Cyreia's cold anger. "Well, it appears that we have found them. I do wonder if they're half as good at slaying trained fighters as they are at massacring civilians." Something told her that they would get the chance to discover that very soon. Perhaps sooner than they thought.

"Hey, what was that?!" The voice was accompanied by the characteristic sound of drawn steel. Cyreia drew her sword as well, her face betraying nothing but concentration. "Avther, the first of his name, has come to judge you for your sins. You shall die for the crimes you have committed at Easthaven." It was a good Eupriunian custom to inform those who were about to die who their executioner was and why they deserved their death. Cyreia wasn't Eupriunian anymore, but she still liked that particular habit. At least it gave them the opportunity to regret their crimes.

Suddenly there were men everywhere and the whole world became a confused blur. They were screaming something and she might have screamed in response, but that wasn't important. At the moment, Cyreia was empty. The muscle memory took over and her entire being was reduced to a series of movements. Sidestep, sidestep, slash. Front guard, another sidestep, advance, thrust. Her enemies were ferocious, but sloppy with their attacks, and her sword was soon bathing in blood. It was then that Cyreia noticed one of the guards had been backed into a corner. He had lost his weapon somehow and the bandit in front of him was about to deal what could have been a deadly blow. Cyreia didn't think, hadn't for a while now. It didn't matter who the guard was; at the moment, she saw just a brother in arms. Her body moved completely on its own. Unceremoniously, Cyreia kicked the guard away from the harm's way and blocked the incoming attack with her own sword, or at least some of it. The angle wasn't perfect and her actions had earned her a long, nasty scratch across her right arm. Damn. The stars of pain were dancing in front of her eyes and she had to blink to see clearly.

"Y-your highness," the guard muttered, clearly lost for words. Another guard pierced the offending party from behind, ending his life. Thankfully, the fight was all but over now. Cyreia actually favored her left hand in a fight, but fighting with an injured arm was never a desirable state of affairs. Breathing hard now, she cleaned her blade from blood and put it back into its scabbard. A quick glance told her that while almost nobody escaped unscathed, nobody died, either. Not bad. "Good job. Let's... let's just return."

"Your highness, you are bleeding."

"Yes, but it's not a deadly injury." Cyreia wasn't a doctor, but she had learned to predict such things with great accuracy. This would be just another scar in her ever expanding collection. "Patch me up, will you?" The man tore his own clothes in silence and bandaged the wound tightly. It would have to get cleaned later, but for now, this would have to do. They headed back, once again without speaking, but the silence felt different this time. More shocked than awkward.

By the time they returned back to the carriage, Cyreia's thirst for revenge had long been stated. The dangerous glint was gone from her eyes, though she did look paler than usual. Paler and ragged, with one of her sleeves soaked in blood. "I've fulfilled my promise, my queen. No innocent blood has been spilled. We should... we should send someone into the forest to retrieve the dead. Even the bandits should be buried, and there were also corpses of their victims."

 

[Conifer]

It’s a painful wait.
Part of her - some terrible part - wonders how terrible it would be if he doesn’t return. It would be tragic, surely, but...but it would solve the issues of being married to a soldier of the enemy, wouldn’t it? Life could return to relative normal. She’d mourn him for a while, and do the performance of mourning him longer, as would be expected of a widow, but it would...be easier. Remin swallows hard, refocusing her attention to the inside of the carriage, and the detail of the fabric pinned to the wall, and the way the curtains shift in the slight breeze that sweeps through. She didn’t /want/ that. It would be easier in the short term, surely, and she’d play the part of a widow well, but she doesn’t want that, and it’s an awful thing to think about your husband. She feels terrible for even entertaining the horrid fantasy for even a moment.

And yet, when she sees the five of them emerging from the woods, there’s a quiet, disappointed Oh. that she can’t catch herself from thinking. It’s replaced quickly by relief, but that little tiny Oh. still wedges itself deep. She’s glad to see him. She is. Of course she is, she honestly is, but-- that tiny, tiny, terrible part of her isn’t. She pulls herself from the tight walls of the carriage as they near it, to greet them, instead of lingering in that space of tightness and terrible thoughts.

“My king,” She greets, when they’re near enough to hear, and she looks over them, inspecting the injuries. No one’s too terrible, but most were equipped for a fight, in leathers. Avther, with the red spilled against his arm, really wasn’t.

No innocent blood, Avther says, and Remin feels laughter pressing tight in her chest, sharp and humorless, but she fights it back. No, certainly no innocent blood. Not a drop of it. The blood that coats Avther’s shirtsleeve has not been innocent. Her eyes linger on it while she replies, channeling that pressure into a tight “I can certainly see that,” that feels as sharp to her as the blood-smeared blade at Avther’s side. “Come. We’ll ride in the carriage for a bit. I’ll tend to your wound.” She says, as if that’s atonement for her terrible thoughts while he had been gone. She tears her eyes away, looking to her own guard, and one of the others that looked the least worn from the fighting. “You two. Go inform the people that it’s complete, and where they can find their dead. What they do with the bodies of the bandits is up to them. We’ll get ready to leave again, so be back quickly as you can. We can send people from the castle if they want help.”

“Your highness,” one of them mutters, giving a slight nod, before they both head back into the mess of Easthaven.

 

[Aerynth]

Right, her wound. It certainly had to be cleaned, though she hadn't expected Remin to do it. "You know how to tend to wounds? A strange skill for a noble to have, but I'm certainly not complaining." Cyreia stepped into the carriage and sat down. Though she usually disliked traveling in carriages - they felt too cramped, and the air often became downright nasty during long journeys - she welcomed the relative comfort it offered when compared to horseback now. Some rest would be nice.

Cyreia waited obediently for Remin to prepare whatever instruments she needed for the procedure. The pain was pulsating throughout her entire arm now and she would be lying if she were to claim that it didn't bother her, but... it could have been worse, honestly. It had been worse many times in the past. Pain had been one of her earliest and most faithful companions, so she had a good idea of how bad it could get. She also knew from experience that the best way to handle it was to distract herself with something else. With talking, for example. "You spoke about people of Easthaven when you gave out the order to inform them about their dead. Does that mean that you have met other survivors? How did it go?" Likely not too well as these things rarely went well, but perhaps Remin had been lucky. And even if she hadn't been, her presence had certainly offered some solace to the people of Easthaven. Not the kind that could be appreciated at the moment, but they would surely remember how their queen had tended to them personally for years to come.

Wait. What if she tries to undress me to get a better access to the wound? The thought was alarming and she could suddenly feel her heart beating faster. Cyreia reached for her dagger before Remin could get any ideas and tore the bloodied sleeve. The slash beneath it looked long, but not terribly deep. A web of scars far worse than this one would turn into extended across her arm, each of them a reminder of who she was. "I, uh, it was destroyed anyway," Cyreia said as she touched the fabric, sounding almost apologetic. It probably was; no force in the world could clean so much blood from a white robe. Still, Remin had gone through so much trouble to get Athean clothes and what had she done with it? Destroyed it within a single day. "I should have been more careful. It was a stupid mistake, really. If I had maintained awareness of what was happening on the battlefield more diligently, I would have noticed sooner that one of my men was in danger."

 

[Conifer]

“When I was young,” she says by way of explanation, as she climbs into the carriage after Avther. “My father was injured. We were out riding, and -- well, it’s all a bit hard to remember, but his horse spooked over something. He was thrown off, and landed on a branch. It was…” She goes quiet for a moment, searching through some things to find the tools she needed. She’s rambling, she’s aware that she is, but blood always put her on edge. “It pierced him. Badly. And anything like that is terrifying when you’re fourteen and haven’t really seen injury before, but I just felt so- helpess. I had no idea what to do. Gods be merciful that we were within screaming range of the castle, but… Well, that doctor got incredibly sick of me, I’m sure, but I wasn’t going to let myself go through that again. I made him teach me the basics, at the very least. So we’ll still need to have you seen when we get somewhere civilized, but I won’t have you bleeding all over everything.” She’s incredibly rambling, but -- it’s fine. Remin keeps her hands busy with her work. Thankfully, the wound looked worse than it was, and some cleaning and bandaging should hopefully be enough. Just had to stop the bleeding, really, that was the important part.

“...It went alright,” she sighs softly, beginning to reach for Avther to begin tending to the wound, but he’s quicker than she is, and grabs a knife to cut free his sleeve, instead of just removing the shirt like she’d intended to. She winces a bit as the fabric falls, but he’s right. It was ruined anyways. “They weren’t...entirely happy for the interruption, but seemed to appreciate what you were doing. And took my supplies easily enough. They seem to be taking care of each other - no one seems too poorly, no sickness or anything like that. They’ll recover, now that they have the opportunity to, but we’ll send more aid when we return from this trip. Once they’ve had some breathing room.”

It’s simple enough to tend to the wound. Her waterskin’s been mostly-emptied onto a scrap of clean cloth that she wipes the blood from his skin away with, careful not to cause more pain as she does so, her soft hands careful against the already scarred skin. It’s not bleeding as badly as she expected, but it had been a bit since he’d received the wound - either way, it was promising. Comforting. “Just don’t make a habit of this,” she requests quietly, as she sets that cloth beside, and pulls on her meager ability for magic to clean the cut. She’d feel it later, surely, but she could ride in the carriage if it bothered her too much. It was far simpler and quicker, anyways, to push that tiny bit of power into Avther’s skin and let it do its work, and likely safer on top of that.

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia listened to Remin's story with interest. So such things happen to nobles as well. Of course she knew this - knew that they were made of flesh and blood just like everyone else - but the idea of a king threatened by something as mundane as a bad fall was strange. The men who had built and destroyed nations were, in the end, just as fragile as her. The thought comforted her somehow. "That must have been scary," Cyreia nodded. Fourteen. She had already been training for her future career by that age; possibly even killed someone. That didn't mean that she couldn't sympathize with Remin, though. They had lived very different lives, but Cyreia, too, had at one point been a child terrified of violence. Even if that child had eventually grown into a person who didn't even remember the face of the first man she had killed.

As Remin continued with her work, tension was slowly leaving Cyreia's body. She had always disliked being touched, especially in a medical context, but Remin's hands felt pleasant against her skin. Pleasant and cool. "I think you would make a good doctor if you received the proper training. You are... gentle. Not all doctors are like that, as strange as it sounds. The best healer I have ever known? He routinely wrestled his patient's from the jaws of death itself, but damn, did they wish they were dead after he was done with them. The rumor is that there are people who recovered on the spot without any outside intervention the second they heard he was going to treat them. I'm even inclined to believe it because I've had the pleasure of being his patient and, well, being stabbed felt better. Still a good man, though. Saved my life more than once." Cyreia was just running her mouth at that point, but not purposelessly; it didn't escape her attention that Remin wasn't particularly enjoying this. Whether she hated touching her or simply the sight of blood, her wife seemed nervous. Maybe, if Cyreia managed to capture her attention, the process would get easier for her.

The news of Easthaven didn't really surprise her. "Yes, that is how it usually goes. People always recover in the end. At least the ones who survive the initial tragedy. We are built to withstand many things." Her words echoed the words that had caused their quarrel during their first night as a husband and wife, but Cyreia hoped that Remin would understand her position better now that she had had an opportunity to see it with her own eyes. Experience was the best teacher, after all.

"I... I can try," Cyreia responded quietly. Yes, try was a good word. Danger had always followed her in one way or another and she doubted that this was the last time she had been injured, but admitting that outloud wouldn't have helped anyone. Remin would learn in time anyway. "Thank you, my queen. Your help is appreciated. How much time do you think we lost? Is there a shorter way to the capital?" In that moment, Cyreia felt something sharp travel up her arm and the sensation made her flinch. "What was that?" she asked with a hint of suspicion.

 

[Conifer]

She listens to his story, relaxing more as she gets the situation more and more under control. In another life, maybe that’s what she would have done. She liked the idea of it - being useful, truly useful. Actively helping people that needed it, instead of sitting in a box of stone and talking like anything she said really mattered on an individual level. But that wasn’t the life she was destined for.

“There’s a few shortcuts we can take,” She agrees. “We’ll still make it there tomorrow still - just a bit later in the day. Nothing’s terribly thrown off.” That was, at least, the beauty of hastily planned trips. You couldn’t ruin plans if there weren’t many of them to begin with. And, after all, Avther wanted to see the kingdom, and know its people. Easthaven was a part of the kingdom, and its people were of Athea. The stop didn’t wander from the purpose of the trip - if anything, it just reinforced it. She quiets until Avther talks again, looking up with a soft frown. “What was what?” She asks, not even registering, for a moment, that his protest might have been about the magic despite their discussion of it earlier. “Oh. Magic. It’s-- the easiest way to clean this, right now.” Remin answers, equally as apologetic as not. She should have given some warning, she realises, but...Well. He’s in Athea now. He’ll have to get used to magic at some point.

She keeps working despite the interruption - wiping the damp cloth over his skin once again, clearing away blood that had leaked while she’d cleaned it, reaching for the wrappings and beginning to bind the wound closed. It was snug, but not too tight, hopefully - she wanted to quell the bleeding, not the feeling in the rest of his arm. “There,” she murmurs, once she finishes bandaging up the cut. She lingers in his space for a moment longer, before shifting away to put the supplies back where they belonged. The carriage shakes into movement as they start on their way again.

 

[Aerynth]

Oh. Magic. Of course, what else could it be? Functionally, it wasn't that different from having her sword enchanted. Both acts served to make her life a little easier. Yet, despite seeing that clearly, Cyreia's feelings about the matter were more conflicted. Was she happy about the wound being taken care of? Yes, yes, absolutely. Infections were never fun, even less so during a journey. Still, though, having magic used on her body? That was wrong, not how things were done. Not how things were done in Eupriunia. Quite clearly, she wasn't in Eupriunia anymore, but a piece of Eupriunia was still in her heart and that particular piece was angry. Shaking her head, Cyreia swallowed that anger. Remin was trying to help, after all. She couldn't have known about her personal hang-ups.

"Ah, I see. That... that makes sense. I didn't know that you could use magic as well. Interesting." Interesting as in vaguely scary. Cyreia had entered this marriage thinking that her wife would be a high court flower - someone only versed in the art of politics - but she got a woman who was also able to heal wounds and cast spells. What other skills did she have? "Are there any, uh, side effects to this type of treatment that I should know of? You never get something for nothing, after all, and this seems a little too easy. Too convenient." To her credit, Cyreia was trying to hide her incredulity, but her expression could be read like an open book. The person who had marched into an unknown territory to crush an unknown number of enemies without a second of hesitation suddenly looked disturbed.

"And isn't it taxing on you as well? I have heard, back in Eupriunia, that healing magic in particular is dangerous for the caster." Cyreia had also heard that Atheans routinely ate people, so she knew better than to trust each and every rumor, especially a rumor uttered about an enemy, but this sounded sort of logical to her. Magic was a way to defy the natural laws of this world, but there were limitations to it as well. There had to be, otherwise Atheans would have beaten them. And since life was the most precious of resources, did it not make sense for life-saving magic to be risky?

 

[Conifer]

Alright, well, she should have at least warned him. She’ll admit that mistake. She’d just wished for his death when he was valiantly defending the remains of Easthaven from bandits, the least she could have done was warn him she was going to use a bit of magic on him. The expressions that crossed his face were difficult to read exactly, but she got the general gist - he wasn’t happy. Not scared, not exactly, but something vaguely along those lines.

She’d heard that the two countries’ views on magic were incredibly different, and Avther had confirmed that earlier, but it was still surprising how much that was the case. Did their injured exist in pain? Did their dying suffer for longer than they had to? She could understand not using magic for most things, but this almost felt cruel. “Healing magic can be dangerous, sometimes.” She agrees, carefully. She doesn’t want to validate more of his worries than are true. “Wounds are easier to transfer than they are to mend. Sometimes, that’s okay. If there’s a broken leg that will already heal right, it’s better for a doctor to have it than a soldier, or a builder, or the like, and they may make that decision. But most cases- well, it takes more effort to heal properly - a lot more - but it’s entirely possible if you know what you’re doing and have the power to do it.” She gives a tight smile that she’s not sure if she means to be comforting or not. The strain was already sinking into her muscles, making them tense, but that was the cost. “Which anyone practicing it formally does. But what I did wasn’t healing, not really. That was cleaning, just like you’d clean anything. I can’t do terribly much more than that, honestly, it’s never something that came naturally to me, but I can manage that without too much consequence. There’s no cost to you.”

 

[Aerynth]

What Remin said sounded... a lot less sensational than she had expected. It did make sense on an instinctual level, though. A lot of the things she had heard in Eupriunia must have been fake; if the wild stories describing Athea were true, the country would have fallen apart centuries ago. Most of the rumors spoke of a way of life that was inherently unsustainable. Well, propaganda rarely cares for nuance, does it? But even with that knowledge, letting go of the old prejudices was surprisingly difficult. She had never known anything else, after all. Maybe that would come with time. For now, Cyreia still wasn't quite comfortable with what had transpired, but at least she could start to accept it. "I see. Forgive me for my ignorance, my queen. I still have much to learn."

The rest of the journey was rather uneventful. Cyreia spent most of it on horseback, preferring to watch her surroundings instead of being stuck in the cramped carriage. She dedicated a lot of her attention to memorizing various important checkpoints. The goal of this journey was for her to get to know the country and Cyreia intended to fulfill it both in the most metaphorical and most literal sense of that phrase. Atheans were obviously her main focus, but gaining some understanding of how the land itself was structured would be invaluable in the long run, too. Too many rulers forgot that their power derived from the right to their land, not from some nebulous idea of nobility. Cyreia quickly proved to be an inquisitive companion; she asked, asked and asked, the supply of her questions seemingly endless. What is that bridge called? Where are we now? What is this region famous for? What crops do you grow here, what is that strange-looking building for? If Remin retreated to her carriage, Cyreia simply went on to interrogate the guards. The Easthaven incident had probably changed the way they perceived her because they looked slightly more approachable and answered her questions in earnest. Cyreia was thankful for that little victory.

Just as Remin had predicted, they reached the capital the very next day. Cyreia had heard much about the famous capital. She hadn't actually been there before; king Loran himself had taken the capital while her unit had been occupied elsewhere, probably somewhere in the far north if her memory served correctly. From what he had told her later, Caldora was a marvel, a city carved from white stone with a magical technique that had been lost centuries ago. The king had talked about it with scorn - it was a product of forbidden arts - yet Cyreia had managed to detect a secret hint of awe in his voice. Since then, she had been looking forward to visiting Caldora, and Caldora did not disappoint. When they lowered the gates for their king and queen to pass through, there was a flood of whiteness as pristine as freshly fallen snow; white towers, white statues, white walls, white everything. It took a second for her eyes to get used to the radiance of it all. "This is just... Damn, I had no idea such a place existed," Cyreia whispered, clearly overwhelmed by the beauty. Common folk were bowing to the royal couple left and right as they rode through the streets and she waved at them in return. Was that the correct protocol? Hopefully. "Who are we supposed to visit first?" Cyreia asked Remin quietly when she got a hold of herself. What should I be ready for? That was the unspoken question.

 

[Conifer]

Remin did spend most of the ride in the carriage - at least for the rest of that first day, until they reached the inn they were staying at for the evening. The small bit of magic didn’t entirely wipe her out, but it was like she’d had a hard workout the day before. She could ride, but...it was far nicer to lounge on the cushioned seat and let the world pass her by.
When they arrived at The Dusty Devil, she managed to convince the guards that them staying in separate rooms was a good idea, and not all that suspicious, for safety reasons - if someone got into one of the rooms, hopefully they’d be caught before they got to the other of the royals. Remin wasn’t entirely confident that they believed it, but they went along with it without much comment either way, and that was good enough. They were spending enough time together during the day that they deserved some peaceful time apart in the evening.
That was kind of the thing, though? The time she spent with him was...nice, almost. There were still scraps of argument that she could chase after (and vice-versa, she was sure,) but either the exhaustion of the first day didn’t repeat itself, or it didn’t seem as worth it to fight. He was trying to understand Athea, and she honestly appreciated that. Yes, maybe they’d get back to the castle and he’d try to pass laws and reforms to tear that all down, but for now, he was trying. She carried that suspicion with caution, but allowed the benefit of the doubt.

The capital brought comfort with its familiarity. She could remember short diplomatic journeys she tagged along with as a child, waving excitedly out the window at whoever glanced her way, and admiring the architecture (though at the time, it was simply pretty, and not impressive. Children didn’t know much, or care much, about ancient lost magics.) There were stories that there were people still in the deepest part of the city who knew how the carving was done but no one ever offered that information, and it was...admittedly, more romantic to imagine the technique entirely lost to time. It probably was, anyways, or as good as was. She had joined Avther back on the horses at the top of the day - or at least once she’d woken enough to be confident she wouldn’t make a fool of herself - and that’s where she remained when they finally entered the large city.

“We have a simple day today,” She replies, smiling at a pair of children waving happily up at her. (The child in Easthaven. So different from here - all shining white instead of smouldering black, all full bellies instead of scrounging for bits of bread.) “We’ll stop in with Lord and Lady and leave our things, and then we’re free to explore the city. Meet people, visit places. We’ll rejoin them for dinner, where I think a few others from the city will join us - business people and council members and the like.” Important people, she doesn’t say but hopes he understands. “Then tomorrow will be more exploring - there’s a few things I think are important to see - and we’ll leave the next morning. Any concerns?”

 

[Aerynth]

Indeed, that sounded simple enough. Not that Cyreia intended to complain. She was used to traveling, and often in much worse conditions, but that didn't mean that the process didn't tire her out. Despite the legends surrounding her persona, despite everything, Cyreia was every bit as human as everyone else and her injury certainly wasn't helping in keeping her energized. A slow day would be nice every once in a while. "So, as I understand it, we will be able to interact with the citizens more or less freely?" Now that thought was alien. King Loran always carefully sculpted his public image so that, in his people's eyes, he resembled a god more than a human. A god, of course, had to be unapproachable. If he wasn't, there was a danger of people realizing that they weren't so different from him after all. To be frank, Cyreia liked the Athean approach more. It was more conducive to learning and, if she had to admit to her selfish desires, also way more engaging. How the Eupriunian king even managed to keep his act intact for all those years of his long reign was a complete mystery to her.

Cyreia, too, smiled at the children. They didn't bear a hint of grudge against her; to them, she was simply a new king, someone to be adored. The realization felt bittersweet somehow. Eupriunians - and she, by extension - had killed their people, after all. How many of these children had lost relatives due to her presence in this country? How many of them would never know their fathers? Winning the hearts of Atheans was her goal here, but playing the part of a benevolent king for children felt, well, cheap. Children were too innocent to understand what they had lost because of her. No atonement could be found among them. No, it was their parents she had to face. Nevertheless, Cyreia still waved at them along with Remin and even gave a little boy a small wooden statuette she had brought from Eupriunia on a whim when he bumped into them. It didn't fix anything, but it made him happy. And weren't such things also important?

"And these people you have mentioned, my queen. Lord and Lady. Who are they exactly?" Perhaps the most frustrating thing about the transition from Eupriunia to Athea was the fact that their political institutions didn't mach. They overlapped sometimes, but generally only in the rough outlines. A king was always a king, but as for everything else? Completely, confusingly different. Hell, not even the word king seemed to mean the entirely same thing in the two countries now that she was thinking about it. In Eupriunia, the king always lived in the capital and bore the title of its Lord Protector; in Athea, apparently not so much. "Mainly in relation to us, I mean. Are they your relatives? Is that why they they were assigned with the task of protecting the capital or was it based on something else? Why don't we live in the capital anyway? From what I've seen in other countries, it is usually customary for the royal couple to live in the capital."

They moved slowly in the crowded streets of Caldora, but that was probably for the best. At least they had some time to talk before reaching Lord and Lady, whoever they were. It also gave her more time to take in all the new sights. "Still, never in my life did I think I'd ever see something so... so..." Cyreia couldn't find the words that would capture her emotions accurately, so she just gave up. "Eupriunian cities are mostly built from wood," she chose to offer an explanation instead. "I think that it's because of the silent assumption that they will be destroyed at some point. It's easier to rebuild simple structures." Such was the reality of living in a country that focused everything it had on its war efforts. Eternity seemed to be out of their grasp.