Fantasy All's Fair

[Aerynth]

Cyreia laughed at his comments, grateful for the distraction. "And you know what? I respect that. Maybe you're not going far enough, though. I mean, if I were you, I wouldn't limit myself by relying on active ingredients that just happen to be gross. I'd also use things that do nothing aside from being gross." Was giving him advice a bad idea? Quite possibly, though she preferred these little thought experiments to existing in the moment. Existing in the moment would only result in her focusing on his actions and thinking about what he was about to do and the possible consequences and-- no. No, Cyreia wouldn't let the panic consume her. Breathe in, breathe out. She did so and she did it slowly, deliberately, as if the rhythm of her breathing could somehow get the world around her under her control as well. It had no such power, of course. Oren just continued taking off her bandages whether she wanted it or not. I asked him to do so, Cyreia reminded to herself. I want my arm back, and so I want this as well.

Thankfully, another distraction came soon. "A slug?" God, the mental image of Remin eating one of those things was priceless and Cyreia couldn't contain her laughter. "Actually, one of lady Everbright's friends told me that cooking snails is very fashionable these days, so it looks like you're just ahead of the curve, Oren. Sooner or later, they will start eating slugs, too." Did she look nervous? Most likely. If her expression didn't betray her, then the way she squeezed Remin's hand must have. There was an impulse to close her eyes, to run away from all of this, but that would only make it worse. Not seeing it would just... increase the feeling of helplessness, really. Clearly, Cyreia had to face this directly, and that was exactly what she did. Despite her obvious discomfort, her gaze seemed to be glued on her arm now.

At first, she felt nothing. That nothingness went on and on, making her think that that was the end of it, except that then, it grew into... well. Emptiness would be the most fitting word, Cyreia guessed. Icy cold emptiness. For a few terrible heartbeats, it felt as if her left arm just wasn't there. Then there was a flash of pain, a strange pulling sensation stretching her bone into all directions at once, and-- oh, Oren's arm cracked. Hers made some sort of sound, too, but she wouldn't know how to describe it. "Did... did it work?" Cyreia looked at her arm, incredulous, before tapping on it lightly. It still hurt, though not as much as before. Clearly the procedure did something, even if it hadn't healed it completely.

 

[Conifer]

Oren's expression only faltered to pain for a moment as the magic settled in entirely - splitting his bone instead of hers, and healing hers in return for it. He pushes through the pain of it, keeping the magic up until the whole process finishes itself out. Stopping early wouldn't be utterly the worst, but they'd have to finish it out at some point. "It worked, as far as I can tell." Oren manages through gritted teeth - the pain's much more stark when his focus isn't on channelling the power between them. "You still have some amount of healing to do. But as long as you don't go falling down stairs, or falling off horses, or -- falling, really, you should be alright." He sits back, reaching to hold his arm in place until he can work at setting it. "The drink I gave you before will kick in and help with lingering pain. I'll mix up some more - maybe add some sugar, if you're nice."

 

[Aerynth]

The flicker of pain in his eyes caught her off guard, though it shouldn't have. He had accepted her injury, after all, and it only made sense for him to have to deal with the pain as well. God, Cyreia didn't like this. Not the fact that she was more or less fine now, but the price. Having to use another person just to ease her own suffering. Maybe she should have refused, should have insisted on letting the arm heal in its own. Morally, that would have been the superior option. Falling into the trap of should haves and would haves wouldn't benefit anyone, though, and so she did her best to suppress these thoughts. The position of a king hadn't really allowed her to choose differently anyway. Those two months usually spent on healing injuries like this? Cyreia hadn't had that time, not really. Not when so many people were hellbent on removing her from power. There was no way they wouldn't have used that golden window of opportunity. Knowing all of this, however, still couldn't remove the guilt entirely.

"Thank you and sorry," she said simply, unable to tear her eyes away from his arm. His arm that bore her injuries now. Was this what it meant to be a healer in Athea? To be ready to sacrifice oneself to such extent? Cyreia couldn't imagine living like that. "I wouldn't have gone for this if... well, if my rule wasn't as eventful as it is," she explained. "I'll try not to inconvenience you like this too often." If nothing else, this was a good motivation to pay more attention to her well-being. Cyreia was used to disregarding danger, but if it meant endangering someone else as well? That could force her to be more careful. "Do you want me to hold that arm in place for you?" Oren may have been an experienced healer, but working with one hand incapacitated couldn't be easy for him, either. These things were never easy.

 

[Conifer]

"I'll handle the arm in a moment. I've had and fixed far worse, don't worry about me." He assures her, shaking his head as he stands up, sitting back on the edge of the desk as casual as if he hadn't just broken his bone. - and then, as if it was his arm that had been healed and not hers, as if it were some favor that she had done for him and not the other way around: "Thank you for your allowing of my experiment. We'll try to avoid doing that unless we must, but a king should have his sword arm, even if he's to be gentle with it. But with that, unless there was anything else, I think we've rendered your need for me void."

"We have." Remin smiles softly. "We appreciate it, Oren. Thank you."

He waves her off, chuckling softly. "Just don't let me see you in here again too soon, unless you're just paying a friendly visit."

Remin stands, offering out her arm to Cyeria. Maybe she should be a bit more guarded, even here, but she couldn't bring herself to be; this was her castle, her home, and as far as they knew it was a safe place to show at least this tiny bit of fondness. Perhaps not under Leo's eye, not until they sorted that whole situation out, but in general. And them walking arm in arm wasn't improper; it was something strangers might do. They certainly weren't strangers, but if they were! "Back to our endless to-do list?" She asks softly, smiling down at her.

 

[Aerynth]

"Maybe I will do that sometime. Pay you a friendly visit, I mean," Cyreia said with a smile. And why not? A king should know his subjects. Technically, she could demand their loyalty based on her titles alone, but these things tended to go much more smoothly with some personal sympathies involved as well. Besides, talking with him was just pleasant. Not every action of hers had to be directly related to ruling; existing like that would have been too exhausting.

"Goodbye, then, and once again, thank you." With those words, Cyreia accepted Remin's arm and then they headed back. "I suppose," she smiled at her wife. "I feel much better already, so we have no excuse not to do just that." Oren's concoction might have been disgusting, but its effectiveness couldn't be denied. The headache was waning already and it had been what, ten minutes since she had forced it down her throat? It couldn't have been much longer than that. "Oren should get a medal, really. Maybe we can add that on the list of things we need to do. And speaking of that list, I suppose that the next item on it would be dealing with Maric. We still need to figure out what to do with him." Since lunch was to be served soon, they would be presented with the perfect opportunity to do just that. Surely their guest would show up to eat regardless of where he was right now.

That assumption turned out to be correct. When they entered the dining hall, Maric was already sitting at the table.

"Your highnesses," he stood up immediately. Despite his hurried movements, he looked more relaxed than he had ever been throughout their stay at Gregor's manor. Someone - likely a servant - lent him clean clothes, too; he was wearing a brown tunic that seemed to be just slightly bigger than his actual size and comfortable-looking pants. It wasn't an attire fit for a son from a noble family, but Cyreia hadn't bothered to dress like a king, either, so it kind of evened itself out.

"Hello," Cyreia said simply and sat down. It wasn't very regal of her, certainly, but Maric out of all people wouldn't hold it against her. She had risked her life to save him, after all, even if it had been a fluke.

"I take it you feel better, my king?"

"Well, I'm not unconscious, so that's a definite improvement," she smiled softly. "But yes, I do feel better. Thank you for asking."

"That's good to hear," he nodded. "Thank you for what you did. And with that out of the way, what will happen to me now?" Apparently, being removed from his father's influence did nothing to refine his manners.

 

[Conifer]

Remin wasn't entirely dreading the lunch with Maric, but she wasn't looking forward to it by any means. They had power over him now that they hadn't had at the Marshes' home, and there was some amount of understanding settled between the three of them now, but - truly, she didn't like the man. She appreciated how he could cut to the point, but she didn't like him. There were, however, a lot of people that she didn't like, and there were going to be a lot more of them throughout her career. She could handle this relatively harmless one who needed their help.
Remin, to her credit, sat a lot more gracefully than Cyeria did, but that was more ingrained muscle memory than it was intentional.

"Well," Remin sighs, picking up her fork. Why couldn't they just eat this meal as they had breakfast - settled in bed and comfortable and not dealing with Maric? "We may have an idea, but I'd rather flesh that out more before we discuss it with you. For now, we'll plan for you to stay here with us. What might you bring to the table that would be a good enough reason for you to stay?" Gods, if he suggested cosmetics again. She wasn't one against cosmetics - she enjoyed them, quite honestly - but still. If that's all he was truly useful for, they might as well send him off into the world with a 'good luck'.

 

[Aerynth]

Was Maric offended by Remin's insistence to make himself useful? Probably not. He looked more thoughtful than scandalized, really, and Cyreia didn't think that he was too good at hiding his emotions. Back when he had considered Remin to be a traitor, his contempt had been almost palpable. Had he known how to make himself appear more inconspicuous, surely he would have done just that instead of flaunting his hostility openly. Cyreia liked that about him. After dealing with all those two-faced snakes, Maric's straightforwardedness seemed almost endearing.

"I just hope that your idea doesn't involve knighthood. I'm terrible with a sword. But other than that? I can make myself useful in various ways." The way he spoke sounded almost rehearsed and Cyreia wondered whether he had prepared that speech in advance. It didn't seem too far-fetched; judging by the talk they had had earlier, he knew how the world operated. A favor for a favor. As such, Maric probably hadn't expected them to save him solely out of the goodness of their hearts. "The first point I want to make is that it might be in your best interest to keep me alive because of who I am. You do know that I am to inherit my father's titles, right? And since you aren't very popular at the moment, you'd benefit from gaining such a powerful ally. I'd certainly prove more loyal than my lord father; that much I can promise." Alright, that may not have been the most diplomatic way of saying it, but... he wasn't wrong. At least it looked like that to Cyreia. Did they not need people like him? "But beyond that, I could serve you as an alchemist. I also know a lot about magic. Possibly more than those fools at Olyveire, too, because I don't shy away from... well, unorthodox methods. And honestly? From what I've seen, the untraditional approach might be just what you need here."

 

[Conifer]

"I do expect you to be a worthwhile ally, eventually." Remin says - if he'll be upfront, she won't waste subtlety on him. That was nice, at least, though almost more tiring than speaking carefully in some ways; it was safe to hide behind words. People wanted to be thought the best of, and when there wasn't any space to read into words to benefit you, then it was risky. There was no comfortable buffer. But it ws simpler, really, to just...say what they wanted. What the needed. What she expected of him. "We've taken on a risk by inviting you into our home and sheltering you from your father. But - quite honestly, I don't care what you do now. The two of us have too much to handle to be too concerned with what you do around here, as long as it doesn't add to that list. My main concern is what we tell your Gregor in the case that you stay with us that doesn't implicate us, and what we tell him him in the case that you leave that doesn't make it look like we provided you a very convenient escape - which we did."

She sighs, bringing her glass of water to her mouth. It was, at least, nice to be home. There was a sort of power that she manged to feel here - some place familiar, some place she had influence over. She felt like she could properly handle things. "Though, if you are to stay with us, someone who knows of magic might be helpful. We could find use there." It would be handy to have someone around who actually understood all of this, instead of Remin's somewhat educated guesses every time something unexpected happened with Cyeria's magic.

 

[Aerynth]

It was unusual for Remin to speak like that - both the words and her tone - but she didn't dislike it. Quite the contrary. Her wife just sounded so sure of herself, so in control, and Cyreia had to imagine other scenarios where hearing her speak in this way might be interesting. More than interesting, in fact. If she commanded her to make her feel in that kind of voice, then... Cyreia shook her head as if to get rid of such thoughts; they were entirely inappropriate, especially in this setting. Could anyone blame her for having them, though? Existing by Remin's side while not being allowed to touch her freely was nothing short of torture. Of course that it filled her mind with these fantasies!

"I... haven't considered this angle," Maric admitted. "But it shouldn't be too difficult to come up with some excuse. My lord father wouldn't dare to act against you without the approval of the rest of the group and since they don't know that I've discovered the conspiracy, they are unlikely to support him in this. It would be too risky." Was that true, though? As much as Cyreia would have liked to believe him in this, Maric clearly had an agenda here. Not a sinister one, granted, but an agenda nonetheless. It wouldn't be that strange if he twisted the truth a little bit so that it suited his purposes. Still, despite that, Cyreia did want to help him. He had come to her in a time of need. What kind of king would she be if she chose to ignore this?

"The way I see it," she said, "it is impossible to make ourselves look entirely uninvolved in Maric's escape. Perhaps we can use the accident as a justification, though. Did you say something about alchemy, Maric?"

"Yes. I am quite capable."

"Do you know something about medical substances as well?"

"... no, not really, that's not what I am interested in. My lord father wouldn't know, though. He was never very passionate about my interests, to put it lightly."

"In that case, we can claim that my injuries got worse on the road and you saved my life. Now I want to reward you by keeping you at my side and supporting your lifestyle. It should be considered a great honor for your family as well, so I don't think he'll complain too much." At least she hoped it would be as easy. The bit about him saving her life might actually increase Gregor's disdain for Maric even further considering the circumstances, but it wasn't like he could afford to advertise that. Not unless he wanted to out himself as a traitor. Besides, having him blame Maric could be a good thing; he'd be less likely to direct his anger at them with such a convenient scapegoat around. Maybe they should try to placate him somehow as well, though. That couldn't hurt. "Remin, is there anything we can do to sweeten the deal for Gregor as well? Something to distract him from the reality of losing his son?"

 

[Conifer]

She thinks for a moment, openly studying Maric. It was so hard to read him; was he nervous? Was he not? His fate rested in the hands of their kindness - she would be nervous, had she been him. Admittedly, some amount of her wanted him to be nervous. That's not what a ruler should typically want for the people under them, at least according to what she'd been taught, but she can't help but want that tiny amount of power over him. Maybe that made her terrible, she didn't know. "We can issue a public commendation of your aid," She says. "Which will look favorably on your family, and thus your father." Would that be enough? She had no idea, but better to keep on the safe side, wasn't it? So, more it was. Money would do no good, and with the conversation they'd just had with the advisers it wasn't a good idea anyways, but... "We'll also reach out privately to him and offer our own aid in return for his allowing you to accompany us. I'm sure there's something that he'd be happy to use a favor from us for, or there will be sooner than later." There always was.

 

[Aerynth]

Maric did have the decency of looking... well, maybe not exactly nervous, but certainly out of his depth. It really seemed to Cyreia that he had not thought any of this through; not beyond his escape at the very least. In a way, she did understand that. It was easy to perceive all the nuances and complexities of the situation from their position. They were just bystanders in all of this, after all, and bystanders had the benefit of seeing the picture in its entirety. His perspective, though? It was skewed, warped by standing in the very epicentre of the events. Of course that certain things had escaped him, especially when he had had to live in fear of his own father. All of his efforts had likely been directed towards survival.

Maric looked at her first, then at Remin. For some reason, his gaze lingered on her wife for longer. "That should work. Thank you, truly. You will not regret this decision."

"Well, I hope so," Cyreia said with smile, though it wasn't entirely free of tension. "I've already said to you that I don't mind when people consider me to be an idiot, but I do take offense when they prove that I am one by betraying my trust. Just keep that in mind."

"I will. I am not so foolish as to bite the hand that protects me."

"It's a simple concept, isn't it? And yet so many people struggle with it." For a few minutes, Cyreia ate in silence; only the sound of cutlery disrupted it from time to time. That fragile peace didn't last long, though. "Well? Will you share now what made your father want to dispose of you? I don't mean to pry, but I believe that we have the right to know the truth after everything that happened." It was entirely possible, after all, that he had done something that warranted... well, definitely not being murdered, but perhaps being distrusted. Gregor didn't seem like the sort to do things for no reason, after all.

To her surprise, Maric rolled his eyes. "He's a fool, that's the reason. A fool who can't come to grips with the fact that not everybody wants to live like him. He always resented the fact that I wasn't a proper Marsh, so to speak." A proper Marsh, Cyreia guessed, likely meant a warrior. Remin apparently wasn't the only one who had to carry the weight of family expectations. "And he also disliked my research, which was absurd. I didn't do anything bad. Trying to further our understanding of magic shouldn't be a crime." Shouldn't? That kind of made it sound as if what he had done was, in fact, considered a crime. Why, then, did he speak so proudly of it?

 

[Conifer]

He may have just said that they wouldn't regret this decision, but Remin doesn't trust that for more than a moment - and she trusts it even less when he starts talking on what he'd done to earn his father's ire. The Marshes were notoriously mundane - magic didn't find itself being used by them often, and it never had been, even with those who had the power for it. There was nothing wrong with that, even in Athea, where magic was much more commonplace than other countries. Was Maric's refusal of that way of life enough to warrant an attempt on his life, though? Remin doubted it, with the way he insisted that he hadn't done anything bad. That what he was doing shouldn't be a crime. Gods, maybe they should have spoken of all of this before Remin had allowed any discussion of him staying or of them covering for him. Well, they'd only spoken of things. They hadn't started in on anything yet. There was still time to go back on her word.

"And what do you mean by that?" Remin prompts, between small bites of lunch. "What is it that you study?" She did, at least, hide her skepticism as best she could. Being upfront about what they needed from each other was one thing, but this whole conversation was another entirely. She didn't want to antagonize him or cause him to close himself off before he actually told them of everything he had a hand in. She'd play interested - which she was, but not for innocent curiosity.

 

[Aerynth]

Yes, that was a very good question. What did he mean? If he dabbled in stealing faces or anything even remotely similar, Cyreia would... god, she didn't actually know what she would do to him at this point, though one thing was certain; Maric would not like it. Did they need people willing to fight for their cause? Yes, desperately so, though that didn't mean she would be happy to make a pact with the devil. Not in the slightest. There was nothing quite as dangerous, nothing quite as insidious as an ally that couldn't be trusted. Even dealing with enemies tended to be less of a hassle because they, at least, had the decency of being direct in their hostility. For that alone, Cyreia respected them infinitely more.

"I study a lot of things," he said, suddenly sounding a bit cautious. Isn't it a bit late for that? Maric apparently reached the same conclusion because they didn't have to prod him for him to elaborate on that. "I imagine that you want to know about the more questionable parts of my research, though. Very well. We planned to reach out to you sooner or later anyway." We? Alright, this was getting more interesting than she had anticipated. Who exactly had they saved? An innocent victim of circumstances or someone more dangerous than that? God, it should have occurred to her that there was some kind of catch. The entire situation had been suspicious from the very beginning, but Gregor hadn't exactly given her enough time to think about her actions. There had been no option but to follow her instincts.

Maric took a deep breath and looked at the table, suddenly unable to meet their eyes. It seemed that, despite his nonchalant attitude, the man was at least a little bit afraid. "Alternative ways of casting magic. That's what I study. Specifically, casting magic from someone else's energy reserves or from inanimate objects. I haven't made a lot of progress in the latter, but I do believe it could be done. The theoretical basis, at the very least, is pretty solid."

Cyreia blinked a few times, clearly confused. "And? That's all? Why is that illegal in the first place?" Honestly, more than anything else, it sounded practical to her; like a convenient way of bypassing magic strain. "Am I missing something obvious here? I mean, I don't know the first thing about magic, but it doesn't seem too different from what Atheans - we - normally do."

 

[Conifer]

Ah. That wasn't as bad as she had been expecting, admittedly - though she hadn't expected too much in particular, not daring to make a guess. It wasn't any form of good, though. "It's illegal because it's dangerous." Remin says, focusing her attention on Cyeria rather than Maric for a moment. "I'm sure you can imagine what could be done to people if a powerful spellcaster with loose morals - or," She says, more pointedly, "command they can't refuse could push their strain onto others. It would be...treating people as bloodbags. Magic strain is rarely deadly to my knowledge, but there's stories of people who pushed themselves too far and ended up in comatose states for days or weeks. You can't simply use up people's energy like that so that you can cast a bit more." She finally turns her attention back to Maric, her displeasure at all of this evident. "It's selfish, and it's a dangerous path to walk down." Back to Cyeria, needing her to understand: "What if Vestat had been able to pull from your power to catch you alight, and then you had to handle him while also dealing with the strain he projected onto you? It would be a dirty fight." Surely Maric knew everything she said, though - surely he was either alright with unleashing that danger onto the world, or he had ways around it - Remin wasn't sure which one left her feeling more secure with allowing him to continue that research. Had Gregor been some terrible form of right in his attempts to deal with Maric?

 

[Aerynth]

"I can imagine the danger associated with it," Cyreia agreed. Of course that she could, possibly even in more vivid colors than Remin. While magic was still a foreign concept to her, they had trained her in devising strategies, and they had trained her thoroughly. Working quickly with new information was a vital part of that and-- well. She didn't have to try too hard to come up with ways to abuse such a power; her mind offered them to her on her own, one horrible thing after another. Wasn't she oh so lucky that Remin couldn't read her thoughts at the moment? Because had her wife been able to do that, the reaction likely wouldn't have been pretty. Remin knew her past, of course. Hell, she had seen the marks it had left on her body with her very own eyes. The marks it had left on her mind, though? Those couldn't be seen, not in the same way, and Cyreia had to wonder whether she would still embrace her so lovingly if she knew the full extent of just how broken she was.

"The same can be said about all types of magic, though. Anything can and will be abused if there's a willingness to do so. I assume that Vestat's fire magic was completely legal, wasn't it?" Cyreia also didn't think that the fight had been anything close to fair - not when he had attacked her without a single word of warning - but she swallowed her protests. That wasn't the point, after all. Getting caught up in the technicalities of the situation would only weaken her argument. "What I want to say, I suppose, is that it doesn't seem inherently bad. Kind of like a sword; it depends on how you wield it. Yes, one could do terrible things with such magic, but one could also choose to lend one's energy to... I don't know, to an exhausted healer who could save additional lives." Had she gone too far in her attempt to be open-minded? Perhaps, though her words made sense to her. God, what a twist. Had anyone told her just a month ago that she would end up defending magic from an Athean, Cyreia would have laughed in their face. Life could truly be bizarre at times."Not everyone should have access to it, of course. I'm not advocating for doing away with regulation entirely. To be honest, I don't know what I'm advocating for at this point, but-- is studying it really so horrible? Perhaps they could discover something useful."

 

[Conifer]

"It's perhaps not a terrible idea to understand how it works." Remin admits, reluctantly - she'd rather just tuck the whole thing away and keep it out of anyone's hands, instead of just hoping that Maric's hands (and whoever's hands he put it into) weren't the wrong ones. Well, at least here she could have some control over it, and some awareness of its capabilities. "Alright. You're free to study what you wish under this roof, but I do expect reports whenever relevant, detailing the work you've done and the progress you've made. If I find you've hidden things from these reports, or from me or my husband, we'll act accordingly. This is, as stated, dangerous work you're undertaking, and I won't be blind to it. You're also to speak of no one else about this work unless they've been approved."
It was overbearing, sure. He wasn't going to like it, also sure. Did she care? No. Not when they'd spent the past two weeks suffering from lapses in control. That wasn't going to happen here with something she literally invited into her home. "I hope that's agreeable to you."

 

[Aerynth]

Maric frowned at that; to her, he looked like a pouty child in that moment. Like a pouty child who could potentially ruin thousands of lives, which made it a lot less endearing. "Isn't that unnecessarily restrictive? You wouldn't understand the reports anyway." Alright, that was going a bit too far. Cyreia didn't require her subjects to prostrate themselves before her, but there were certain limits. Open disrespect, for example. And open disrespect directed at her wife? That went so far beyond what she was willing to tolerate that it wasn't even funny. Cyreia looked at him, her glare so icy it could freeze the hell over.

"Restrictive? Yes. Unnecessarily so? Definitely not. Don't stretch the limits of our kindness, Maric, because it is not boundless. And as for the reports, you'll simply have to write them in a way that's easy for a layman to grasp. I'm sure that can be done."

"Well, yes, but that will not be comprehensive enough--"

"We don't need that. We just need to understand what's going on. Fail to convey that in your reports and I will show up to demand a clear explanation. And trust me, I won't be very courteous about it, either."

"... fine," Maric finally said. "I understand and I will do as you ask." Would he, though? It wouldn't be hard to hide things from them when they had no idea how any of it worked. They wouldn't know where to look, after all, and he didn't seem like the type that would not omit little details if he could get away with it. Thankfully, there was an easy solution to this.

"You also won't work alone. We'll find you a supervisor," Cyreia decided. "Someone who understands what it is that you're doing. Likely an Olyveire graduate." He opened his mouth to protest, but she raised her hand to silence him before he could say anything. "None of this is negotiable, Maric. Either accept the offer or go home." Was she being too harsh here? Perhaps, though a king couldn't rule with kindness alone. People like him would walk all over her.

"Alright," he sighed, resignation ringing in his voice. "I say yes to everything, though I'm afraid that not speaking to people you haven't approved will be complicated. You see, I have never worked alone; there's a whole group dedicated to this. Mostly people you know, I'm sure. People like Emelia, whose brother apparently set you on fire."

 

[Conifer]

Whose brother did a lot worse than that. Remin bit back. People would know of that whole affair soon enough; she didn't need it all escaping into the world before even his sister had received the word, and certainly not before he had to say the words himself. She wouldn't give him the grace of escaping that doom. Remin took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. This whole mess was more than she wanted to take on. It was more than they should take on, honestly. It was risky and over both of their heads. "...Alright." she says, pushing her plate loosely aside. This was too much to focus on eating as well. "I would request the names of these individuals," She decides. "Reach out to them for me. Should they be willing to be equally upfront with the crown on their work, we'll be able to provide them support if requested. If they refuse to be named, I understand, but they must know that they work against the wishes of the kingdom. I won't fault them for this, but I would ask that anyone who takes me up on my offer limit the work they do with those individuals as a matter of public and private safety."

It was stupid, probably, and foolish, to think that she could have any sort of hand on this; though she wasn't truly looking for control. She was looking for an illusion of control - if this simply went badly, then the kingdom wasn't paying enough attention. If it went badly while she and Cyeria publicly knew of the work being done, and supported the safe and controlled research of it, then those that were involved in it going badly were a fringe group of people working against the crown's orders. Maybe it wouldn't work as cleanly as she hoped it would - things rarely did - but this was at least some modicum of protection. They might, at least, know what was happening before it bit them.

 

[Aerynth]

"That is sensible enough," Maric agreed. "I don't think there will be any problems on that front. The people I work with aren't unreasonable, and they're bound to welcome the support of the crown. I doubt that any of them truly enjoyed having to watch their every step constantly." It did sound logical, Cyreia had to admit that, though she still didn't share Maric's optimism. Of course that there would be problems. They never failed to crop up, just like earthworms inevitably came out after rain. The only question was how severe they would be and whether they were equipped to handle them. As for that, she had no idea. God, there were still so many things Cyreia didn't know. It felt so strange, going from a respected authority in her field to struggling with basics within a matter of few weeks. Almost surreal, and more nightmarish than dream-like, really.

"Well then," she began. "Is there anything you need to conduct your research? Perhaps something you left at home? I could send a messenger to collect your equipment." If he was willing to respect their terms, then Cyreia had no reason to behave like a tyrant. Allies, no matter how dubious, didn't deserve such treatment. Being too harsh would only incentivize him to betray them sooner or later. No, they would show him that working for the crown had its benefits.

"Not really. I never really had a proper equipment. I lost some notes, though there's no need to collect them. The most important findings are stored in my memory anyway. As for what I might require..." He paused for a few seconds, weighing his options. "Not much. Just a room or two where I can work in peace. A few instruments, but nothing too complicated. I'll give you a list later, once I've reached out to my colleagues." Maric fell silent, though something in his eyes told Cyreia that he wasn't quite done just yet. That observation turned out to be true. "I could use volunteers as well, to confirm some of my theories. Actually, I was thinking of asking you, your highnesses."

"Us?" Cyreia asked, incredulous. The suggestion was so brazen that she didn't even have it in her to get angry with the man. "Why?"

"Because it would be fascinating," Maric said simply. "From what I've seen, your types of magic seem to be very different and seeing them interact could yield interesting results. I'd wager it could help you with controlling your own magic, too, my king."

 

[Conifer]

"I'm not sure that experimenting before Avther has his magic more under control is a wonderful idea." Remin protests, frowning at the thought of Maric doing gods know what to them without either of them having a full understanding of its effects. Kings and queens didn't make very good test subjects. "And beyond that, I'm not sure it's a good idea in general. We both have far better things to do than to be involved in risky magic because it might be 'fascinating'." She didn't like the idea of test subjects in general, even if he called them volunteers. That all felt a bit...mad scientist to her. "We don't know what might happen, and I don't feel that the two of us should be mixed up in the exact middle of that. I'm sure you can find others to experiment with."

 

[Aerynth]

"I can't say I like the idea, either," Cyreia said. Supporting his research was one thing, but participating in it personally? Now that was a whole new level of commitment she wasn't ready for. Anyone with a semblance of common sense would shoot the suggestion down; it just... didn't sound very safe. Avoiding danger wasn't usually her main concern - to put it lightly - but Cyreia didn't particularly enjoy the prospect of risking her life just to sate someone's curiosity. Besides, hadn't she promised to Remin that she'd at least try to be careful? Agreeing to this nonsense would have been the exact opposite of doing that. "Perhaps I could help you later when I actually know what I'm doing. I will not make any promises, though."

And with that, their meeting was concluded. The rest of the day passed quickly, with Cyreia and Remin buried under correspondence that had arrived in their absence. The following two weeks, too, morphed into one big, messy blur. During the trip, Cyreia had hoped that everything would settle into a comfortable rhythm once they returned to the castle. Naturally, these hopes proved to be rather naive. It wasn't that things went terribly. No, not really. Considering the circumstances, one might even say that everything ran rather smoothly during those first days of their rule. The two met with the advisers often (and even managed to reach some kind of fragile truce with them), introduced some of the changes they had talked about and dealt with most of the issues that had emerged during the tour. In short, they were nothing if not productice. When not working, Cyreia spent most of her time in the royal library and read, read, read; read until her eyes couldn't tell one letter from another anymore. And really, could anyone blame her? There was just so much to catch up on!

Unfortunately, her head didn't quite agree with the workload; Oren's medicine did reduce the headaches, though it couldn't restore her energy levels fully. It wasn't at all unusual for Remin to find her asleep in the reading room, her face and hands and often clothes as well stained with the ink she had used to write down little notes. That was just one symptom of the larger issue. And that issue? As much as Cyreia wanted to, there just wasn't that much time she could spend with her wife; they had breakfasts and nights (ah, those wonderful nights), but... not much else, really. Even if they technically were by each other's side more than they weren't, it didn't feel like that. Not when they couldn't talk freely, couldn't reach out and touch each other without worrying about people seeing them. In a way, it was worse than not being with her wife at all. Would a starving man not suffer more with food in sight if he could not taste it?

And then one day they finally, finally reached the sweet state of having nothing to do. It wouldn't last, Cyreia was certain of that, though that did very little to quench her resolve to enjoy it fully. "I was thinking," she announced to Remin in the middle of breakfast, "that I could make good on my promise of teaching you how to defend yourself today, if you'd like. Don't worry, it's going to be fun. It usually isn't, but I'll try extra hard to make it fun for you," she promised before placing a small, gentle kiss on her lips. The truth was that, at this point in her life, Cyreia was dying to partake in a physical activity. All that studying had left her so thoroughly exhausted that she needed to turn off, and some exercise was just perfect for that. Why not involve Remin as well? Surely it would be even more satisfying with her. Everything was. "What do you say, hm?" she smiled at her. "Will you indulge me or do I need to bribe you?"

 

[Conifer]

It was almost a comfort, the way that the world forced them back into action. No matter how close she'd become with Cyeria, no matter how much understanding and care settled between them, the thought of someone noticing them and catching on filled Remin with a sort of dread that she couldn't shake except with the sweetest of kisses and the most pleasant of distractions - which came few and far between anymore, the two of them wearing themselves to exhaustion by the end of the day. The only tiny bits of time they occasionally managed was breakfast, sprawled out against the bedding together, though it was never quite as sweet as the first morning they'd spent together after returning. They didn't have time for it. There were too many letters to write. There were too many books to read. There were too many people to talk to, or plans to okay or veto, or compromises to come to. Nights were sweet, the two of them finally having time to hold each other, but there was again too little time or energy to...truly share the bed as they had. There had been dalliances, yes - quiet, rushed, giggly things - but it left Remin wanting. Not just for...that activity, but for time to truly spend and connect with her partner.

It took a while for that time to come, though. As often as Remin wandered into the library to find Cyeria sound asleep and ink-stained, Cyeria didn't find Remin in their bed. She found it hard to sleep even if she wanted to; too many nights were stretched long in the room she'd taken as her office (a small room tucked into one of the towers, where she'd pulled her father's desk. She'd thought of simply settling into his space and claiming it as her own, but it held the memories of too many long nights of his own that she didn't want to feel burdened by. She didn't have time for nostalgia. And the lighting was nice here, with its large windows that sun shone through in the day and the moon was visible through in the night.) She made an effort to never fall asleep at her desk - the promise of curling up beside Cyeria when she had finished, and holding her sleeping wife, was occasionally what managed to keep her going through this one last stack, or these few last signatures. It was close, on occasion, admittedly; she'd blink and the candles were left a bit lower than they had been when she opened them again than when she'd closed them, but she was never met with the rays of dawn instead of simply more stars. There was too much paperwork that came along with war, she decided. War, a two week disastrous honeymoon, and two newly instated rulers. It was all a recipe for cramped hands and empty ink-wells.

When Cyeria suggested the break from routine, Remin hesitated. There was still too many letters to write that she'd put off, too many things to file, too many-- "Gods, I need that." She admits, sinking to rest against Cyeria. She'd tried hard to not show how worn down she was getting, not wanting Cyeria to feel like she should take over any of the things Remin was working on (she'd delegated what she could, but unfortuantely too many things would require too much explanation, or too much background, or simply would take Cyeria twice the time it would take Remin, so there was no point,) but that broke, just for that moment. "I'll indulge you easily, my soldier, but I find myself curious as to what that bribe might be." She didn't truly have time for this, but there would always be more things to do. Nothing had to be done today, or even by tomorrow, and so she could take a rest for a little while.

 

[Aerynth]

Was it just her, Cyreia wondered, or did Remin really look so tired? She hadn't had much time to truly look at her lately, but now, in this quiet morning filled with the promise of rest, it seemed so obvious. Hell, her wife admitted it outright. The confession alone strengthened her conviction that a break was desperately needed; Remin, used to suffering in silence, would never have uttered a word of complaint had her situation been anything close to bearable. Knowing that pained her. Knowing that it likely would have been bearable if Cyreia could help her carry her burden in a meaningful way pained her as well, but-- there was no point in feeling guilty over it, really. She was trying. All those sleepless nights where books had been her only company were a testament to that. In time, Cyreia would be able to fulfill all the duties her new position required of her; the goal didn't even seem so distant anymore, not since she had started working on getting there properly. It just couldn't be reached in a few days. Since blaming herself for all of this would change exactly nothing, Cyreia tried not to dwell on such thoughts too much. Instead, she focused on things she could do. On things like relieving Remin's stress, if only momentarily.

"A good question," she smiled and kissed her on her forehead. "I'm sure I could come up with something interesting. How about... hmm, I don't know." Offering her her touches and kisses would have been the easiest thing in the world, though Cyreia did not want to resort to that. Not in the context of bribing her at the very least. It simply felt wrong, even as a jest; almost disrespectful. Besides, those things were enjoyable for her as well. Wasn't she supposed to invent something solely for Remin's pleasure if she meant to spoil her? "Maybe I could prepare a nice, relaxing bath for you once we're done with the training. You know, with all those fragrant oils you like so much. I would help you get clean and remove some of the tension from your body. How does that sound, my queen?" Cyreia asked, her tone light and teasing. "If you're nice enough, I can even serve you dinner in there."

 

[Conifer]

Cyeria could have offered just about anything and it would have sounded divine, but this suggestion sounded rather entirely perfect. Well, nearly perfect, at least, but that was an easy fix. "I'll take you up on your bribe if you promise to join me in the bath." She smiles softly, pressing a lingering kiss to Cyeria's cheek. "You could use some relaxation as well. How many times have you fallen asleep with a book as a pillow at this point?" She teases, before sitting up and stretching. As much as she wanted to linger, if they wanted to have time today to do both, then they couldn't manage a lengthy breakfast full of soft touches. "I hope you're prepared for me to be a terrible student." Remin teases between bites of soft bread. "But you see, the teacher is terribly attractive, and that's not my fault." Even if this was going to be somewhat serious work - she really did feel that it would be important for her to be able to at least defend herself somewhat - they could have a little fun with it. Otherwise, what was the point of shirking her duties for the day?

Remin finished breakfast quickly, and then stood to change. She pulled on soft, well-fitting pants and a short tunic instead of her usual robes, figuring that it might lend itself to movement more easily. "What would you think about taking some horses out a bit into the woods? There's some nice clearings we could practice in. And I could ask the cook to pack us some lunch to take with us." Her suggestion was more a matter of pride than a desire to get away from the castle - she knew she was going to make a fool of herself, and she'd rather not do so down in the courtyard where most training took place. Not where everyone could see her. But getting away from here for the day was a nice bonus. They'd both spent too much time inside the walls after so much time out of them; they couldn't wander off and ride for another stretch of time like they had, but they could at least get some fresh air.

 

[Aerynth]

"Well, if you insist," Cyreia smiled gently. "But I'm afraid that I cannot guarantee that I will be able to keep my hands off you in that case. You can't expect me to be responsible all the time, you know." Something told her that this wouldn't exactly be an issue, though; getting to touch her was kind of the entire point. Not that she had to invent excuses to do it at this point when all she had to do was ask, but-- wasn't it more fun that way? More adventurous? Being too straightforward with these things only ever ruined the mood, really. There was nothing less romantic than just... telling your partner what you expected of her. No, Cyreia would rather play these little games with Remin. In the end, her reward would be all the sweeter for it. "And yes, we might as well go for a little trip while we're at it." If they didn't, someone could always show up to throw additional duties at them and Cyreia wasn't willing to give them the opportunity to do so. Not today at the very least. They wanted one, one day for themselves and by god, they were going to get it. "Take care of the food, then, and I'll handle the equipment. I'll see you in the courtyard." She kissed Remin - softly, gently - before leaving to find the armory.

What were they even going to need? Not much, to be honest. Just wooden swords and likely some protective gear as well. Cyreia had never really used such equipment because her trainers had believed that not wearing any protection would make her more motivated to do well, but she didn't want to adopt the same approach with Remin. The military training methods were specifically designed to weed out the weakest recruits, which wasn't the goal here. The goal was to have fun. To have fun and, hopefully, learn some potentially life-saving skills in the process. Is there even something in her size? Not surprisingly, the assumption seemed to be that those in need of protective gear would mostly be men; most of it looked far too big for Remin. That complicated things a bit, mostly because ill-fitting equipment could lead to injuries instead of minimizing them. Tripping over one's own clothes was less than ideal, after all. In the end, Cyreia did manage to find something suitable, though it required a lot of patience. When she reached the meeting spot, Remin was already waiting for her there.

"Lead the way, then," Cyreia smiled at her after climbing on her horse. It was the perfect weather for a nice, slow walk-- or for fooling around with wooden swords. God, the idea of that brought back memories. How long had it been since she had used those instead of real steel? "I trust that you know the way better than me at this point. And before we get there, my fair student, I have a question for you. Just a small thought exercise. What do you think makes a good fighter? What's the most important thing?" It would be interesting to explore her perspective on that and perhaps correct some misconceptions. A good training always started with a change in mindset.