Fantasy All's Fair

[Conifer]

Remin tasted little as she ate. It was an automatic process, but one she needed, and one that filled her stomach pleasantly instead of it only being filled with scraps of bread and bits of meat that she could manage to force down earlier. There wasn't, anyways, much to taste if the men's good-natured teasing when the innkeep was out of earshot was any indication. It was filling and hot and sustaining enough that Remin couldn't care about any of the rest of it, and she was lucky to have a hot meal at all. Well, one that wasn't poorly roasted rat, which is what she was going to be reduced to if she'd been trapped in there for longer (and if she'd managed to keep the fire for however long it would take her to stoop to being that desperate.) She...admittedly, though, avoided the chunks of meat in the stew. Earlier had been easier, it was dried and preserved and salty enough that she was able to push the thought of rats from her head, but now the lumps of meat floating around in the oily broth was something she found rather insurmountable to stomach. Still, she didn't find herself hungry as she and Cyeria retreated to their room, and that was good enough.

Remin considered shedding the dress she wore now; the fabric, like the fabric of the dress earlier, was course and rough and probably not the best thing to cuddle against, but the thought of them having to flee in the middle of the night from their potential pursuers rids that from her thought almost immediately. Besides, Cyeria doesn't seem to mind, wrapping her up in her arms immediately. It was nice to be there, so she made no complaints. It honestly was perhaps the only thing that kept her steady in this darkness. Every sound was that of rats, even if it was footsteps in the hall or cheering downstairs beneath them. But it /wasn't/ rats. It was just people, and if it was anything that would harm them, Cyeria's sword glinted in the tiny bit of brightness that spilled in from under the door. "...that sounds agreeable enough to me." Remin agrees quietly, staring up at where there would be the ceiling if there wasn't darkness. She's quiet for another moment or two. "It was awful." Cyeria had wanted her to talk, when she was ready, and she wasn't ready to but it didn't feel as impossible as it did earlier. "...honestly, it was manageable enough before that meal. But then I...gods, I don't even remember what I said that he took offense to, but it was something, and apparently it was enough to justify locking me in with rats and rotting bodies."

 

[Aerynth]

Her eyelids felt heavy with fatigue, but she fought to keep them open. Remin finally, finally decided to talk, and Cyreia wasn't about to break the spell by falling asleep in the middle of the conversation. "Some lord he is," she said, her voice dripping with contempt. Throwing someone into a dungeon over a few insults? Insults that were probably more than justified? Cyreia knew leaders like that; people who abused any influence they had to their heart's content, drunk on the power and their own importance. The thing was, few of them got to enjoy their privileges for long. Such attitudes didn't exactly inspire loyalty, and many tyrants found themselves ignored by their subjects in a time of need, if not with a knife in their back. A knife in his back would be too good for Wellan, though. Too quick. No, Cyreia would make an example of him. It was a politically sound decision, wasn't it? He tried to tear the realm apart and for that, he had to face the harshest of consequences. The personal vendetta thing was just a nice bonus.

"It must have been horrible," she said quietly. "You know, isolating a person like that in a hostile environment is a legitimate torture technique. It's designed to break you. You're alone, defenseless, at the mercy of your captors. It tends to be very effective and requires absolutely no effort. People in the army did that to prisoners often; especially to prisoners who had valuable information and refused to share it. After a few days, most of them were happy to speak. They'd betray their own mothers by that point." Why was she even telling Remin all of this? Maybe because whenever something terrified her, she found it helpful to... analyze it, sort of, rather than to hide from it. Dismantling the fear into smaller, easy to understand components always made it less scary. Besides, Cyreia also wanted Remin to know that her response was normal; that she wasn't weak or defective for reacting like anyone in her place would have.

Cyreia placed a small kiss into her hair and caressed her face. "I'll bring you his head," she promised. "Or maybe not; you'd have to look at him and that's not a fate I'd wish on anyone. I will kill him, though. He won't get to spend a lifetime in some cozy prison for nobles after what he has done to you." There was a time and place for peaceful solutions and this very much wasn't it. Wellan had closed that door himself by involving her wife.

 

[Conifer]

"I-" she swallows hard. "I had four torches - the rats didn't like the fire, but they, um. Came to not mind it. Which is how I got the bite." She doesn't know why she's continuing, but perhaps it's easier to just say everything at once, to have it out in the open, rather than have the weight of eventually having to have this conversation weighing over her head. She knew that Cyeria would wait forever if she wanted, and knew that she never had to talk about this, but -- if she was in Cyeria's place, that grace would only be out of kindness, and not her having no want or need to know what had happened to her wife. She would tell her now, and then she would...never think of this again, if that was possible. Perhaps it was. Cyeria was here now, doing alright and holding a few demons close, so surely she was right that someday this would all pass. She closes her eyes, and even despite the dark, she finds that she still can't keep them closed for long without those sounds that were definitely people becoming definitely rats in her head. So they open again. "One of the...I don't even know if they could even be considered bodies anymore." Remin said quietly. "There were bones and flesh, but, gods, it was...unrecognizable. I would have doubted they were human if I hadn't found a locket on one of them. But someone who had been there before had taken a bone from one of the others and-- must have ground it against the wall, or something, into a point. That's what I had when you came. I had to search....through the--" She falters- it's easy enough to think of it as terrible things, as rot and grime and sludge and flesh, but it's so much harder to say it. "- through their remains to find it. But, gods, I don't know that the rats would have let me leave if I hadn't. But then...then you came. And then it was over." How terrified she had been of killing rats when only hours later she would kill a man? In much the same way she'd killed the first rat, too - panicked and frantic and in response to injury. That parallel made her wish she hadn't eaten her dinner, and glad she'd avoided anything that wasn't once covered in dirt.

She leans into the kiss pressed to her hair, apparently starving for any gentle comforts. "I'll take your word that he's dead once you kill him." Remin says quietly. Once, she would have hoped that this all could end with no one dead that didn't have to be dead, but that was far gone now. Or- the definition for 'have to' had shifted, at least, to include anyone who had played a direct role in this whole mess. "I just...you have to promise to be so, so careful with him. With Zivra. And there's-- with Zivra, there were two strange women. They never said anything, and I'm not sure if they were aiding him or if they were his jailers, but...either way, they seemed powerful."

 

[Aerynth]

The more Cyreia listened, the more she was certain that Wellan needed to die. She had made decisions of this kind a lot in the past; a peaceful solution hadn't always been an option and, at times, killing one specific person had spared the lives of others. Awe-inspiring leaders, great strategists, fanatics in positions of power whose anger couldn't be soothed? All those people had had to be disposed of because peace could only be forged in their blood. This, therefore, shouldn't be any different, right? Wrong. None of that had been personal and this-- this very much was. Just the thought of him being alive and happy, even honored by his subjects, made her blood boil. Rationally, Cyreia knew that it was the wrong response, that she should keep calm no matter what, but damn, her how could anyone expect that of her? Remin had spoken of such vile, vile things. Why would anyone put an innocent through such torture? She was a civillian, her only involvement in this mess being the blood that flowed in her veins. Well, that, and also being married to her. Remin hadn't had a choice in that, though! Why did she always have to suffer for other people's decisions? For her family, for her country, even for her? A trap, that was all her life was, and Cyreia herself was one of her jailers. If it had to be like that-- well, then she'd at least strive to keep her safe. Safe and content.

"I will always come for you," Cyreia said quietly and caressed her face, her arm, every inch of her body within her reach. Remin seemed to find some amount of comfort in her touch and if she could, Cyreia would never let go of her again. "That much I can promise to you." It was almost scary, the lengths to which she would go for her wife; Cyreia herself didn't know where the line was or whether it even existed. Coming to her help was the bare minimum here. "You're very brave, you know that? Not everyone would have been able to do what you did. Not everyone would have been able to think so clearly under duress, either. It is little comfort, I am sure, but I'm proud of how you handled it. Proud of you," she kissed her on her forehead.

"And don't worry, I fully intend to return to you in one piece." Dying in battle had once seemed like the only fate worth pursuing, but it didn't look so black and white anymore. Remin didn't deserve a spouse who thought like that. No, Cyreia would come back, and they'd thrive and be happy. "Two women? Powerful in what way? Can you describe them?" she asked softly. Perhaps it wasn't wise to probe her for information now, but Remin had breached the topic.

 

[Conifer]

Remin curled closer against Cyeria as she caressed her; by now, the two of them were taking up as little space on the small bed as they possibly could, short of laying atop one another, and even that was frankly not entirely close enough for Remin's tastes. She wanted to be consumed by her entirely; sharing the same skin might not even be enough. That was, however, impossible, and so pressing themselves together like this had to be enough.

"They were called the Grey Sisters." She replies. " Or-- Zivra called them that. They didn't speak, or do...anything, really, but I'm certain they were there for reasons besides decoration. Perhaps I'm wrong, and they're harmless, but just...Be careful with them. Please." She truly had no idea what the women were, or what they were capable of, but their presence had been intimidating and surely it meant nothing good. They wouldn't have left her alone with them if they were entirely incapable of some form of defense. Remin's skills weren't great, but she liked to think she could probably manage to strongarm two ladies' maids if she had to. "They were...appropriately, dressed in grey robes, and with cowls over their faces, so I couldn't get a proper look at who they might be. I've never heard of them before, but maybe someone in the area has?" She felt doubtful of that, unless they managed to find just the right person, but there was a chance that someone knew someone who knew something.

 

[Aerynth]

Two women in grey robes who didn't really do anything? That... didn't sound even remotely terrifying enough to warrant her wife's panicky tone, but then again, Cyreia hadn't been there. Perhaps Remin had sensed their magical aura, or had had a premonition of sorts, or-- well, it could have been anything. Life in Athea had taught her that eyes were just one way to perceive the world around you. "I'll be cautious," she promised. "We'll ask around, too. Common people may not know anything, but our hostage might. If lady Yngran and the likes of her managed to stop themselves from executing him, of course," Cyreia sighed in exasperation. "I tried to explain to them that the man will be more valuable if he stays alive, but it doesn't seem like they care about practical aspects of this too much. Not when it interferes with pleasing their gods." Cyreia would have loved to continue the discussion, but there were limits to how long a person could go without sleep; her thoughts were becoming more and more scattered, to the point that constructing a meaningful sentence was slowly becoming a challenge. No, they really should go to sleep. A big chunk of journey still awaited them tomorrow, so they needed to be well-rested. "Remin? I'm sorry, but I'm really tired. My eyes are closing on their own. We'll talk more tomorrow, alright? Goodnight." Cyreia kissed her again, this time on the lips, and soon after that, she fell asleep.

If she had to name one advantage to being exhausted, it had to be the sleep it brought. It was dreamless and restful, empty in the best sense of that word. When Cyreia woke up, she felt entirely fresh and ready to continue with their journey. Unfortunately, the same thing couldn't be said about some of their men; despite her warnings, Tannis had drunk a little too much, and the way he struggled to keep his balance didn't exactly inspire confidence in her. ("No worries! I can feel just fine," he promised shortly before running off somewhere, probably to puke. He did manage not to fall off of his horse, though, so Cyreia didn't have the heart to reprimand him. The hangover was enough of a punishment on its own.)

The new horses were fast like wind and, for most of the time, they took full advantage of that. The sooner they got to the camp, the better. Surely Remin would be able to relax once she was surrounded by soldiers fighting for their cause instead of... instead of those vast plains where enemies could be hiding behind every tree. The scenery actually looked quite gorgeous now with the sun shining and the blue skies, but Cyreia suspected nice weather didn't really make it appear less hostile for her wife. Not after her recent experiences. There were moments when the animals needed to slow down for a bit if they didn't want to kill them, though, and during one of those moments, Cyreia turned to Remin. "I... realized I haven't told you what the situation is like. Not entirely. I had to tell my allies who exactly I went off to rescue, mainly because I suspected Wellan would contact them and try to negotiate with you as a bargaining chip. I needed them to play their role. So, they know who you are, but they still don't know who I am. Do you think we should tell them? And do you have any idea regarding what you'd like to do at the camp?"

 

[Conifer]

Remin was also exhausted, not having had much sleep at all for the better part of two days, but sleep didn't come as easily for her as it did for Cyeria. The dark was too dark, the sounds too frequent, and everything screamed of terrible things that didn't truly exist anywhere but where they've wedged themselves in Remin's head. She spent a good while after Cyeria drifted off with her eyes wide, darting to whatever sound that the old building might make as it settled and shifted and as other people made their way up the stairs and to their own rooms. Where the hold of her wife brought only comfort before, it now brought comfort and a problem; she couldn't pull herself out of bed without waking Cyeria, and she couldn't sleep if she didn't pull herself out of bed and find some sort of light to banish the shadows that took the shape of things more harmful. She should have said something before they'd crawled into bed, but, gods, how far would Cyeria humor her before she started to grow tired of it? Eventually, though, Remin began the sluggish process of extracting herself from her wife's arms, trying not to wake her and somehow managing it. Walking across the floor proved itself almost as equally difficult, but only mentally, and not physically. She managed it all the same, and with shaking hands managed to get a small fire in the fireplace lit. It would be easy enough in the morning, if Cyeria questioned it, to claim she was cold.
Sleep didn't come quickly after that, even once she curled herself back against Cyeria, but eventually her need for rest overtook her need to keep an eye on every corner of the room, and she dozed off.

Remin rode separately from Cyeria when they began travelling again after a quick breakfast. She didn't have the same excuse of injury, and some of her sense of a need to put some space between her and Cyeria out in the open like this had returned. It was somewhat forgivable the day before - she had been scared, and so people would overlook her seeking something familiar. Today, especially riding into camp, was a different story. Cyeria's questions were on brand for those thoughts, and Remin was glad that her wife had thought to bring it up. She wasn't surprised, though - Cyeria proved herself an excellent strategist and soldier with each day, especially out here. It was easy to see who she was when she wasn't in finery and trapped in a castle. "...it would be easier to explain why I might stay in a tent with you if we told people," Remin says after a moment of consideration. "And us spending time together wouldn't be as suspicious. But if these people know, then...how many mouths talking about it does it take until Wellan knows exactly where we are?"

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia sighed; Remin was definitely right in that they wouldn't be able to keep people from talking about them if they told the truth. The chances of that had been low even before, but now? They were practically non-existent. Both soldiers and nobles loved a good story and there was no way they wouldn't latch on that rescue operation of hers. The king himself riding to the enemy's castle with just a handful of men to free his beloved queen? How romantic. It was exactly the kind of stunt bards sang ballads about while trying to woo dreamy-eyed maidens. (Dreamy-eyed maidens who only saw the moving aspects of it, not the terror, rats and scars on Remin's mind.) No, they could say their goodbyes to any amount of privacy they might have hoped for. People would talk, and they would talk enthusiastically. Was that a big problem, though?

"Wellan... will probably be able to locate us easily," she admitted. As terrifying as that prospect probably was for Remin, Cyreia didn't want to lie to her. The lie would be shortlived anyway and-- well, it was much kinder to prepare her for that outcome in the long run. Putting wool over her eyes would feel good for her now, yes, but not so much when his armies came knocking on their proverbial door. "I don't think it matters too much, though. He may not know who I am, but he definitely knows where our camp is and that there are important people present. People like lady Yngran, without whom the war efforts would be weakened significantly. If he could hurt us there, he would have done so already. He can't, though, because the security is tight and most of his forces are occupied by trying to hold their strategic points. Besides, even if he does find out, he won't be able to enjoy that knowledge for long. Everything has already been put into motion. Soon enough, he will be dead." She spoke with the kind of authority that wasn't usually present in her voice; that conviction belonged to Cyreia the commander, not Cyreia the reluctant king.

"I'm honestly more worried about the reaction of our allies. I don't know how to break the news without undermining my credibility," she admitted after a while. Something told her that 'Hey, surprise, I've been the king the entire time!' wouldn't be received well. "Moreover, Avther isn't exactly popular here. Ironically enough, they might be more willing to listen to my counsel when I'm just an anonymous soldier. Or do you think you could sway their minds?" Remin, after all, had what she lacked; a silver tongue. Perhaps she could succeed where Cyreia would undoubtedly fail.

 

[Conifer]

She had no doubt that with enough words, Remin could convince the troops to listen to Avther, and to come to some tumultuous form of trust with him, but...should she? Remin frowned softly. Cyeria spent...so much time trying to be king. She wasn't bad at it, gods no, not by any means - but surely this was more comfortable for her. Heading troops instead of keeping track of names and nobility; existing as one of the lot instead of someone who, through only luck, is more important than all of them. She'd have to return to being Ather the King, and not this simple but killed soldier, soon enough, but they could make this work, couldn't they? Remin could allow Cyeria this. She could allow her to keep that strength that was so inspiring and attractive in her voice, she could allow her to continue to find comfort in the old familiar. As soon as everyone knew who she was, even if they accepted it, there would be a strange divide between them and Avther. "I think I could," She admits, just in case none of this is what Cyeria wants. It certainly would complicate things, but so would her being Avther. There was no right answer from this perspective. "...but I don't know that there's need to. You said it yourself. Avther isn't popular here. So...he's not here. He's tending to things at the castle in my absence." She'd have to write to someone back at the castle and inform them of her safety and this plan, but that was simple enough to be done. Knowing who to send it to, who they could trust, may be a bit harder. She'd handle it, though.

"What are you called here, then?" She asks, not wanting to blow the entire thing by not knowing that much. "And...I suppose we'll have to either be mindful of our interactions, or come up with some story as to why we might be more than a handful of days familiar with each other." Maybe it would be easier to avoid each other near-entirely, but that was...well. If Cyeria thought it best, then Remin would manage it, but...Gods, call her a coward, a child, whatever you liked, but she didn't want to be at least out of immediate view of her wife any time soon. But it didn't matter what she wanted or needed now. There were bigger things than emotions and fright at play here.

 

[Aerynth]

It was strange, really, just how much the idea of discarding Avther pleased her. She had created him for her own safety, built his reputation meticulously and hid in his shadow for such a long time; shouldn't being him feel like home? Like well-worn boots? It probably should, but that didn't change the fact that, lately, Avther had felt more like a burden than anything else. If it hadn't been for that name, nobody would have judged her and Remin for... well, not hating each other. For feeling the exact opposite of that. That was the tax of writing Athea's history in blood; a tax she would have to pay for the rest of her life, no matter how well she did from now on. Here, though? For a moment or two, Cyreia could forget about these things and breathe. She wasn't running away from her duties, of course. No, Cyreia was just... prioritizing. Yes, prioritizing. The war had to be won and it just so happened that her personal whims aligned with that goal rather well.

"Ianes," Cyreia smiled softly. "He used to be my mentor, back when I joined the army. One of the good ones. When they asked me for my name, it was the first thing that came to my mind." It had been similar with Avther, actually, except that he had been her friend; a friend from the happier times when fighting for survival hadn't ever been a thing that crossed her mind. The memory had once kept warm and safe when everything else had been very much not that. It was a shame that it had soured for her a bit because her friend really didn't deserve that. Would he have approved of what she had done with his name? One of the many things Cyreia would never know. "And we'll definitely be able to come up with something feasible. Maybe I've been your personal bodyguard for a long time and only abandoned you because you judged that my skills were needed elsewhere? That would explain why we seem so close and why I had that pendant in the first place. I suppose it could also... create rumors, but then again, Avther isn't popular here. I don't think they'd judge you for having a lover." Because honestly? That was exactly the conclusion most people were likely to come to if they interacted with each other in front of them. Cyreia didn't believe for a second she'd be able to hide her fondness for Remin and her wife wasn't much better in that regard. The honeymoon trip had proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

 

[Conifer]

"Ianes." Remin repeats softly. It should be alarming, how easily Cyeria can shed one person and take on the next, but...Remin understands it as best she can. When you live your entire life as someone who doesn't exist, it can't be that hard to simply be someone else who doesn't exist. It's not as if her personality has changed any from Avther to Ianes; it's a matter of label almost entirely. Still, Remin doubts she could do it so easily. She's been Remin, heir to the rule of Athea, for her entire life, and then Remin, ruler of Athea, after that. Being someone else, even just in name, sounds nearly entirely impossible. How could she rid herself of that? Could she, if she tried? Gods, the thought of running off and trying, just for a day or two, was...appealing. Maybe someday, when things had settled, she and Cyeria could run off, and-- and be whoever they wanted to be, with whatever names they might like. Cyeria could be Cyeria, publicly and shamelessly, if she wanted to be, and Remin could be...someone who could show how devoted she was to the brilliant woman she called her wife. Ianes provided an interesting opportunity, though - perhaps not for that, but for some amount of openness between them. "That sounds like a decent enough plan." She agrees, nodding slightly. "We...perhaps shouldn't do too much to encourage that sort of rumor," because, eventually, these men would return to their homes and would get to talking, and while rumors of her having a battlefield affair wouldn't be the most damaging, it wouldn't help anything right now (or would it? Well, it certainly wouldn't help her convince people that Avther was worth supporting and trusting,) "But it would, at least, explain us sharing a tent and being familiar with each other. Spending time with each other." So, the usual, then, with a sliver of increased ability to do what they liked. And...honestly, she had little plan to leave the tent. It was safer. Being in the way and being a distraction wouldn't do anyone any good, and so she'd do her best not to be.

 

[Aerynth]

"We really shouldn't," she agreed with a smile. It was one thing to have a lover in relative secrecy; nobles apparently did that often, mostly because few arranged marriages worked out as well as theirs had. Nobody approved of infidelity openly, of course, but it wasn't something that would turn you into a social pariah under most circumstances. People could generally understand the need to be a little selfish from time to time. Disrespecting your spouse by not even trying to keep the affair secret, though? That was something else entirely. A statement, an outright insult. "But if the rumors spread - and they probably will - it won't be the end of the world. We'll manage somehow." Perhaps, when all of this was solved, they'd be able to come out and say that Ianes was actually Avther; to blame the deception on safety reasons. It wouldn't make her allies any less angry, she was sure of that, but it wouldn't matter at that point. The war would be won and-- well, Cyreia couldn't lie to them for the rest of her life. Werough was a part of Athea and she'd have to work with the local aristocracy again sooner or later. Clearly, she would need to explain at some point why the king looked exactly like the queen's bodyguard anyway.

They rode for two more hours before reaching the camp. Once, it had probably been a pasture, but the presence of all the people and horses had rendered the soil grey and barren; just another casualty of the war. How much time would it take for it to become fertile again? How much blood would it drink before all of this ended? Only the gods of this land knew the answer, and they remained quiet.

If Remin expected to be able to retreat into Cyreia's tent immediately, then she was sorely mistaken. A delegation of soldiers awaited them near the main gate; when they approached, they knelt in front of their queen. A few people remained standing, though, and by the way they were dressed, they must have been important. Remin didn't have to guess who they were for long. A stern-looking, blonde young woman with her hair in a bun came forward and bowed to her lightly. "Your highness, I presume? I don't believe we've met yet. Harlina Yngran. You must be terribly tired. We have prepared a bed for you in my tent; it's nothing spectacular, but it is still better than what soldiers here get. Surely you understand that our options here are quite limited. We should pay our respects to the gods for guiding you here safely before you go rest your head, though. We've erected a small shrine in the middle of the camp." Even if Yngran spoke to her queen, authority rang in her voice; clearly she expected Remin to fall in line despite her status.

 

[Conifer]

Remin rode quietly beside Cyeria for most of the rest of the journey back, though she did fall back to speak to Hawthorne for a moment about their agreed-upon cover story; having the support in the lie from someone who lived at the castle would only make it all the more credible, though she was less worried of credibility than she was him simply reasonably denying it, not knowing what was going on. There was only a slim chance of that, but it was a chance she wanted to avoid all the same. If Hawthorne had any opinion about it, he stayed quiet about it, and agreed to confirming their story if the need arose.

The soldiers that greeted her was an expected sight; it wasn't every day that a queen, who should be a good number of miles away, returned to stay at a war camp. She was more than willing to greet and speak some with them; doing otherwise would be honestly rude, and while she was exhausted still, she wasn't going to be rude. That whole idea was rather thoroughly dashed by a voice that she'd heard over the necklace that once again hung around her neck, sounding even more self-assured than she did through that connection. Remin should have expected that she'd have to deal with people other than young soldiers who were enamored by her presence among them, but somehow, it had slipped her mind entirely. "It's wonderful to meet you, my lady." She murmurs, forcing pleasantness onto her face. "I appreciate the forethought, that's very kind of you." It was also just about the thing that Remin dreaded most, as it was immediately clear that Harlina expected Remin to spend time with her rather than the soldiers; rather than with Cyeria. Well - she might take issue with abusing her power over a regular person, but it rarely hurt nobility to be dismissed on occasion; somehow, sometimes, it only left them respecting the other party more. Remin...really doubted that would be the case here, but she might be pleasantly surprised. "Though I think it may be better for my nerves to stay with Ianes; I'm sure you can understand. Nevermind that for the moment, though, and lead me to the shrine." She could, at least, indulge her in that.

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia... really didn't get how Remin managed to be so courteous in this situation. She had just returned from captivity and lady Yngran forced her to pray? Despite knowing that her wife likely didn't follow the same gods as she did? How contemptible; these people truly had no scruples. "I hope you'll forgive me for interrupting your conversation, my lady, but her highness is tired and hurt. I don't think it's a good idea to--"

"For someone who is sorry for interrupting other people's conversations, Ianes, you do it far too often," lady Yngran snapped. "Is it common in Athea to offer one's opinion when it is not wanted?"

"Yes, my lady," Cyreia smiled sweetly. While she had no love for Yngran, she had to give her one thing; she didn't mind when people responded to her acerbic remarks in kind. Actually, her directness seemed to win some sort of favor with her, as fickle as it was. "At least in my case, when giving you counsel is what I'm supposed to be doing. People often need to hear advice when they're not at all interested in receiving it."

"Hmpf. I'm sure that her highness can speak for herself and she just agreed to honor the gods. Save your remarks for the battlefield." The two stared at each other for a while but then, unexpectedly, her features somewhat softened. "Come join us, too. The gods must have blessed you in your endeavor, which means you should thank them as well." Was that... supposed to be her version of praise? It didn't sound too different from her insults. Either way, Cyreia shrugged and joined them. The gods didn't interest her in the slightest, but-- well, showing some respect for their culture wasn't a terrible idea. Hopefully Yngran would remember her willingness to participate in this nonsense when her true identity was inevitably revealed; remember it and connect it with Avther.

"And we can speak of your lodgings later, then. I understand the sentiment, though I am not sure whether such environment is good for a woman of your status. I've seen how these men behave. Animals, the lot of them."

"That's not true," Cyreia protested. "Besides, we'll be on our best behavior when around our queen."

They passed by many tents; the soldiers watched Remin with quiet reverence, often on their knees, though there were some who tried to seem inconspicuous with their staring. Tried and failed utterly. It was... actually rather moving, seeing them respect Remin so much, and Cyreia had to wonder whether she'd have that much love in the future as well. But honestly? She'd be alright with that not ever happening. All she asked for was less open hostility and fewer assassination attempts. That wasn't too much to want, right?

Harlina led them to the altar standing roughly in the middle of the camp. Weroughians had chosen the location with great care, claiming that the angles all had to be in harmony with the magical energies coursing through the soil, but Cyreia felt nothing here. Not even a hint of magic. Perhaps it ran too deep for her to notice it, though; she certainly couldn't claim to be an expert on these matters. "Kneel, please," she instructed the two of them. "Kneel and pick the gods you'd like to thank." There were numerous statouettes surrounding the altar, all of them unknown to Cyreia. Some seemed fairly mundane, for example the old man carrying a sack, while others... Well, she couldn't even tell what she was looking at with some of those things. Bizarre... shapes, she supposed? Well, it didn't seem too important. Remin might disagree with that conclusion, though; mainly because, in one of the corners, she noticed statuetess of two women. Two women that seemed to be joined at the hip and wore cowls.

 

[Conifer]

"With all due respect, my good lady, some of these men just bravely saved my life - and even those that didn't still fight on my behalf." Remin protests gently as they walk towards the center of the camp. It really did feel better here, knowing that an entire small militia stands between her and whatever might want to harm her. This peace might be temporary, but it was peace, and that wasn't going to go unappreciated. "They'll behave as they might, but I'm more than willing to overlook whatever uncouth manners they might have if I have their loyalty and trust." She would make a point later to mingle among them - share a meal, maybe, - and, gods, wouldn't Harlina likely hate that? Remin was no better than them, though; just luckier. And...really, in that regard, that might not even be true.

She paid more attention to the men that watched them than the path they took; the camp was sprawling, but not huge, and so she had no doubt that she could find her way around on her own should she need to. A few of the more shy among them looked away quickly when she sent a polite smile in their direction, but others still returned the smile with one of their own, or with a haphazard bow. No, she doubted that Harlina's concerns were warranted at all, and that Cyeria's reassurance was more than correct. She'd face little intentional rudeness here. And if she did, what of it?

This lack of care could only last so long; it shattered near completely as she noticed the same thing that Cyeria had. "My lady," She speaks up, keeping the nerves from her voice as best she could as she caught Harlina's attention. "The pantheon is much more varied in this area than I'm used to - I don't recognize these two women? Who might they be?" It wasn't untrue; a good amount of the statues were recognizable to her, with the two places sharing much of the same religion. Either it was slightly more different than Remin had known - which was possible, as she'd done her studying of Werough years and years ago - or perhaps this area, or maybe even just Harlina herself (and Zivra, then?) had their own additional things they'd brought in. It made sense; the gods were only representations of the things important to a society, and perhaps Werough's items of importance were different than further towards the heart of Athea. Her interest in that, though, was entirely not her reason for asking. The way Cyeria's attention also caught on the statuettes reassured Remin that Cyeria noticed the same that she had. Maybe it was nothing, though - two other women, unrelated entirely.

 

[Aerynth]

Whereas Remin's earlier remarks had annoyed Harlina, this one seemed to please her. It probably wasn't often that she got to teach others about faith given that everyone in the area likely knew what she did already, and people like Cyreia tended to vanish mysteriously whenever the topic came up. Right now, though? The lecture might actually come in handy. Perhaps it could shed some light on the identity of the two women Remin had spoken about. Her wife had recognized them in those statuettes, hadn't she? Cyreia couldn't imagine why else she'd give Harlina the incentive to talk.

"Ah, the sisters? It is no wonder you don't know them, your highness. They are... not gods, not exactly, and very few people actually worship them here, but we still make sure they're present at every altar; altars that don't have them only invite misfortune." Cyreia wished Harlina would speak more clearly, speak to the point, but the woman was enjoying the attention too much to reveal her cards all at once. "It is good to remember their story, anyway, because it holds many valuable lessons. You see, my queen, many years ago, they were human. Twins, daughters of a certain priest. The priest was a powerful seer, just like our lady, but unlike her, he also received dark, twisted visions. The voices compelled him to kill his daughter in order to appease the wrath of the gods after-- well, that matters not. One day he succumbed to the vision and did it. He slit their throats and let them bleed out on an altar, very much like the one we're kneeling before now."

Harlina let her words hang in the air for a while, probably trying to increase their impact. Cyreia had to admit that the woman was a good storyteller; had she not been born as a lady, perhaps she would have made a good bard. "The gods, of course, were infuriated. Kinslaying is an unforgivable crime, even more so in a holy place. The priest fell for the lies of a demon. In their anger, they revived the sisters and turned them into the instruments of their vengeance. They returned to slay the father who had been claimed by the darkness, and they say they roam the lands still. They are said to be neither alive nor dead, and so they feast on the life around them to be able to stay in our realm. It is not known why they cling to that half-existence, but from time to time, they are spotted, which is considered a sign of bad luck. We... choose to honor their memory in order not to forget that we must not put too much faith in our own abilities," Harlina concluded. "We are not perfect, and when in doubt, we must look to the teachings of the gods to guide us. Violating them will only ever end in tragedy."

 

[Conifer]

Remin desperately wished that she could reach out for Cyeria, even as Harlina only began her story. It wasn't going to go anywhere good, and Remin dreaded whatever it was that she was going to say. She could claim they were peacebringers and Remin would probably find some way to twist it to something horrible, though; was there any answer to this question that would settle her? Perhaps that they weren't the women she'd seen after all - but even then, the similarities were too great for her to find that believable. Instead of reaching for Cyeria, she focused wholly on seeming interested, like this was some harmless story that she was being told. That's what Harlina was expecting. It was some comfort to know that Harlina wasn't in some complicated cahoots with Wellan and Zivra, at least, and that respect, if not worship, for these beings isn't uncommon. That had been a brief but awful terror - that she hadn't escaped, really, and that Harlina was going to betray them to Wellan at her earliest convenience. Perhaps she still would. Remin wouldn't be shocked by much anymore.

But that didn't matter now. They had answers and information, even if they couldn't do much with it but know that they faced someone aligned would-be deities. Omens of bad luck. But bad luck for who? For herself, or for Wellan? For them both? A thought struck Remin that made her already-tenuous relationship with the food she'd forced down this morning even more wary - they feast on the life around them. How literal was that? Was that what had turned those corpses beyond recognition, and was that to be her fate, too, if she hadn't relented and given Wellan anything and everything that he wanted? She'd said she'd rather a pigsty; had she been thrown in some twisted version of one, to be weakened instead of fattened, and then turned to metaphorical but far to literal bacon?

"I see." Remin says, and once more she feels outside herself as she forces her way though this conversation. "Thank you for the lesson, my lady. It's not every day that there's more for me to learn of our gods. Shall we pray?" She hopes, desperately, that Harlina has nothing else to say, and turns back to the altar, facing some random, familiar god, and pretends to be doing anything other than inwardly panicking. Thankfully, she seems to get her wish, and Harlina allows there to be silence as she, herself, picks a god and prays to it, murmuring indistinctly under her breath. It's quick, but never over fast enough.

"I must thank you again." Remin says as she stands, the prayers over. "Will you pray with me again this evening? Perhaps there's more I can learn from you." This, at least, seemed like a way to sate the lady's want for her attention. It might allow her to bed in Cyeria's tent without much protest, as long as it didn't seem like she was trying to avoid the woman entirely. She had done enough standardized prayer growing up that this was an easy task to assign herself. "For now, though, I'm truly exhausted." She sounds apologetic, but turns to Cyeria before she Harlina could offer up any further distractions or protests or suggestions. "Ianes, will you show me to where I'm staying?"

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia felt more and more distressed with each word Harlina said. A few months ago, she would have written the story off as... well, just a story. A bedtime tale one told to naughty children to scare them into obedience. Was it really, though? Was it? Ever since she had arrived in Athea, the world seemed to be insistent on proving to her that there was much, much more to it than met the eye. Errant magic, secret passages, and now-- now this. God, could this be real? Could Remin have encountered the two women from that legend? The ones who apparently lived in some strange state of non-existence? Cyreia wished she could deny it, convince herself that it wasn't likely at all, except that it was. The two of them seemed to attract all kinds of catastrophes with suspicious frequency; a pair of demonic sisters really wouldn't stand out too much in the context of it all. Was this what their lives were going to be like? Dealing with one magical emergency after another? Just the thought of it made her skin crawl... and, by the looks of it, Remin's, too. Her wife did put on a brave face and it did fool Harlina, though not her. At this point, Cyreia just knew her too well. Oh, how she wished she could reach out to her and comfort her! They both had their roles to play, though, so she didn't.

The prayer itself was an awkward affair. Cyreia didn't really know how to pray, much less which god to choose, so she just closed her eyes, clasped her hands and hoped Harlina wouldn't notice anything off about her. Those worries, however, turned out to be empty. Far too consumed by her own prayer, Harlina didn't look at her at all and she could breathe a sigh of relief. Still, kneeling next to a woman who prayed so fervently while feeling absolutely nothing aside from mild discomfort? That was more than just a little unpleasant. Finally, after what felt like eternity, they were allowed to stand up.

"Are you sure about that, your highness?" Harlina narrowed her eyes. "I'm-- not sure whether that is appropriate."

"It is very appropriate," Cyreia said. "I'm her highness' personal bodyguard and, as we've all seen, she has a good reason to think her life is in danger. It's only natural for her to stay with me." Did Harlina buy the story? There were still doubts in her eyes, but she nodded after a few seconds of contemplation. "Very well. I don't see how anyone could hurt her highness in the middle of our camp, but if it soothes her, then I cannot deny her the dubious honor. Goodbye for now, then. And it will be my pleasure to pray with you again, my queen." Harlina turned around and started walking away, but then Cyreia realized something. "Wait for a moment! What about the castle? What's the situation?"

"We have... captured the lord," Harlina said, clearly disgusted at the mere prospect. Something told Cyreia it had happened against her will. Perhaps one of her subordinates was to thank? "He is alive, though wounded, and the castle is ours."

"Good," she said, "I will speak to him later. First, though, I'll take care of my queen. I shall see you soon." With those words, Cyreia turned around and led Remin to her tent. Soldiers tended to cohabitate, but as a commander, she had the luxury of having a tent all for herself. It was still a humble dwelling, one that likely wouldn't withstand much, but it provided a bit of privacy and that was exactly what they needed now. Cyreia sat on her bed, worry written in her eyes. "Well. Well, that was... interesting. And do you know what the worst thing about this is? That I completely believe Yngran's story. I mean, it would explain so many things about the castle. I don't know what exactly 'feasting on life' means, but-- wasn't the lack of staff suspicious? And it wasn't just that, either. Before I went to rescue you, I... asked around about Zivra, and apparently he built the castle himself. It didn't look like that, though; the castle was practically falling apart. So maybe they're kind of... sucking out life out of everything?" Great, just great. How did one even combat something like that?

 

[Conifer]

As soon as Remin was sure that the tent flap was as securely closed behind them as a tent flap ever is, she's sinking down beside Cyeria, practically in the woman's lap, and resting her head against her shoulder. They needed this privacy to speak amongst themselves about what Harlina revealed, but she needs this, more, after that. Nothing had even happened, yes, and Remin was sure that Cyeria was going to grow tired of this neediness sooner than later, but for now? She didn't seem at all to mind, if the way she'd held her the night before was any indication, and hopefully little had changed in the sparse hours since then. She doubted it had. Since the time they'd first allowed themselves to, touching was something they both seemed fond of. Was this a bit more overbearing? Perhaps. But, honestly, she deserved some amount of that. "Necromancy's not impossible." Remin shakes her head softly. "It's illegal, for obvious reasons, but it isn't impossible. I wouldn't discount the story. Perhaps parts of it are a bit more...embellished, concerning the reasons why the sisters still walk the world, but it could have been done. Especially if this was done ages ago. Athea's magical now, yes, but the magic it has is nothing like it once was."

"But that doesn't tell us what to do about any of it." She continues softly. "There's a chance that the women I saw aren't these women. They could be costumed bards meant to scare me, for all we're aware of." Wouldn't that be quite the tactic? Maybe that should be something they try, sometime in the future; research the fortellings of doom for wherever they're fighting and engineer a sighting of it, just to scare people. "But...it feels irresponsible to risk it." And-- anyways, the women meaning to scare her would mean that they were sure that she knew of the story, which was unlikely, not being from the area. There was just so much to this that they couldn't even guess at with much confidence at all.

 

[Aerynth]

Of course that Cyreia didn't mind; touching Remin wasn't something she would ever get tired of. It had been true even before and now, with the bitter aftertaste of almost losing her still fresh on her tongue, the desire only grew more intense. Completely without thinking, she embraced her and kissed her on her neck. It was likely a terrible idea to indulge in these small pleasures, especially since the tent didn't have an actual lock and anyone could come in at any moment, but-- Cyreia just needed her, alright? If anyone saw them, they'd just fall back on that story about a lover. (God, wasn't it funny how many masks she wore in relation to Remin? Her husband, her clueless victim, and now also her bodyguard. Too bad that the one role she truly wanted - the role of her wife - would likely stay out of her reach.)

"Why doesn't this feel surprising at all?" she asked, resignation in her voice. Walking corpses honestly should have shocked her, except that maybe nothing would truly faze her anymore. Remin might as well have told her that pigs could fly and she'd just nod and move on with her life. "And I wonder where all that ancient magic went, though I have to admit I'm glad it disappeared. At least we don't have to deal with such things regularly." Now they only had to deal with them semi-regularly! Weren't they oh so lucky? No, I shouldn't be thinking like this. Complaining had, after all, never solved anything. No, Cyreia had to think of what to do in case they met the women on the battlefield... which was honestly rather difficult when the only thing she knew about them was that they were not to be messed with. Since they kind of had to do exactly that, the knowledge wasn't all that helpful. "You're right," Cyreia sighed and caressed her arm, from her shoulder to her fingertips. "The risk cannot be ignored. We have to work with the worst case scenario to ensure that we'll emerge victorious. Besides, I very much doubt that they aren't real; our luck simply isn't that good." She closed her eyes for a second, trying to organize her thoughts. "Alright. What do we know about necromancy? Anything would help, even legends. What I'm interested in is knowing whether the corpses are in control of themselves, whether they're able to think like a normal human would, things like that. Their weaknesses would be nice to know, too, but I don't dare to hope that such information is available."

 

[Conifer]

Similar thoughts of the danger of all of this settle into Remin's head as she leans into whatever touch Cyeria provides her with, but they're equally dismissed. Events like this breed familiarity and relationships - that much had been proven. That's how groups of soldiers grow to trust each other so quickly; stress and near-death make you grateful of what is around you. They could use that excuse here if they had to; this was all burgeoning and new, and Ianes saving her life had simply been the tipping point from companions to-- to lovers, or whatever it may be interpreted as. Surely rumors involving her and adultery, or Avther and adultery, already existed; they always did. People were fascinated with the ideas of who might love who, and who's being cheated in the process. What was one more, even if this one had a bit more backing from their perspective? She would take whatever Cyeria would give, and so what for everyone else? She didn't want to be Remin right now; she just wanted to be someone who was loved and safe.

But Remin she had to be. Perhaps in a while, she could be a more simpler being, but for now, there was-- sisters to discuss, and myths to parse. "Most of the magic fell away to...progress. To civilization, to regulation, to morals. Some was made illegal- like necromancy, in most its forms, though not all - while other parts were forgotten- like the language we found in the castle. Nothing happened to it but time, to my knowledge." It was always was more complicated than that, though. If you traced any single unused thing back to the reasons it was unused, the reasons would be as varied as the things themselves would be. Remin takes Cyeria's hand (the one that doesn't trace a path over her arm,) and loops their fingers together before bringing them to her mouth to press a kiss against each knuckle. Their words and their actions suffer such a disconnect, but she doesn't care. They need to do them both. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know the most about it," Remin admits quietly. "Once I showed little penchant for magic, they didn't force me through too many more lessons for it." She wishes they were back at the castle, where she had a handful of people she knew could answer that question better, and quicker, and with less haphazard guessing. "But necromancy has...a lot of variation, much like any other magic. It's not always raising the dead. Sometimes it's healing wounds, even. While the healing matters little in this case, I'm just saying- it's hard to know what we're up against. It would depend on the skill of the magic user, and the freshness of the bodies, the willingness of their souls to return...They could be anywhere from entirely in control of themselves to no better than marble chess pieces." Remin tried to think exactly what she'd seen, though, and what that might suggest. "I don't think the sisters are just pawns, though. They didn't do much, but they seemed to be...in control of something, at least. They didn't act mindless. They acted purposeful. Weaknesses would also depend, but...few of them, at least in the stories, are particularly clever or subtle. And there needs to be some sort of upkeep done near continuously, whether that's the original caster continuing to channel magic into them, or...in this case, the sapping of life. The solution, at least to a lot of children's books, is to simply trap the raised creature somewhere that it can't feed or be fed until it weakens to the point that it returns to its proper state." Would that be possible here? She had no idea.

 

[Aerynth]

So, all things considered, they knew nothing. Alright, who cared? It was fine or, well, perhaps not fine, but manageable. Uncertainty didn't scare her anymore; she'd simply work with the limited amount of information available. There wouldn't be any precise, meticulously drawn plans, but rough ideas that shifted and changed along with the situation at hand. To an extent, it had always been like this. A plan couldn't be too rigid, otherwise the slightest deviation from what you expected could get you killed. Cyreia just had to rely on improvisation more than usual here. Was she being too optimistic? Quite possibly, but then again, despair wouldn't help them, either. At least optimism let her think in peace whereas despair-- despair would have choked her. No, it had to be avoided at all costs. So what if their enemies had mythical beings at their disposal now? Anything that walked this earth could be killed, imprisoned or otherwise disposed of. Nothing was eternal; not even rocks or metal, and surely a pair of corpses couldn't violate that universal law.

Cyreia kissed her once more, almost as if trying to ground herself, and perhaps that was exactly what was going on here. Unlike the demonic sisters, her wife was here. She could touch her, kiss her, find comfort in her presence. Just being near her let her breathe freely. Did Remin even know just how much easier she made this for her? "I see," she said quietly. "It's not much, but it's honestly more than I hoped for. Thank you." The bit about trapping them somewhere was especially interesting. Could they pull something like that off? That depended on so, so many different factors.

"I can't believe we're resorting to fairytales here, but-- well, perhaps there is a grain of truth in them. And if there isn't? Imprisoning them still sounds like a good idea. It certainly beats having them run around." To be able to lay a trap, though, they had to predict where they'd show up. Zivra's castle seemed like a safe bet on the first glance, but it probably wasn't; it wouldn't surprise her at all if he abandoned it along with the sisters once he found out it had been infiltrated. And looking for two women that could be just about anywhere? That was a depressing, pointless task.

"As I see it," Cyreia began, "we'll have to lure them out to a location of our own choosing. That probably won't be easy because-- well, if I was Wellan, I would be hesitant to use them. They're powerful, yes, but clearly not omnipotent. Their main strength, I think, lies in them being great propaganda tools. They're these mythical beings, a part of the local legend, and they can strike fear into the heart of every Weroughian. If they somehow got killed on the battlefield, that would be quite a problem for that terrifying image he doubtlessly wants to take advantage of. I think we'll have to force his hand a bit." How, though? "Perhaps we could... I don't know, engage in a battle of propaganda? You do remember that weather event we spoke of, right? Maybe we could make it grander than that. We could choose some god or goddess and create an illusory appearance of them to make it look as if the gods themselves support lady Beleret. Surely he'd use the sisters then to counteract that? I mean, they are the messengers of gods in the local lore. It only seems logical for him to use them as a proof that he should rule, not his sister."

 

[Conifer]

"...that would be effective." Remin agrees, so hesitantly. "But you'd have to be careful. Falsifying an appearance of a god may lose you support within your own ranks; it would be akin to sacrilege to some." It left even Remin with an uneasy feeling, but she could get over that if it meant it won them this. "Faking a sign from a god is one forgivable thing, but taking control of the god themselves...? You'd have to be incredibly careful with who you involved in this plan, and you'd have to make sure each of them fully committed to it and its secret. You might manage it better in Athea, but Cyeria, it's different here. And even in Athea, it would be a risk." It wasn't a bad plan, not by any means, but pulling it off would be a complicated affair that might risk more than they could afford to risk. These men supported Avther in some way, supported Athea in some way, and they needed that. It wasn't something they could lose. "But it could be done, likely, if it's the plan you decide on. The risk might be worth it, I don't know."

It felt strangely freeing to not really be in charge of all this. Yes, Cyeria would listen to her if she said something, and she was involving her in the process of planning, but ultimately the final decision rested on her wife's shoulders. It was a nice switch from the usual, even if she didn't mind the usual too terribly; with Cyeria at her side, especially, it was nothing too great a burden. But here, she could talk, could share her opinion and what she knew, and have no responsibility for the rest of it. Perhaps this is what the advisers felt when talking with her - though, more likely, they would be more pleased with just doing everything themselves. All three of them were that sort of person. They were smart, though, and well-informed, and so their dreams of ambition were forgivable. (Unless those dreams had come to fruition and had landed Remin with Wellan, but that was a problem for when they returned home.)

 

[Aerynth]

Oh. Well, that was an incredibly valid observation. It hadn't even crossed Cyreia's mind that this might actually be a problem; her thoughts immediately turned to the simplest solution, ignoring everything else in its path. That approach had worked in Eupriunia, but this wasn't Eupriunia. Far from it. "Damn, you're right," she sighed. "I completely forgot about their sensibilities." Was it likely that they could find enough people who didn't mind? People who thought that the means justified the ends and could put their religion aside? Maybe. Maybe not, though, and that could result in them losing the region entirely. Was there any other way to lure the sisters out reliably, though? Cyreia sincerely doubted it.

"... but then again, I'm not at all sure whether we can do something else here. I mean, we need to eliminate the sisters before we deal with the rest of the army. They are too unpredictable, and besides, if the Weroughian soldiers find out who they are going up against, the morale will be terrible. Men will desert. Those who don't will be paralyzed with fear. So, unless there is something like... undead catnip to attract them where we want them to be, we'll have to take the plunge." Did she like it? No, very much not, but there were times when no good decisions existed; this seemed to be one of them. And honestly? When faced with the choice between a risky action and inaction, Cyreia would always choose the former. The action might end up consting them everything, sure, but inaction would ensure that outcome. Moreover, she'd rather have at least some semblance of control over what would happen.

"I suppose that we can rule out any and all Weroughians. They must not know of the plan or the fact that the sisters somehow support Wellan." Or that Wellan controlled them? Well, it didn't matter; they just needed to get the demonic duo out of the picture. "We'll talk to our own magic users about it, and nobody else. It must be as real to our allies as to Wellan's men." Acting behind the backs of one's allies was generally far from advisable, but Weroughians didn't give her any other choice, really. Had they been more reasonable about this, Cyreia wouldn't have had to resort to deception. "We can... mingle with our soldiers, I suppose, get them a little tipsy and try to find out who might be willing to go along with a heretical idea or two. Will you help?" Perhaps Cyreia shouldn't be relying on Remin too much after what had happened - she deserved to rest - but subtlety was very much her area of expertise, not hers. Besides, perhaps she'd benefit from having something to do? Staying alone with one's thoughts was just about the worst route to take when recovering from painful experiences.

 

[Conifer]

There was little that Remin wouldn't do for Cyeria, this among them. She was tired, yes, but rest wouldn't come easy without her wife at her side, and her wife had plenty of things to do before they could really rest. And, anyways, she'd wanted to mingle. This was as good an opportunity as any other was. Did it feel a bit backhanded that there was ulterior motive? Yes, but did it matter if she was going to do it regardless of that motive? That one might meet some disagreements, but for her own peace of mind, Remin decided that it wasn't the worst she could do. "Of course." Remin agrees. "Of course I will. Two people is better than one. Is there anyone that you have an idea might help us that we should try to speak to first, or are we going in blind?" Neither of those was really better than the other; one was more difficult, but not too much worse. "Or, I suppose, anyone who we might avoid questioning entirely?"

Would this even work? Would the sisters be threatened by whatever display they'd preform, or would they see straight through it? Remin had to trust that it would be the former. There was no point in doing all of this if she couldn't even anticipate the outcome they needed. But what if it did work? These deities might be new to her, but the thought of ridding the earth of them filled her with the same sort of hesitance that faking a god did, if not more intense. Being a traitor was one thing, but a godslayer? They might not even maintain Werough after all of this because of it, and some of Athea proper might look down on the actions, even if they were necessary. Maybe that was a problem for later, though. There were too many steps to this process, and trying to anticipate the outcome of each one all at once was going to be nothing short of entirely overwhelming and impossible.