Fantasy All's Fair

[Aerynth]

At this point, Cyreia hadn't really expected to hear Remin's voice; she had done what she had done mostly because there hadn't been anything better to do, not because she had genuinely believed that the effort would pay off. And when Remin actually answered? She almost almost stumbled over her own feet from the sheer shock. "Remin!" she breathed out, overcome with relief. "I'm, ah, I'm so glad to hear you." Her wife probably wasn't as safe as she thought, at least not considering how horrifically she had failed in getting rid of Loran, but her words confirmed that nobody was actively trying to hurt her at the moment and that was more than enough for now. Together, they would handle this mess somehow. They had a good track record so far, didn't they? (Wasn't it strange how, despite the depths of desperation she had waded through mere moments ago, Remin's voice managed to pull her away from it? Strange and foolish, mostly because their situation hadn't really changed, but also beautiful.)

"And... I don't know," Cyreia admitted. "I'm alive, I think. But I messed up. Listen, Remin, you're in danger. We all are. I tried to kill Loran and used some magic because there were too many of his men and I was alone and it worked until it didn't. I, uh, the magic teleported me to the spirit tree for some reason? So I'm trapped under the castle and Loran is alive and likely very pissed off." Yeah, that came off just as horrible as it had sounded in her head, but there was just no way to spin this story as something positive. In her attempt to save what they had built, Cyreia had made everything infinitely worse. Or maybe not worse per se if he had known about everything anyway, but she had failed to improve the matters in any meaningful way. Damn it, how were they supposed to find a way out of this mess? Now that she thought of it, perhaps there was something they could do; something she could do, to be precise. "... listen, Remin," Cyreia said after a few seconds of silence, her tone heavy, " "... this is my fault, and so I must accept the responsibility. He said something about expecting me to betray him, so it doesn't seem like he suspects you. Maybe you should just hand me over. That should appease him for a while and you'll earn some time to plot in peace." It was the most logical choice here, wasn't it? The path of least resistance; the path that could save the most lives, both in short and long term. Sacrificing a single chess piece to avoid losing more of them only made sense, especially if the said piece had outlived its usefulness. And Cyreia? At this point, keeping her alive seemed like more trouble than it was really worth.

 

[Conifer]

Remin gave a strangled laugh - nothing about what Cyeria said was funny, of course, but-- everything was honestly kind of ridiculous. Her fault? No, they were far away from it being her fault alone anymore, if it ever was. Which it wasn't. She could be as self-sacrificing as she wanted to be, but it had never been Cyeria's fault alone. And she was here? In these same tunnels that Remin was, only separated by more tight hallways and a jumble of roots? Well - Remin thought she had used up all of her luck getting here, but apparently there was that tiny bit left. It was enough for her to look into the tangle of roots and try to remember how she'd gotten them through last time. She'd just...moved them, hadn't she? Shifted them aside and hoped for the best. Hopefully this strange magic hadn't changed that solution on her since the last time. In a moment. She'd do it in a moment. Right now, Cyeria, and-- her hand. Gods, she's been dripping blood down the hall this whole time and barely even noticed. Perhaps that contributed some to her lightheadedness, and it wasn't just the awful thrill of being prey.

"Cyeria-- that's a terrible plan, for one, and an impossible plan, for two." Remin said, as she struggled to rip away a strip of fabric from her skirt. The sound of tearing rippled through the stone in the moments before she spoke again. "He- or at least one of his men- found out. About what I was doing. And--" She swallows hard. "--I don't know. He was roaming the castle with a bloody sword, so I don't have a great feeling about- any of that. But. He was waiting for me. When I got back. I'm safe, I'm fine, I'm in the tunnels too. I managed to get him to the armory, and then- opened the wall, and he followed. I think the tree dealt with him, or he left, I don't know, it doesn't matter--" She dragged the strip of fabric against her hand, wincing as she wound it and applied pressure there. She'd gotten more injuries in the past year than she'd had in her entire life thus far, and that was...something. A terrifying something. "I've just reached the roots. I'll be at the tree soon, and then- We need to talk about what to do, because I'm...really not sure there's anything we can do." But Cyeria was smart. Her wife was better at this than her; Remin could talk diplomacy all day, but the instant someone properly wanted to kill her...it changed the story quite a lot. Cyeria, though. She'd think of something? Right? They didn't have to live out their last days with corpses - they were together. They could think of something. She looked at her wrapped hand for a moment before she finally dragged herself to her feet. Right. Roots. Roots, and then- Cyeria.

 

[Aerynth]

Oh. Well. Well, that changed the situation significantly, and not for the better. Loran knowing about Remin's involvement? That would turn any sort of sacrifice meaningless! Her former king wasn't the forgiving type, to put it mildly, and there was no reason to think he wouldn't execute Remin alongside with her. God. Practically against her will, Cyreia burst out into laughter. It was a desperate thing rather than an experession of joy - hysterics, really - but it did relieve some of the tension. She hadn't even realized it had been there, but now that it disappeared, a weight was lifted off her shoulders. (Maybe she wasn't that thrilled to die after all? Her own feelings were incomprehensible to her at times. It made sense, she supposed, because logic didn't had no power in that territory. Had it not been like that, Cyreia would never have grown as close to Remin as she had in the first place, and maybe their chances of survival would have been higher now. What a grim conclusion.) "Damn. We both messed up, didn't we? Come to me, my love. Come to me and we'll-- we'll think of something." And even if they didn't? That hardly mattered. It would be infinitely better to die in Remin's arms than wither away alone, surrounded by nothing but the ghostly flowers. Not that she planned for that outcome, but having that one certainty amidst the turbulence did feel kind of nice.

Cyreia waited, waited and waited, and then one of the walls moved aside and Remin was suddenly here. Inexplicably, her eyes filled with tears. "Remin," she stammered and went - no, ran - to her so that she could finally hold her. God, what she had gone through must have been terrifying. A man roaming the castle with a bloody sword? That probably meant there were more of them in there. Hell, even in the unlikely occasion that one single warrior had beaten all of the guards protecting the castle, Loran was surely on his way to serve them fire and blood at this point. They simply couldn't return above and hope to live. "I'm so sorry," Cyreia whispered into her hair and kissed her; kissed her lovingly, passionately, as if there was little chance they would ever get to touch one another again. That probably wasn't that far from the truth, actually. "For everything, I mean," she said when she distanced herself from Remin a bit. Even so, Cyreia refused to retreat too far; they remained so close that their noses were practically touching. "For-- for working for him. If I had found the courage to oppose him earlier, this might not have happened at all. I was popular. Maybe-- maybe I could have convinced my men to do something." She hadn't, though, because the position of the famous commander had been all too convenient for her. As much as it hurt to admit, Cyreia had always been an opportunist. An opportunist who sometimes tried to be better than that, but not hard enough for it to make an actual difference.

 

[Conifer]

The roots were more stubborn than she remembered them being - or perhaps she's more frantic now, more hurried, and they can feel that energy and refuse to play nice for it. Her wounded hand hurts when she presses it to the rough surfaces, but she can't manage these green and stubborn things with her good hand alone. Well. What does pain matter? It won't kill her. A forced thought? Absolutely. She only wished she was strong enough to not have to tell herself that in order to push on, but-- eventually the roots make space enough for her to push herself through their tangled mess and emerge, stumbling, on the other side.

Cyeria's eyes weren't the only ones filling, so suddenly and as near to violently as tears could be. Gods. Gods, this was all horrifying, wasn't it? Instead of thinking there, though, she too hurried her pace across the uneven floor and wrapped her love up in her arms. Horrifying, yes, but she'd made it to safety and to her wife.
Remin held only tighter as Cyeria put space between them, unable to do anything now but hold her as close as she could be. She let her separate them enough that they might see each other, might talk, but if Cyeria's face (attractive even in this darkness, smeared with the dirt from landing here, or something else that Remin couldn't, and didn't want, to know more intimately. She was quite sure she looked worse at this point, with all that running down dirt-encased halls and the blood from her hand smeared halfway down her torn skirts, and gods, when did this become who she was? When was she more likely to be found in something in some state of disarray than not?) "Shh," She murmured, bringing a hand up to Cyeria's cheek, holding her. She can feel her jaw shake and quiver under her hand, and it's strangely grounding. "Shh, no, my love. You- you had to. You had to work for him. And if you hadn't, then I'd likely be married to some other Eupriunian soldier Loran thought he might take advantage of. I wouldn't have my soldier." She kisses her cheek, soft and lingering, but a little frantic. "...if we die down here, I don't regret it. I don't regret this, with you." It was strange how unstrange it was to say that, to know it, without really thinking about it. She should probably regret it. But she doesn't, and she can't, and right now? She utterly refuses to even try. "And I'd ask that you try not to regret too much of your path to me, either." She adds, a bit more softly. There were always things that could have been done differently, but...but none of them matter much. Not here in their probable tomb.

 

[Aerynth]

"... me neither," she admitted quietly, and it was terrifying how true that was. Right now, death didn't scare her. If anything, the prospect actually seemed more than just a little tempting. Cyreia had struggled for such a long time; struggled both against herself and against the world, against enemies and allies alike. She had almost forgotten how to rest. Wasn't it only fair for her to get some of it now? To finally close her eyes and let herself slide into the darkness? It was a nice fantasy, but a fantasy was all it was. Had she been there alone, Cyreia might have contemplated it for real, except-- well, she wasn't. She very much wasn't, and the idea of Remin dying in her arms? Now that horrified her. No. No, she wouldn't allow that to happen. Cyreia had sworn before the gods that she would protect her and that was exactly what she would do. What kind of spouse would she be if she disregarded her vows just because things got a little difficult? Hell, promises only really mattered in trying times! Virtually anyone could stand by Remin's side when-- when all was well. She could prove her worth now, though.

"... me neither, my love, and I am very much grateful that I could get to know you, but we aren't going to die here," Cyreia continued. Her voice still shook, still sounded a bit uncertain, but some of the usual confidence returned to it. She caressed her softly, lovingly, and pressed a gentle kiss into her injured palm. "We can..." What could they do, really? The castle was probably crawling with enemy soldiers at the very moment, so emerging in the armory would be nothing short of suicide. Assisted suicide, yes, but suicide nonetheless. Theoretically, they could lure them down here and let the tree deal with them, except that wouldn't take care of the entire army. The passage was narrow, meaning that only a few soldiers would die before the rest of them understood pursuing them wasn't worth it, and then they'd likely leave them in the cavern to starve. Not the most pleasant of fates. Again, what could they do? "... retreat," she finally finished her sentence after what felt like eternity. Cyreia detested that word, but it was the only option available at times and this seemed to be one of them. "It's just-- there's no sense in throwing our lives away. If we manage to get out of here, we can reach Eupriunia's enemies. Athea is ready to rebel; we have our proof now, with all the nobles who sided with us, and that won't change if we disappear for a while. We should just go gather those foreign allies. It will be harder, I'm sure, since we're in a worse position to negotiate, but..." But we have no other choice. They really didn't, not unless they really did choose to die, and Cyreia refused that on a principle.

 

[Conifer]

Remin hadn't known how desperately she had been craving - needing - the quiet confidence of her wife with a plan until she heard it. Yes, it was a half-thought out plan, and they were just as likely to die as to manage to go through with it, but...but it was a plan. Remin dropped her head onto Cyeria's shoulder and tried not to start crying anew, and though tears still stung at her eyes, she managed to keep her shoulders from shaking with sobs. They weren't going to die here. It was baffling how intensely she was clinging to that now, when thirty seconds ago, five seconds ago, it hadn't even seemed like an option. And then Cyeria had said it, so it must be.
But there was that all-encompassing 'If we manage to get out of here'. How could they? They were safe here, yes, but as far as Remin knew, up was the only way out. Granted, she hadn't-- really checked, neither of them had, but it seemed a little silly to so heavily hide and protect an entrance only for there to be another one. Gods, though, wouldn't that be their saving grace? If the could get back into the castle properly, she'd know ways out not documented on the maps, but from here? And in this pitch-darkness scattered with unhelpful points of light? It was near-useless to even try to run their hands over the dirt and stone walls and hope something gave away. They might starve to death before they found the way out, if it existed at all.

"It's a plan." Remin agrees, voice as unsteady as she feels. "It's-- if we can gather people, if we can gain sympathy-" that draws a laugh from her, wet and sharp and muffled by Cyeria's shoulder. What better way to gain sympathy than to be attacked in your own home, at a festival intending goodwill with the very people that attacked you? "-then we might stand a chance. Better yet if we can get out of here without Loran knowing of it. But- getting out of here at all..." She trails off, righting her head and wiping the tears away with firm, rushed fingers, "I just don't know how we will."

 

[Aerynth]

Sympathy? Yes, that was what they were reduced to now. It hurt to admit, but they... didn't really have much else to rely on. If Loran hadn't crushed their plans so thoroughly, they would have gotten to negotiate with the other leaders as equals, more or less, though now? Now they were little more than beggars. Hell, most beggars were in a better position than the two of them, really, because at least they hadn't antagonized the king of one of the most powerful nations in the world. Just how were they going to deal with that? Cyreia had no idea. Then again, she didn't really need to have one; they would have more than enough time to figure it all out later. Knowing the broad strokes of the plan would suffice for now. Maybe it was even better that she didn't have any specific ideas because-- because that would make it easier to improvise later! (Or not, but Cyreia would go mad if she didn't manage to see at least some silver lining in this godforsaken situation.)

"Yes, that's exactly what we'll do," she said and embraced Remin tighter. Were her words meant to convince her wife or herself? Probably a little bit of both. "And we won't need to rely on sympathy alone, either. Eupriunia is still a hated enemy to many, many countries, and I still know a lot about how their military works. Even without-- even without an actual army, we'll be valuable allies." At least that was what she wanted to believe. God, Cyreia hadn't imagined a similar scenario even in her worst nightmares and now it was her reality. How depressing! She couldn't afford to show Remin her doubts, though. Her wife needed her strength right now, not the parts that were every bit as scared, tired and hopeless as she was. No, Cyreia had to guide her now. The fact that she didn't know where they were heading made that more than just slightly complicated, but they would find out soon.

"Well, one thing is certain; we can't return through the armory. Too risky." That, however, didn't really answer Remin's question. How were they going to get out of there? Think, Cyreia. What are our options? "I-- well. I got here thanks to magic, so I assume that we can get outside through magic, too. Maybe you can try asking the tree? You are the heiress, so perhaps it would obey you. I guess I can try to do something similar to what got me here in the first place if that doesn't work, but I'm not exactly in control of... anything, I suppose. I have no idea where we would land."

 

[Conifer]

"And we have no idea of if you might be able to take us both." Remin points out gently. She'd rather die down here than toss Cyeria back into that maddness alone - though, if Cyeria could get to further safety than this...No. No, they'd try to work this out first. They'd get out together if they could. She didn't want to be away from her, and worse, she didn't want to be left wondering what might be happening to her if Cyeria managed to leave this place without knowing exactly where she might end up. Yes, they had the stones, but those were demonstratively only good for so much.

As reluctant as she is, Remin pulls herself out of Cyeria's arms. She has to try the tree if they have any chance of making it out of here together. Maybe there is a secret second entrance. She feels cold as she leaves her wife's embrace, and it's more than the chill of the underground cellar they found themselves in, but she presses on towards where the tree - a large, darker form against the larger darkness - stands in the center of all of this. "...hello?" Remin calls quietly, feeling a little foolish for speaking into the nothingness. The tree - or whatever the presence was here - had spoken to her last time, yes, but was that proof that it might do it again? Or are they just hoping in vain for some sort of rescue? "...Thank you, for earlier. For protecting me."

 

[Aerynth]

"That's also true," Cyreia nodded. She wished her magic was more reliable than that, but it wasn't and wouldn't be until she found other fae to learn from, which... seemed like a fairly unlikely outcome at the moment. Or perhaps in general. Considering how elusive fae were, Cyreia just didn't think they would be begging for the opportunity to teach her their craft. No, her magic would likely stay as it was; helpful from time to time, but also utterly baffling. "We'll still have to try if everything else fails, though." 'I'd take probable death over certain death,' she wanted to add, but changed her mind in the last second. Something told her that Remin probably wouldn't appreciate gallows humor; not when it hit so close to home. (Hitting close to home was, of course, the entire point, but civilians generally didn't like it. You had to have... a certain flavor of disregard for your own safety to laugh at such things, and Remin hadn't been exposed to danger often enough to developed it. Cyreia hoped it would stay that way, though that was starting to look more and more unlikely with each passing second.)

She stayed back, not wanting to interrupt her wife's... conversation, she supposed... with the tree. Now that was one of the sentences she had never expected to say, but here she was. Life could be full of surprises. (Cyreia didn't like it at all, especially given how strange Remin had acted when she had spoken with the tree for the first time, but... she had been the one to suggest it. Protesting now would have been foolish. Besides, they had no other options here, so she gritted her teeth and clenched her fists and hoped for the best. What a brilliant, brilliant plan!)

Meanwhile, the familiar feeling of warmth enveloped Remin's consciousness once again; it was, simultaneously, her favorite memory of a summer day and her favorite dish, and also her father's smile and the lullaby her nanny had sung to her once, when everything had been less complicated. 'You're welcome, welcome, welcome,' the tree whispered, caressing her gently. 'Why have you come, come, come?' The words echoed seemingly from a great distance, spoken by thousands of voices at the same time.

 

[Conifer]

It was hard to remember exactly the sort of terrible place they found themselves in, once the blanket of overwhelming...comfort filled Remin's head, making it thick and fuzzy if she strayed anywhere besides thoughts of the conversation itself. Why had she come? Why was she here, talking to this force, this thing that made everything seem so simple all at once? Her thoughts felt sluggish, drifting, useless. If Cyeria hadn't been somewhere distantly behind her, she really wasn't sure she'd be able to answer the question that was asked of her at all. "We..." She starts, and her own voice in the hush feels alien and strange and falls quieter, to a whisper. It feels clumsy and cloying in her throat as it drags its way up. "We need to leave. Here. We need to leave here." Remin says, so soft. Does it even matter if she speaks aloud? "There's- more. Of those men. And they'll...We need to leave here, and we can't go the way we came."

 

[Aerynth]

'That you do,' the tree agreed. 'This is no place for the living. You shouldn't linger for long, long, long.' The voices fell silent for a while, almost as if the entity behind them was... contemplating something? Perhaps. If it did, though, Cyreia nor Remin were privy to its intentions. Maybe it was better that way. Who knew what would they saw if they peered into its consciousness? Something utterly terrifying, no doubt. 'Very well. Hold each other.' As that sentence was uttered, the fog lifted from Remin's head and she was herself again; free to think, free to act, free to doubt. Cyreia noticed the change immediately, and the relief it brought was immense. Some part of her had suspected that-- well, that she wouldn't return. Not for the second time. Being wrong about a catastrophic development for once was a nice change of pace, though; lately, it seemed like their lives were just one long string of disasters, and Cyreia liked to believe that this was a sign that things were changing. It better be, really, otherwise they would get themselves killed sooner or later. You couldn't escape your fate forever.

"What did it say? Is it going to help us?" she asked. Remin had no time to answer, though; before she could say anything, an otherworldly wind blew through the cavern, chilling Cyreia to the bone. Something about it reminded her of the wind that had transported her here in the first place. Could it be? It had to, mostly because the wind kept growing stronger and stronger, and she reached for Remin instinctively. There was no way in hell she would allow that force to separate them. No, wherever they were going, they were going there together. Either way, it was a good thing Cyreia had reacted so fast; in the next few moments, the wind got so strong it pushed all the air out of her lungs, and she was choking and gasping for oxygen and then the ground suddenly disappeared from under her very feet and-- okay, then things returned to normal. Or vaguely normal at the very least since they decidedly weren't in the cavern anymore. Where were they, though? Somewhere... outside, Cyreia supposed, but that didn't help much. Well, no matter. They had made it out of the castle and they should be grateful even for that small victory. "Now that-- that was something. Are you alright, my love?" she asked before offering Remin her hand to help her stand up. Once both of them were standing, Cyreia looked around and her jaw dropped. That landscape? The mountains on the horizon and the small town in the distance? It looked eerily, eerily familiar. "I, uh. I'm not sure whether you want to hear that, but I'm pretty sure this is Eupriunia. This is-- not too far from the place I grew up at, I think." The place that had gone up in flames so many years ago. God. Cyreia just... stared at the mountains, unable to look anywhere else. It didn't seem like she truly saw them, though; her gaze was so empty, in fact, it looked like she didn't see anything at all.

 

[Conifer]

If anything but abject horror had been playing on her wife's face, Remin might have laughed. Of course they were in Eupriunia. Of course that's where they'd ended up. It would be too kind to send them somewhere else - no, they had to land in the belly of the beast. What gods had she angered, Remin wondered? Was this the cost for Pextian's aid? Had they incurred a debt that they hadn't realized, and now they were paying for it? She felt the hysterics bubbling up, threatening breakdown, but that look on Cyeria's face kept them at a simmer instead of a boil. She hadn't seen her like that before, and it was a terrible time to see it now. But...gods, this day felt endless, and what was one more thing tacked onto it?

Remin looked around - she followed Cyeria's gaze to the mountains that painted a backdrop against the late-afternoon sky, readying themselves to be painted in pinks and oranges not long from now. She looked at the town - all its small buildings, wood and stone and brick, smoke rising from chimneys and specks of color that was people moving through the streets. She looked at the road between that and them; it wasn't too far, a couple miles at most. And then, she turns and looks behind them at the road that stretches away from that tiny town. She swallows hard, and squeezes Cyeria's hand. What were they going to do? Neither of them looked in any shape to be wandering into unfamiliar (or, unfortunately familiar,) towns without some sort of explanation, and 'Oh, we're the rulers of Athea; you know, the place that you just near-ruined in war and are now actively going to entirely-ruin while we're on the run and trying to find anyone who might pity us enough to help us take back over our country, and we've just escaped certain death at the hands of your king,' certainly wasn't going to cut it. "Of course it is." Remin says, her voice thin and tight with that simmering. She wants to cry. She wants to scream. She wants to go to bed and ignore that today ever happened for a while. "Of- of course it is. Gods, I--" she inhales sharply, exhales slowly, "--where do we go?" She asks, and then, a bit gentler, because she certainly couldn't imagine wandering back to the place that her parents had died on top of everything else right now, "Towards the town, or away? There's got to be somewhere else eventually."

 

[Aerynth]

Vaguely, Cyreia was aware that Remin had said something. She was also aware that that something had been adressed to her, mainly because there wasn't anyone else her wife could have been talking to, but it was hard to find a meaning in her words. It was hard to find a meaning in anything, really, when fire surrounded her and she could taste the ash on her tongue and the screams, god, the ear-piercing screams-- no. No, this wasn't happening. This wasn't happening and Cyreia knew as much, so she had no excuse to dwell in the past. It was gone. Gone, lost, buried; no amount of wishing would change that, no matter how desperate. Hadn't she learned that lesson ages ago? (One would have thought she had with all the tears she had spilled while trying to negotiate with the gods, but some lessons, it seemed, had never managed to get under her skin. Not when foolishness felt that much sweeter.)

"I... I'm sorry," Cyreia finally tore her eyes away from the horizon and looked at Remin. Yes, that was exactly who she should look at; at people who were actually there, not at ghosts. Remin didn't deserve to be ignored in favor of-- in favor of a memory. Or was it a nightmare? Sometimes, the two concepts were dangerously close to one another. "It's just that I haven't been here since forever," Cyreia smiled weakly. For some reason, her tongue was heavy and the words came out strangled, almost as if an invisible hand choked her neck. That was exactly how it felt, too. "It is... I don't know? Strange." A pathetic attempt at euphemism to be sure, but hey, it was the thought that counted, right? The thought and the fact she hadn't fainted yet, which had, bizarrely enough, seemed like a distinct possibility mere seconds ago. God, her own weakness disgusted her. Shouldn't she be used to it at this point? To death always following in her footsteps, to the emptiness within? (Somehow, it never got easier.)

"The... the town," she said, determined to focus on Remin's questions. Answering them made it easier for her to collect her scattered thoughts, and besides, her wife's concerns were actually relevant. "Eydar, that's what it is called, and we should head there. If-- if we are to travel, we will need supplies. We can buy some things there; I doubt they will recognize us." Someone eventually might, though, as Loran and his men would undoubtedly be looking for them. Now, how could they reduce the chances of them succeeding? Hmm. Maybe there was a way, actually. "You know," Cyreia started, "I'm thinking that I should be Cyreia here. I mean, once the word spreads, they will be searching for a man and a woman, not two women. It might be... easier, I think." The irony of her going back to her old identity in the place that had caused it all? That wasn't lost on her, though she didn't feel like commenting upon it. Right now, Cyreia felt too tired for sarcastic quips. "How... how do I look more like a woman?" Perhaps a bizarre question, but she had spent so much time trying to hide that very fact that Cyreia genuinely didn't know how to be-- well, what she truly was. The fruits of living a lie, she supposed.

 

[Conifer]

"Eydar." Remin repeats, so softly, as Cyeria shares the information. She takes one more long look at the town stretched out before them; Cyeria's home, once upon a time. The place where she'd...been Cyeria. How strange that was. She'd known her wife as Cyeria for longer than she didn't at this point, but it was different to know that somewhere in the world, others had known her as Cyeria, too. At one point in time. (And would again, someday, if she wanted it. If they were going to go through all of this to save Athea from the horrid clutches of Loran, then the least her people could do was accept their savior for how she was or be quiet with their contempt for it. Without Cyeria, Remin would likely be dead and bleeding in the halls of the castle right now, or at the very least, standing on this road alone with no idea how to move forward. And even all of that was only if she had managed to live this long anyways. How many times had Cyeria saved her? Too many, and likely not for the last time. Remin looked back to Cyeria, half-tempted to offer going into town alone and gathering supplies for them, but she hated the idea of leaving Cyeria by herself right now for however long that took. And Remin didn't know this place - the town or the country - the way that Cyeria did. No, they'd have to go together.

She studied her quietly, reaching out a hand to brush through Cyeria's hair. "...I'm not sure that either of us are in any state to look like anything but messes right now." She says, softly, half teasing, but also entirely not. "But, no, that's a good idea. We'll find you different clothes to wear, and do without your bindings. I don't think it'd be enough to trick Loran, but it would be enough that no one will think to mention us if he comes asking about a man and woman." She purses her lips lightly. "I guess we'd do well to disguise me somewhat as well. A different name, at least." Isn't this what she'd dreamed of when she was younger (and more foolish) ? Didn't she want the chance to just...be someone else, for a short while? And now she was getting it. What a deal that was. "Will you think of one for me?" Remin asks quietly - partially to give Cyeria something to focus on that wasn't horrid things, and partially because it felt so strange to think of one for herself.

 

[Aerynth]

"That's not even true," Cyreia protested, a ghost of a smile on her lips. Everything felt wrong and uncomfortable and-- and vaguely disconnected from all she had known for god knew how many years, but some things, it seemed, didn't change. Things like the sight of Remin taking her breath away. In a way, having that small certainty steadied her; apparently her entire world could be turned upside down within a few seconds, but not this, never this. (Without her, would Cyreia even know who she was? Somehow, that seemed more and more doubtful.)

"Just so you know, you're still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I don't know what would need to happen for that to change," she chuckled and wiped some dirt off her wife's face. It felt... strange to laugh like that for some reason, almost as someone else did it for her using her lips, and Cyreia didn't quite know how to deal with that, but-- everything would be fine. She had dealt with worse things, after all. Surely returning couldn't be more painful than all of it happening in the first place? Besides, she wasn't alone in it now; Remin would take care of her as much as she would take care of Remin. "But yes, that sounds like a plan. You'll need more than a new name, though. We should-- agree on a backstory, I suppose. I can pass for a Eupriunian," mostly because she was, no matter how distant she felt from her heritage now, "but it might not come as easily to you. Your manners also don't resemble those of a peasant. So, perhaps you could be... a scholar from some distant land?" Her being Athean would work as well, Cyreia supposed, but considering the circumstances, not mentioning Athea at all might be the best course of action here. Eupriunians didn't tend to like Atheans, after all. "As for your name..." Cyreia trailed off, studying Remin's features. "God, that's hard. I don't know. I can't imagine any name that would fit you better than your own name, you see? But... maybe something like Isara? That sounds foreign enough."

Practically without realizing it, Cyreia began walking towards the town; slowly and hesitantly, but she did so all the same. "How do you think we met? And what are we doing in Eupriunia in the first place?" Even if these details weren't all that important, they should probably discuss them, if only to be consistent. They shouldn't attract much attention, after all, and avoiding various contradictions in their story would be a good way to achieve that. Maybe the locals wouldn't notice either way, but people could be shockingly perceptive, especially when you didn't want them to be. No, they had to be prepared for everything.

 

[Conifer]

Remin followed after Cyeria as she began walking into the town, wishing that there was more she could do to be a solid comfort to her than just...hold her hand and offer soft words or distraction. What else was there to do, though? Take them somewhere else? She couldn't do that. Erase the things that had happened here? That, either. No, there was nothing short of some godly influence that might change anything about this situation for the better, and she was no god. Her gods didn't even exist here. They were alone, left to wander towards bad memories. She squeezes Cyeria's hand, holding onto her all the tighter, as if that could really help anything very well at all.

"Maybe we were intending to go to the festival and we were waylaid by weather, or something?" Remin offers, frowning softly. The similarities to their earlier discussion - the one of pies and meeting in better circumstances and falling in love all the same - isn't lost on her. But where that was indulgent, this was weighted with danger. If their story wasn't believable then, it didn't matter in the least. If it wasn't now...she didn't want to think what might happen. It wouldn't be good, whatever it was, and it wouldn't leave either of them in a state to recover Athea. "Or- if I'm to be a scholar, which works well, I think, then...I don't know. Is there anything that might be worthy of study near here? Maybe I arrived in Eupriunia to study that, and hired you on as a guide?" Just as there was no solution to Cyeria's problems with this town, it didn't feel like their was an easy solution to this story; anything too interesting and people might ask questions they would have to answer on the spot, anything too plain and their story would seem fake and transparent. Still, neither of them were poor under pressure; they could answer questions if they had to, as long as they made sure not to contradict each other.

 

[Aerynth]

"Nothing I'm aware of," she shrugged. "I'm not a scholar, Remin. I don't know whether-- whether these people would be interested in anything around here." Besides, Cyreia had hoped to leave this place behind; she hadn't really paid attention to it in the past years. Pretending it had never existed at all had been far more pleasant, really. Whenever her thoughts had wandered there, she had found something else to do instead, and there had been much to do in the army. Now it turned out that avoidance wasn't the best long term strategy. How had she been supposed to know, though? Having to construct a false identity for her Athean wife (who also happened to be a queen) wasn't something most people knew to prepare for! God, her life really was one absurdity after another. At least Pextian got to have their fun, Cyreia supposed.

"... maybe it doesn't matter, though. I mean, scholars are usually an eccentric lot, to put it lightly. If you pretend to be excited over some flower or an exotic bug, I think that people will believe you." It also had the added benefit of killing anyone's interest in Remin's supposed field of study; if she researched something exciting, people would probably ask a lot of questions about it, but with this focus on such a boring topic? Cyreia was willing to bet they would suddenly find at least five different reasons to end the conversation entirely. Nobody was interested in the ramblings of an overly enthusiastic academic, after all.

"I'm not too sure about you hiring me as a guide, though. Women... don't really hold such jobs here," Cyreia explained with a sad smile. "Too adventurous. Maybe I could just be your wife who came with you because she knows the land. That could work." Coincidentally, it would also allow her to love Remin as herself and to do so openly, which was more than a little tempting. And honestly, why not? It wasn't a crime to try to find something pleasant about the mess they were stuck in. Hell, they deserved it! As the town got closer and closer, though, something occurred to Cyreia. "Remin, do we even have any money? Because I haven't brought a single coin with me." And if they didn't have any funds-- well, that would complicate their journey significantly.

 

[Conifer]

Flowers and bugs. Gods. Things she knew near-nothing about, even outside of Eupriunia. How was she supposed to fake knowing anything about them if she barely even knew where to begin? But that wasn't the point, was it? The point was to just- bore people until they stopped caring. And these...weren't educated people they'd be talking with, to put it lightly. If she declared that a Red-leafed Lacehummer grew somewhere near here, they'd neither know nor care that it was a flower that didn't exist in the first place. "Flowers it is." She agrees softly, trying not to let on how out of her element she felt in all of this. Cyeria had bigger things to be worrying about than the fact that her wife was overwhelmed doing the exact same thing that Cyeria had been doing for years. Well - perhaps not exact, but close enough. It...really wasn't even the flowers, the lying, that she was overwhelmed with. If this was any other sort of day, one where she hadn't just been run from her home and her country, abandoning them to pain-hungry kings, then this might even be fun. But she had been, and so, it wasn't. Well. There was the small spark of freedom of being able to be fond of Cyeria openly. She'd cling to that (and her,) for lack of any other bright spots in all this mess.

She frowned softly at the mention of money, though. At this point, they really needed to start stashing things away in every room of the castle - and perhaps into their clothes, as well. Remin hardly even thought that sewing coin into the hems of her dresses was paranoid anymore, and - well, perhaps that was only proof that she was utterly paranoid. But for good reason! How many times would that have been useful by now? If they-- when they. She wasn't stooping so low as to be entirely hopeless yet - managed to get to a place where they had enough coin to sew into hems, she'd start. For now, however, she reached her spare, bandaged hand into the pocket of her dress and pulled out the meager amount of coin she'd grabbed before heading back to the festival, to indulge on treats as she sought out people to bargain with. It was a good thing that she'd grown too on-edge through all of that to be able to stomach something sugared and cloying; all that coin still remained. It was a miracle it hadn't fallen from her pocket, between the running and the wind. Still, it wasn't a lot. Enough for a cheap item of clothing for each of them, perhaps, bread and cheese for a meal or two. Beyond that...well. That was a problem for tomorrow. A tomorrow that they'd have to get to by either forgoing their meal to pay for somewhere to sleep, or finding a place away from the wind to hunker down. "Barely." Remin says, apologetic. "But-- it's something."

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia just... stared at the small heap of coins, unsure whether to laugh or to cry. They were Athean coins, unsurprisingly, but that didn't matter too much. Athea wasn't that far, and they could easily claim that they had had to cross it to get to Eupriunia. It would make sense for them to have Athean currency in that case; furthermore, the locals would probably accept it as payment because-- again, the other country was rather close and they did conduct business with Atheans. No, there were no issues on that particular front. The only issue here was that they wouldn't last a week with so little money, much less a week on travels. They needed two good horses, dammit! They also needed something to eat, a place to sleep at, new clothes and-- and all those things that cost money. God. Not having to take care of those matters anymore was the one, one good thing about being a king, and now fate had taken that away from her as well. Back to poverty, I suppose.

Still, for Remin's sake, she tried to keep her expression neutral. As much as the whole mess weighed on her, it must have been even worse for her wife; at least Cyreia had some experience to fall back on. Remin, though? Everything probably felt intensely confusing to her. It was almost as if they swapped their roles, really, and that would have been sort of funny if so much hadn't depended on this. Either way, she was determined to repay the favor; just like Remin had ensured she wouldn't make a fool out of herself in the court, Cyreia, too, would help her wife navigate this new situation. "Alright," she said quietly. "Alright. We can manage. It's not... great," or even good, to be frank, "but we can manage. We'll come up with some sob story about bandits robbing us blind. That will explain why we have pretty much nothing despite you not looking poor." Because she very much didn't. Despite all the dirt, Remin looked like someone born with a silver spoon in her mouth; her hair was cut too nicely, her manners too polished. She herself may not have noticed these details, but common people sure did. Almost nobody they were in contact with looked the way Remin did and that definitely wouldn't escape them. "We will... we will need to work, though. Or steal, but I wouldn't recommend that because we don't need anyone looking for us." And also because the locals were likely poor themselves. Cyreia wouldn't really object to stealing from nobles (who likely had too much money to even care about petty theft, really), but there were no nobles in sight. Just smallfolk who struggled to live with some amount of dignity, and she didn't want to make that even harder for them.

 

[Conifer]

"It'll help explain--" She gestures vaguely, at the blood-splattered dress and the bandaged hand, which the fabric she'd wrapped around it was doing less of stopping the bleeding and more of simply...soaking it up. It at least didn't seem like an awful wound, despite all that; her fingers still worked, and that's all that really mattered at this point. It could bleed all it wanted as long as it wasn't something they'd have to spend every coin on fixing. She wouldn't bleed out from it before she was confident enough that she could spend her energy on healing it somewhat. "-this, too."

Working, though-- it almost sounded like a blessing. She was going to be terrible at it, just as she had been in [], but that had been a strangely nice sort of reprieve from royalty. She had no illusions that they hadn't gone easy on her there, though. They'd known who she was. In Eupriunia, as Isara, she was no one but a scholar who cared too much about a flower that didn't even exist, and whatever kindnesses she'd been afforded then wouldn't be given to her now. She was rather sure she was going to regret this outlook later, but now? Mindless work sounded divine. Sitting and moping wasn't going to help anything, and...really, either was the work, but it stood a better chance of getting them closer to their goal. "No," Remin sighs. "No, certainly not stealing. These people will have enough reason to hate me if- if we can pull this off. I don't want them to hate me early." Or would they welcome the freedom from Loran? It was all far too far in advance to think, and so she didn't bother. Problems for later. Weeks from now, if not months. "We'll work."

As they walked, the adrenaline that had been keeping Remin upright and going was starting to wear thin; gods, she was exhausted. So was Cyeria, though, she was sure. And it didn't matter. They certainly couldn't stop here, and there didn't seem to be any sort of stopping on the horizon. Maybe a night of restless sleep, but no real stopping. How had they woken up just this morning to a platter of fruits and pastries? How had they spent the night in soft sheets and warmth, when now they were gods-knew-how-far away and looking like they'd each climbed right from a grave, with nothing between them but a handful of coin? It felt like years ago that they'd known any sort of comfort.

 

[Aerynth]

"I don't think they'll hate you," Cyreia smiled softly. "To them, war is just something that happens. You don't resent winter for coming every year, do you? Well, it's similar here. Actually, they may respect you more for standing your ground." The reverse of that was true as well; before she had left Eupriunia, she had heard people talking about Athea and its ruler, and it hadn't been pretty. A weakling, they had called her. A fraud who had failed her people. None of that mattered, though, so she kept that information to herself. Remin had a lot to deal with even without being judged for her decisions. For saving her country, really, because there just hadn't been a better option back then. (Maybe there still wasn't and they were just deluding themselves. Maybe they had only doomed Athea further with their actions. Maybe they should have accepted the deal gracefully and thought of something else to solve this mess instead. Maybe, maybe, maybe; Cyreia was beginning to hate that word.)

"We should find a tavern, I suppose," she nodded once Remin agreed with her proposition. There were certain doubts in her mind - doubts whether Remin actually could help her earn money - but again, Cyreia decided not to comment on that. Voicing her thoughts on the matter would have been both unkind and purposeless. It wasn't her wife's fault that she had next to no experience with-- well, with anything resembling physical labor. Besides that, her inexperience hadn't stopped her back in Hadsberry, had it? In time, Remin would surely learn to do whatever these people would require from her; where there was a will, there was a way, after all. And before that happened? Cyreia would simply have to earn bread for both of them. "People will be more inclined to speak to us in public. It certainly beats just... knocking on some random man's door and asking for shelter. That probably wouldn't go too smoothly."

The Eydar itself-- wasn't really what Cyreia had remembered, and that was probably for the better. The layout looked similar on a glance, yes, but the locals had reconstructed everything almost completely. They had to have done that, now that she thought of it, as many of the buildings had been burned to ash. And the fact that everyone had moved on? Now that came off as a shock. Logically speaking, Cyreia had, of course, known that. She hadn't expected to find people living in Easthaven-like conditions, or even among flames. Still, her last memory of the place was shrouded in fire, and the town looking so painfully normal now-- that was a contrast she wasn't quite ready for. "It looks so different to what I remember," Cyreia said to Remin, her voice sounding a bit strained. "I used to know every nook and cranny and now I'm not even sure whether I could find our old house." If it still stood, that was. If it did, though, someone else likely lived in it now, which... didn't really please her. It didn't please her at all. No, it was better not to know. Waking up the ghosts of past could never lead to happiness.

Thankfully, finding the tavern wasn't a difficult task. Just like most pubs, this one, too, was located roughly in the center of the town. The sun hadn't set yet, so the building was almost empty; only a few old men sat at one of the tables, talking to one another in hushed voices. People who could no longer work, Cyreia guessed. At this time, everyone else was probably doing just that. Rather unsurprisingly, everyone's attention turned to them the second they went inside. "Oh dear," the innkeeper breathed out. She was a fat, middle-aged woman stuffed in a dress that seemed about two sizes smaller than it should have been, but her eyes were kind and her concern genuine. "Are you alright? What happened to you?"

 

[Conifer]

Remin had truly no idea what to say that might help Cyeria. She knew well enough what to do if one of her people approached with their tale of woe - offer empathy, sympathy, and the most sincere 'I'm so sorry' that she could muster, but...Cyeria wasn't some nameless figure she's unlikely to see again, and learned lines would be less than meaningful here. Perhaps it was less about saying anything, though; Remin pulled Cyeria to a gentle stop in the road and wrapped her arms around her, embracing her in the middle of this haunted street. That, at least, she was capable. She could stand beside Cyeria in this pressing on old wounds, and offer whatever comfort she might need. "I'm sorry." she murmured against Cyeria's neck, holding her for a moment longer before allowing them to continue towards the tavern.

She hated this. She really did. To take advantage of the concern of this woman like this felt near to awful. But...were they really taking advantage of it? Yes, there was a treasury full of enough gold to buy this place out, but none of it was hers right now. She'd be shocked if there was much of it left when they finally returned to Athea, honestly, and- so, no, it wasn't taking advantage. It was just...needing. They needed her worry, because they weren't going to live long enough to pay it back if they didn't use it. Remin would, though - she'd make sure that whatever kindnesses were shown to them at this time, they'd be repaid. Perhaps that'd be years from now, but she'd do it. In the meantime, she'd lie. "Bandits--" Remin says, letting her eyes well up with the tears she'd like to spill over half a dozen other things. How far to push it? How far was overselling? "They- we were attacked, on the road,"

 

[Aerynth]

"Bandits? Oh dear, they really are getting cheekier and cheekier by the day," the woman lamented. The indignation in her voice was so authentic that it wouldn't surprise Cyreia if she ventured outside solely to beat up the fictional bandits herself. (Did she feel bad about the lie? Of course she did, but-- well, it wasn't like they could have told her the truth; the rulers of Athea wouldn't have been welcome, to put it lightly, and they needed hospitality right now. Besides, they hadn't even lied that much. Loran had acted like a common bandit, after all.) "I hope that you are fine? Come, sit down, I'll pour you a glass of something warm and everything will be just peachy."

And indeed, the innskeeper fulfilled her promise. Soon enough, they were sitting by the table, each of them with a glass of something hot and frangrant. Mulled wine, Cyreia supposed. It smelled like mulled wine at least, and it wouldn't be strange to receive it there since it was a typical Eupriunian drink. (God, she had missed it so much. Cyreia didn't even like mulled wine, not truly, but the way cinnamon and nutmeg smelled together? It reminded her of... well, home. Or something dangerously close to it.) "Thank you, my good woman," she said, "but I'm afraid we cannot afford to pay. The bandits left us with very little to work with. We just came to get some water and--"

"What's your name?" the woman interrupted her.

"... Cyreia," Cyreia said, feeling both elated and strangely terrified. She hadn't even dared to utter that name for years and now she casually used it again, almost like all the things that had defined her life for so long hadn't happened at all. How delightfully absurd. (It would probably take some getting used to, but to be frank? She didn't hate getting to call herself Cyreia. She didn't hate it at all.) "And this is Isara, my wife."

"Cyreia and Isara, then. I see. I'm Sayna. Now that we know each other's names, we are friends, and so I can pay for your wine."

"What?" one of the men spoke up, his voice full of disbelief. "You never pay for my wine, Sayna. Is this how you value me?"

"Are you really jealous of people who have just been robbed, Jeor?" Sayna raised her eyebrow. "Stop it, that's bad luck. You'll bring misfortune upon your entire family, I swear. Either way, drink up, you two. It'll give you strength."

"Thank you," Cyreia smiled softly, warmth pooling in her stomach. Oh, if only all Eupriunians were more like this woman and less like Loran. Life would be so, so much less complicated.

"There's no need to," Sayna waved her hand. "A bit of wine won't help you in the long run anyway, and it's no skin off my back. What are you even doing here? It's dangerous these days, as you've come to understand."

 

[Conifer]

Remin was content enough to let Cyeria handle this as long as she could; she knew how to handle any of this better, this...talking to people on the same level as her. And, gods, didn't that make Remin sound like an entitled brat? And, further-- wasn't she? Perhaps not the brat part, as far as she hoped (that would be put to the test now, she supposed,) but...the rest of it? Entitled? Absolutely, as much as she tried to make that untrue. Well. If anything, this whole adventure would...help. If they didn't die from starvation or Loran before she had a chance to use any of that newfound knowledge.
Entitlement didn't erase her gratefulness for the little things, however; while she could care less for the wine aspect, the warmth of the drink (and the woman, quite honestly,) felt near to healing. Soft, fragrant steam drifted off of it, and she made a point to herself to enjoy it and this moment as Cyeria and the tavernkeep chatted. When was the next time they'd have this sort of peace?

"We came-- well, I came to study the local flora," Remin's eventually brought into the conversation, but even the lying doesn't do too much to entirely shatter this moment she's taking comfort in. There was kindness in the world, even if they were being terrible people and lying to those kind people. But it wasn't lying without purpose! And really, their situation was far worse than simply being robbed by bandits, so surely there was some sort of forgiveness there? "My wife's presence is to keep me from making too much of a fool of myself," Remin teases lightly, though her tone and the enjoyment of the teasing is worn down. Her wife, though. That was the first time she was able to say it aloud in front of other people - Remin liked it. She liked it a lot, honestly. It was apparently a good idea that they said she was a scholar, though, because even with the difference in accents, Remin could tell that the way she spoke stood out far too much for her to be anything but obnoxiously and apparently priviledged. "But now I suppose we're just looking for work." Remin says, sipping from her drink. "You wouldn't have heard of anyone looking for an extra hand or two? I can't make any promises about my own ability unless it's with paperwork, but I'm willing to learn, and Cyeria's good with most things."

 

[Aerynth]

"... the local flora?" Sayna repeated after Remin and blinked a few times, apparently uncomprehending. "Flowers," Cyreia rushed to her rescue and put her arm around her wife's shoulders. Being able to do that whenever she wanted to? God, losing the crown was almost worth it. (Frankly, she wouldn't mind if they lived like this, as Cyreia and Isara instead of Avther and Remin. All things considered, ruling had been just one giant headache. Here, though? Cyreia could work in the fields, Isara could... bake, maybe, and after the work was done, they would lie in each other's arms and watch the stars. Why would anyone want more than that from life? Deep inside, though, Cyreia knew this was just a fantasy; knew that true simplicity lay beyond their reach. They just... couldn't leave their people behind, nor could she force Remin to live as something she wasn't. You didn't do that to the one you loved. No, this arrangement was strictly temporary; a more-stressful-than-usual vacation. Cyreia couldn't afford to fall in love with the idea.)

"She means flowers. Please pardon Isara, my friend. She can get a little passionate about her research, and then she fails to explain things."

"Oh, that's fine, dear!" Sayna waved her hand. "The explanation would have been lost on me anyway. Flowers, though? Must be nice. I always did like flowers, though I can't imagine anyone paying me money for admiring them, you know?" Was she trying to insult Remin? No, it didn't seem like that; her smile looked as genuine as it had a second ago, so Cyreia concluded that she merely must have had some pretty skewed notion of what it meant to be a scholar. It wasn't like she could blame her for that, though. An innskeeper working in a fairly isolated town probably didn't meet academics on the regular; hell, the woman very likely couldn't even read. That hypothesis of hers got confirmed when Remin mentioned paperwork.

"Isara," she said in a tone usually reserved for children, "nobody needs such things here. Only rich folks need to record just how much stuff they own. Wait for a bit, I'll try to think of something suitable. And you, Cyreia--" she looked her up and down, as if evaluating her, "the blacksmith has just lost his apprentice, but that isn't a pleasant job. You'd be taking care of the furnace, carrying his materials, ensuring that the workplace stays clean and such. And the blacksmith himself-- well, let's just say there's a reason his apprentice quit. He's terrible to work with."

Likely not as terrible as Loran, though, which was admittedly a low bar to pass, but it worked in her favor here. Having dealt with such a menace for years, Cyreia was confident she could handle a grumpy employer or two now. "Does he pay generously, though? That's the real question here."

"Ha, that's the spirit! Yes, I think he does," Sayna chuckled. "Also, Isara, if you're good with flowers, I just remembered that the healer is looking for an assistant. That might work for you."