A/N: Set in the early months when Ayrenn is still officially pulling the Dominion/Thalmor together, and is traveling through Valenwood and Elsweyr.
There is a palpable air of excitement within the Queen's entourage as they approach the eastern border of Valenwood – one that is carried by both the Altmer, and the Bosmer guards and Treethanes who've joined them for the journey into Elsweyr. Many are eager to see for themselves the golden sands of the Khajiit homeland, which they've only heard in tales and read in books thus far. Sielaire shares their sentiments, as she is keen on leaving the humid jungle climate behind, and bathe in the lighter air of the deserts. But past experience – gained from her time with the Fighters Guild – tells her that the entourage's initial joy will soon fade after their first full day in Elsweyr.
And it does – though to their credit, it doesn't fade fully. Trailing behind their Queen and a pair of spirited Khajiit guides, the elves still look around at the stretches of desert sands with that gleam of wonder in their eyes, but Sielaire can tell that the arid climate is wearing on them. Without the thick canopy of Valenwood's forests, they are left under the mercy of the harsh sun; metal armours grow warm, and fair skin turns red from overexposure. Some of the Bosmer have taken to hiding under the shadows of their taller Altmer counterparts, eliciting a fair share of laughs among the group.
Sielaire cocks a brow from under her own green hood when her lieutenant complains about sweating under a stuffy helmet all day, but she grants the soldiers permission to swap their headgear for the leather hoods offered by the Bosmer – a simple solution that stops much of the bellyaching, and possibly saving them from a company-wide heat stroke.
But there is still some adapting to do, mostly in the simple act of walking – because now, their feet sink into soft sand with each step, instead of meeting solid ground. Ayrenn slows their travel pace by a notch in the first few days, to allow her people time to adjust, and Sielaire is grateful. Not that she's had much trouble with moving, no, but because of reports from Razum-dar's agents. There have been scattered sightings of faint silhouettes tailing the entourage at a distance, and their presence becomes near-undetectable in the inky blackness of night, when only their keen-eyed Khajiit scouts are able to spot them. As they can do nothing without alerting the stalkers, they decide to feign ignorance and travel on, assigning more guards to the Queen in the meantime.
One day, when first light has barely broken over the horizon, Razum-dar pulls Ayrenn, Urcelmo, and Sielaire away from their quiet breakfast, to present the documents his agents have stolen…from spies of the Daggerfall Covenant. The written plans are rough, as are the drawn maps detailing their makeshift outposts. But their instincts sharpen upon learning the spies' directive: to tail the Queen across Elsweyr, gather more information about the 'Dominion', and if the opportunity arises, to kill the Queen before she gathers enough strength to pose a threat. Even worse, it becomes obvious that there is a traitor in their midst: their travel schedules, guard complements, and other camp information are noted in the documents as well – they need to resolve this issue, now.
Razum-dar proposes a plan; since these documents were taken from a now-dead Covenant spy in the night, it is very likely their leader is aware of what has transpired. It would be prudent to launch an attack on their main camp before they can relocate. He is met with unequivocal agreement, and so starts the company's forced march towards the northeast.
Upon reaching their destination, the civilians are left behind with a respectable force of guards, while the rest launch a surprise attack on the camp – which is already half-packed. The Covenant forces put up a valiant fight against the larger Dominion contingent, but their defenses are broken down quickly. In the back of her mind, Sielaire gives thanks that the Covenant troop is comprised mainly of Redguards and Bretons, bolstered by only a handful of Orcs. Though the Redguards are well-versed in desert combat, the brute strength of the Orsimer would've been more difficult to overcome.
Nonetheless, Sielaire charges forth at the head of the Fury's Wings, light-armoured battlemages sowing chaos among the enemy ranks with magic and blade, dispersing the Covenant troops and leaving them vulnerable to a head-on assault by Urcelmo's Talons and the Queensguard. With the rest distracted, Sielaire finds an easy path towards the Redguard commander, who dodges her spells nimbly and lunges forward, his scimitar glinting in the sun as it clashes with Sielaire's blade.
He doesn't give her room to maneuver, forcing her to meet his sword again and again, never giving her a chance to cast a single spell. Sielaire finds herself going on the defensive, maintaining a sliver of distance as she evaluates his combat style – and realises how familiar it is. She has seen, and fought against it before; it is one of the many forms Ayrenn would adopt during their sparring exercises together, a fluid and adaptable form that will break a combatant who refuses to bend.
And so, Sielaire bends – with a flexibility borne of the many times the Queen had broken her. Her first lunge and relentless sword strokes take her opponent by surprise. The Redguard's eyes widen, before his lips part in a grin. Sielaire's blood races as she takes more reckless chances, interrupting the flow of her foe's nimble footwork, feinting with her blade and taking strikes that leave both their guards vulnerable. First they test each other, matching sword swings and kicks; then they throw caution to the wind, and dive into a gamble of speed – swords singing through the air in a bid to cut the other down first.
Ice pours into her veins when Sielaire realises she has made a mistake – the Redguard sidesteps as her sword cleaves the air where he stood, and she throws herself back as his scimitar slices off a section of her scarf. He follows through smoothly, blade swerving midway to cut towards Sielaire, who shoots a bolt of lightning at his hand. The scimitar falls to the ground as he grunts in pain, but Sielaire is given no reprieve when he pounces forth with a dagger in his left hand. Muscle memory kicks in, and Sielaire flips the hilt of her sword between her fingers, clamping it in a reverse grip. She slices deeply across his forearm, tearing another shout from him as the dagger drops to the sand at their feet. She poises the tip of her sword over his chest, and plunges–
Sielaire catches herself and alters her blade's trajectory at the last second, angling it down so it pierces through the Redguard's thigh. He moves to grip her arm, but she catches his wrist and twists it behind his back, forcing him to his knees. She grabs his nape, sending a shock spell through his body when he struggles against her.
She looks up, and finds the rest of the Dominion forces cutting down their remaining foes. Two of her Wings approach with ropes in hand, and bind the Redguard's wrists behind his back. He growls at Sielaire for the indignity as she walks around him. She doesn't pay him any attention as she salutes to the Queen, who is marching towards their captured quarry.
Ayrenn passes an eye over the beaten commander. "I hear you've been looking for me."
He scoffs. "'Look'? No. We already knew where you are."
"So it seems. And yet, your blade is still unable to find its mark."
His mouth twists into a sneer. "Do not gloat too quickly, child queen. I am but the first to seek your life–"
Ayrenn laughs, equal in mirth and disdain. "Don't flatter yourself, Redguard. You are hardly the first, and I have seen more competent attempts on my life. Now, now," she continues, unperturbed when the Redguard pushes up from the ground, only to be shoved back down by the soldiers. "Do not waste your energy for an exercise in futility. You will need it soon."
"For what, an interrogation? You will get nothing from me, you little upstart bitch." He spits at Ayrenn's feet. "Now use those ears of yours and listen well to the only thing I will say. Surrender. Lay down your arms and bend knee to the King, and you might just have a place at his feet, to kiss his boots when he so–"
The rest of his words disappear under the heavy impact of Sielaire's heel against his mouth. His head snaps back from the force of her kick, and a couple of teeth fly from his mouth, but he laughs as blood dribbles past his lips. Sielaire takes a step forward, but Ayrenn holds a hand before her, staring down at the Redguard with cool contempt.
"Take him away," Ayrenn instructs her soldiers. "And make sure he doesn't die before we get a few answers out of him."
The troops salute smartly and haul the Redguard to his feet, dragging him away. Ayrenn catches Sielaire's eye, and nods in a silent request for the battlereeve to follow.
"I want the Wings to sweep the camp's vicinity, and set up a perimeter to keep watch for any deserters," Ayrenn says quietly as they walk along the edge of the Covenant camp. "I expect any spy will try to make an escape soon."
"Understood."
Ayrenn smiles, an audible note of laughter emanating from her throat. "And, Sielaire."
Sielaire stops in her tracks with Ayrenn, and turns to face the Queen with an expectant look, awaiting more orders.
"You fought well."
She frowns slightly, not fully comprehending the praise until she follows Ayrenn's gaze, and realises that she's still holding her sword in a reverse grip. "Oh. I–, thank you. Seems I've learnt something from you, after all."
"Maybe I can teach you a few more tricks," Ayrenn says. "And you can show me some of your own, as well."
Sielaire stares as Ayrenn winks, and saunters away with a sly curve on her lips.
She jerks her head back as a fist whips the air before her eyes, so closely that she can feel the wind on her skin. Sielaire takes a step back, but pays for her slowness by suffering two swift strikes to her stomach. A foot hooks onto the back of her ankle and tugs it forward, and Sielaire is forced to grip onto Ayrenn's arms – which have reached forward to catch her as well, before she sinks to the ground in a split that she isn't prepared for.
Sielaire hears Ayrenn chuckle, and seizes the opening. She twists her body in Ayrenn's hold and grabs onto her sparring partner's leathers, flipping Ayrenn over her shoulder. But Ayrenn reacts quickly and kicks out with her legs mid-throw, breaking away from Sielaire's grip and landing neatly on both feet. A smirk curves the corner of Sielaire's lips when Ayrenn shoots her a confident smile, and they fly towards each other again, arms and legs meeting in blows softened by the leathers they wear.
It's been a week since their assault on the Covenant camp, and things have been quiet after they've identified the traitor and sent select agents to deal with the remaining Covenant spies. The Dominion band has traveled east since then, stopping by the cities of Dune and Orcrest, before making their way south towards Corinth. Their pace has sped up somewhat since entering the badlands, where the firmer ground is notably easier to traverse, and the company is more than glad to make up for lost time.
While this is definitely a positive, Sielaire finds herself missing the soft sands of the deserts – feeling the grains fall smoothly through her fingers, and the ground giving slightly beneath her feet. It had brought a special element to her sparring sessions with Ayrenn, when Sielaire worries less about tossing the Queen onto softer ground. Here in the badlands though, she has to exercise caution again, but it doesn't give her an excuse to slack off in their training.
Ayrenn fights with unyielding force; she adopts an acrobatic combat form that she'd learnt during her past travels in Elsweyr, and she slinks around Sielaire's strikes with feline agility. Her swift hand strikes and kicks often take Sielaire by surprise, and hit weak points that hurt the most – and damn, do they hurt. Sielaire's muscles ache deeper the longer they circle each other over dry ground, but she forces the pain out of her mind, focusing instead on the subtle shifts in Ayrenn's feet and shoulders.
After months of sparring together, Sielaire has learnt to read the minute tells of her opponent; Ayrenn is flexible in combat, and has no trouble switching tactics mid-battle if it suits her needs. But underneath the deliberate misdirection, there is always a pattern…that's Ayrenn.
There.
Like an eagle spotting its prey, Ayrenn poises for a lunge – her eyes sharp and calculating as her back foot slides back by just a hair. Sielaire waits for Ayrenn to pounce and, instead of dodging on instinct, she meets the attack head-on. Ayrenn's eyes widen when Sielaire deflects her punch with an outward palm strike to the wrist, and she raises her left arm for a follow-up attack – only to suffer a hard hit on her elbow. Ayrenn's front is left wide open, and Sielaire strikes her on the shoulder and stomach. Ayrenn stumbles back, but before she can recollect herself, Sielaire delivers a sharp kick to the back of her knee, sending her to the ground. In the next heartbeat, Sielaire aims a controlled punch at her throat – knuckles resting against Ayrenn's neck as the Queen looks up at her.
Ayrenn smiles, and Sielaire cocks her head curiously when her partner doesn't move, or say a thing. Just as she starts to lower her hand, Ayrenn grasps her wrist. Gently at first, with that silent gaze still fixed upon Sielaire. Then it tightens as Ayrenn hauls herself to her feet with Sielaire's help, and she heaves a light-hearted sigh.
"Well," Ayrenn drawls, tapping her finger at the scar on Sielaire's lips. "Guess I'll have to learn about this next time."
"I can…tell you about it now," Sielaire says, though her voice wavers with uncertainty when Ayrenn tugs at the leathers on Sielaire's shoulders and arms, which have slid out of place during their bout.
Ayrenn laughs softly at her suggestion. "No, I'd like to earn the story."
Ayrenn tucks stray wisps of red hair behind Sielaire's ear, and she freezes, staring wordlessly at the fond smile on Ayrenn's lips…until her gaze is wrenched away by a soldier intruding upon their private sparring ground behind the Queen's tent.
Ayrenn steps away as Sielaire's eyes fall on Earilas – a spirited lieutenant of the Wings. He knocks a fist against his chest and bows his head deeply.
"Your Majesty, Battlereeve. I apologise for the interruption, but I have a report of possible spies near our camp."
Sielaire frowns, and approaches him. "Tell me."
"The guards have spotted movement near the valley ahead, and it's been moving closer to us periodically–" Earilas is cut off when a sergeant rushes up to him, giving Sielaire and Ayrenn a hasty salute before he speaks.
"Sir, ma'am – I'm afraid it's a false alarm," he says quickly. "Elethir went ahead to investigate, and he says the 'movements' are just from wolves or coyotes."
"Ah." Earilas turns his gaze slowly towards Sielaire, looking sheepish. "Well, Battlereeve…"
"How many times have I told you not to act before you think?"
"Too many. My deepest apologies, ma'am." He bows his head.
Sielaire sighs. "Even if they are just animals, it's best not to let your guard down. They might be hunting, and are hungry. Get the scraps from our cook in case they approach the camp."
"Yes, ma'am!" Earilas salutes again, and hurries away with the sergeant at his side.
Sielaire shakes her head, then turns back to find Ayrenn looking amused.
"Lucky they're my Wings, not my Eyes," Ayrenn quips.
A huff of laughter, then a slight smile grows on Sielaire's lips. "I'd better go have a look for myself, just in case. With your leave?"
Ayrenn nods. "Of course, Battlereeve."
As it turns out, their scout's report is right: the movement spotted is merely from a pack of wolves combing the desert for their next meal, and probably had their curiosity piqued by the bright campfires. After making a sweep around the camp's perimeter herself, Sielaire leaves the guards alone with a warning not to get carried away feeding the wolves, then goes off to clean herself up.
Though it's late, Sielaire feels some residual adrenaline from her exercise with Ayrenn, and the impromptu investigation. So she grabs a tankard of ale and settles at an empty campfire opposite the barracks, setting the kindling alight with a lick of magical fire. She's just enjoying the privacy and quiet, gazing out into the badlands and the deserts beyond, when Earilas joins her by the campfire with his own tankard in hand.
He hisses in sympathy as he looks her over – peering at the bruises on her arms left uncovered by her sleeveless shirt. "Wow. She really goes all out on you, huh?"
Sielaire snorts. "If she went all out, I'd be dead."
"I was just talking about sparring, ma'am. No need to get all dramatic." Earilas grins despite her eye roll, then takes a hearty swig of his brew. "You know, normally I'd think someone hates me if they beat me up like that in practice…"
She cocks a brow. "Are you saying she hates me?"
"Oh, on the contrary." He leans forward and falls into a conspiratorial whisper, "I think she likes you."
"Does she now," she replies drily.
"Yeah. You're the only one she spars with. And I think you're the one she spends the most time with."
"I'm her guard, remember."
Earilas shoots her an incredulous look. "With all due respect, ma'am. Are you playing dumb on purpose?"
"And are you angling for latrine duty?"
"Oh gods, Sielaire." He shuffles over the ground to sit closer to her. "I think she likes you. As in, you know."
"Really."
"Yeah. And…" His grin turns impish. "For all we know, she may be marking her territory."
Sielaire frowns at him, but her question is answered when he looks pointedly at her bruises. She clicks her tongue and knocks her fist on his head – hard. "Shut up and go pester someone else, you nitwit."
Earilas snickers as he massages his head, then snaps a mock salute and clambers to his feet. Sielaire watches him greet his fellow soldiers at another campfire, before she is distracted by movement outside the armoury. She shifts her gaze in time to watch Ayrenn enter the tent with something in her arms, then reemerge with her hands empty. Probably returning the training leathers she'd borrowed for their exercise just now.
Sielaire looks over Ayrenn's cotton shirt and leggings, as the Queen runs a hand through her loose blonde hair and walks into her own tent, robbing Sielaire of the view. Her mind wanders back to when Ayrenn was adjusting the leathers on her body, tidying her hair, tapping her briefly on the mouth. Ayrenn's always been very physical, but Sielaire's gotten used to the Queen fiddling with her. It's never intrusive, and it seems only natural for Ayrenn, who values familiarity with those close to her. And if she wants to seek that connection with Sielaire, so be it – Sielaire can hardly find a reason to complain. After all, Ayrenn is a good companion to spend time with.
She recalls Earilas's words, and huffs to herself as she lifts the tankard to her lips. The Queen and her Battlereeve – one not of noble blood, no less. It would be nothing short of taboo.
As the party makes their way ever onwards to Corinth, they make camp outside a village that sits on the border of Anequina – they are marching across the last stretches of desert, before they enter southern Elsweyr, which is home to woodlands and jungles not unlike Valenwood.
As it happens, the night after they've set up camp, the village invites them to partake in a local festival. Ayrenn grants her people leave to make merry with the Khajiit, but not without a stern warning not to stir up trouble among the villagers.
And so, Sielaire finds herself wandering about the village, watching the dancers and fighters put up lively performances, and trying some of the food and drinks being sold as well. She ambles by the stalls open for the celebrations, browsing the trinkets on display until something catches her eye.
Sielaire picks up a compass from the stall's table, peering closely at the intricate engravings on silver, and the golden needle that sits above the etching of two moons – Secunda and Masser – on the compass face.
"Ah," the Khajiit storekeeper says. "You have a good eye there."
"Do I?" Sielaire replies amiably. "I recall seeing a compass of this make, back when I was in a city to the south… Torval, I think. Years ago."
The Khajiit's eyes grow round. "Torval? You must have been to mother's shop, then. This one thinks she is the only craftsman in all of Elsweyr to make such beautiful compasses. Look." She turns the compass over in Sielaire's hand, pointing at the tiny inscription engraved on its back in Ta'agra. "This ode to Jone and Jode, she believes, will always guide whoever holds the compass back home. This one keeps telling her, 'Mother, not everyone who holds a compass is looking to go home.' But she never listens."
Sielaire smiles, a soft laugh passing through her lips. "It is a nice sentiment, and excellent craftsmanship. How much?"
The Khajiit's already jovial mood brightens even more at her purchase, and she pushes a small pack of candy into Sielaire's hands, as a little gift to go with the compass – which is priced quite dearly, indeed. But as Sielaire gazes down at the compass in her hand, she can't bring herself to feel any sort of regret–
"That is beautiful."
Sielaire stops dead in her tracks upon recognising that voice, and she whips her head up to discover familiar blue eyes gazing back at her, from beneath a tan hood.
"Your Majes–" The honorific is promptly muffled by Ayrenn's palm, which clamps over her mouth before she can finish the exclamation.
"Shush!" Ayrenn hissed, glancing around before dragging Sielaire to the side of the street, where there is no one to overhear them. "Don't give me away."
"Your–, you–," Sielaire sputters as Ayrenn's order clashes with her inability to speak the Queen's name, and she gives up trying. "Why are you out here, by yourself?"
"To have a look at the festival," Ayrenn says, as if it were a fact plain as day.
"But you're exposed," Sielaire whispers insistently. "You need guards–"
"And I have one now." Ayrenn smirks as she grasps Sielaire's wrist. "Will you accompany me?"
"I–," is all Sielaire manages to say, before she catches herself and sighs. "Yes."
Ayrenn pauses at her defeated tone. "Did you have plans?"
"Not really."
"Then…would you mind keeping me company?"
Sielaire gazes back at Ayrenn, then returns her soft smile. "Not at all."
She spends most of the time walking behind Ayrenn's shoulder, shielding the Queen's back with her own body while her eyes scan the crowds milling around them. Despite Ayrenn tugging at her arm in repeated attempts to coax Sielaire into walking beside her, instead of hovering behind her like a bodyguard, Sielaire remains unmoved; Ayrenn is left with no choice but to relent, shooting her an amused glance before turning her attention back to the festival. Thankfully, Ayrenn doesn't join in the dancing or drinking, and finally shows Sielaire some mercy by leading her to the back of the temple on the hill, where they sit with wood-hewn cups of cordial in hand, watching fire-breathers perform on a terrace below.
"I'm surprised you didn't come with anyone," Ayrenn says, taking a sip of her drink. "I saw even Urcelmo drinking with some of his buddies."
"I prefer having some private time while I'm off-duty."
Ayrenn laughs. "After traveling with such a large company for so long, I understand."
"Is that why you're here by yourself?"
"Partly." Ayrenn shrugs. "If I announced my intention to attend the festival, more than half the camp would volunteer to tail me around. I couldn't stand it."
"You sound frustrated," Sielaire observes.
"Is it that obvious?" Ayrenn deadpans, then sighs. "Traveling like this makes me miss the old days. Going wherever I want, whenever I want. To do whatever I want, and on whim. That freedom…might be the most painful sacrifice I've had to make."
"Is it worth it?"
"Of course." Ayrenn smiles. "Many times over. That's why I even returned in the first place." Her gaze drops to the cup in her hands, and she takes a slow sip as they lapse into companionable silence, watching the fire-breathers give way to dancers amid roaring applause. "Tell me, Sielaire. What did you do before you joined the army?"
Sielaire raises her brows at the unexpected question. "I was a hired guard. Before that, I was in the Fighters Guild."
"Ah. Is that where you learnt to fight?"
"Mostly. I had a private instructor before that, but the Guild honed my skills to a sharp edge. It's where I learnt to fight like this." She pats at her left arm, where the heavy steel bracer of her uniform would usually be, often utilised as a compact shield in combat.
Ayrenn hums thoughtfully. "I assume you traveled with them? I notice you've had less trouble adapting than the rest."
"Yes. And, incidentally, the Guild is how I got this." Sielaire points at the scar on her mouth. "We were on a contract to deal with a Daedric cult. In the middle of the fight, one cultist summoned a daedroth, which charged at my friend. I knocked her out of the way, but its claw tore at my mouth. Luckily our healer was quite capable."
"And now, you have a lovely little scar to swoon over." Ayrenn blinks, then averts her gaze hastily, when Sielaire cocks her head. She takes a draught of cordial from her cup, a brief frown creasing her forehead, before she looks over with a playful gleam in her eye. "But really, Sielaire! You told me before I won a match with you."
"I think you've more than earned it."
Ayrenn holds her sincere gaze for a long moment, before turning her head away with a smile. Swirling the cup in her hand, she asks, "So, why did you join the army?"
"Because I could fight?" Sielaire says, sharing in Ayrenn's snicker. "I couldn't think of anywhere else to go after leaving the Guild, and I spent a few years wandering aimlessly. Thought I'd give the army a try, and…I think I've finally found purpose here."
Ayrenn barks a laugh. "Now your days are spent fretting endlessly over a queen determined to go off by herself."
Sielaire gives her a gentle smile. "I can think of no better purpose."
That seems to give Ayrenn pause, and she stares at Sielaire, before huffing quietly. "The things you say…"
Sielaire tilts her head in question, wondering if she has…somehow given a wrong answer? She wants to ask, but Ayrenn doesn't seem inclined to speak at the moment, and Sielaire busies herself with her own drink instead. She grows restless as they sit in silence, until Ayrenn rests a hand over hers, fingers clasping Sielaire's gently.
"Thank you," Ayrenn says.
She bites down the protest rising to her throat, the instinctive urge to remind Ayrenn that she needn't thank Sielaire for performing her duty. She knows that Ayrenn will refute it, and insist that her efforts deserve to be recognised and appreciated – it is a conversation they've had many times before. So Sielaire smiles and nods simply, acknowledging her words.
Satisfied, Ayrenn gives her hand a squeeze, but doesn't let go. She leans against Sielaire – who has to remind herself to breathe – and they stay there for the rest of the night, in their own quiet spot removed from the rest of the world.
A/N: Sie: 'lmao taboo'
Sie, months later, naked in the Queen's bed: 'I can explain-'
On the 'Fury's Wings': where Urcelmo and Raz have the Eagle's Talon and Eyes of the Queen, I've given Sie the Wings. They're a division of dragoons, consisting of lightly-armoured battlemages trained in both combat magic and blade. With the lighter armour (leather + winged pauldrons, like Sielaire), they take the least time to mobilise and travel quickly over large distances, and specialise in responding to emergencies. Either to hold it off until the main force arrives, or resolve the crisis if they are able.