"Councilor Ocantar, I would like to point out – again – that this does not break any of the traditions you hold so dear to your heart. I understand your concern that Her Majesty's marriage is not…truly conventional, but we have taken steps to ensure that it will not violate our most noble customs, nor taint the purity of our heritage. In fact, all the concerns you have raised so far have been dealt with, and you've merely been leading our arguments in circles for the last two hours. I advise you, Councilor, to speak only your truest concerns, so that our time will not be further wasted."

Ah, Alwin. Most beloved cousin.

"Your Majesty, with all due respect – I am well aware of the 'steps' you have taken to protect our heritage. And while I do admire your considerate efforts, I am afraid that it is…artificial."

And Ocantar. Most hated councilor.

"Artificial?" Ayrenn breaks in, the sharp edge in her tone giving the councilor pause – though only for a fleeting moment.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Ocantar bows his head in deference, but Ayrenn isn't taken in for a second. "I respect your observance of our traditions, and the lengths that you've gone to preserve them. But we are still ignoring an important fact – that Battlereeve Sielaire is descended from the merchant caste. And though she is now a warrior herself, she is still not of the nobility, Your Majesty – and raising her status is artificial at best. Her blood remains thin–"

"She is of the blood – thin or not." Ayrenn cuts him off. If she is rude, she doesn't care – the councilor should count himself lucky that she hasn't smacked his head onto the table. "You forget, Ocantar, that the battlereeve is of noble lineage, and we will be raising her family back to their rightful class. Therefore, your argument that it is 'artificial' is misguided."

"But–, Your Majesty," Ocantar persists. "That you are raising her family just for the marriage, it is whimsical–"

"Whimsical?" Ayrenn laughs with contempt, earning a brief glance from Alwinarwe. "I see now, Councilor, the reason for your arguments. You still see me as a child, wearing a crown too big for my head, playing politics as if it were make-believe, tossing my little toy blocks wherever and whenever I so choose? No." She raises a hand when Ocantar opens his mouth again. "Be quiet. I have entertained your meaningless arguments long enough. I shall end this dispute once and for all."

She shares a glance with Alwin, who nods – they've prepared for this, long before they even entered the council room.

"You speak of tradition, but as Alwinarwe has pointed out – my marriage does not violate any of the practices our forebears have observed for millennia. Therefore, I suspect your concern is not one of tradition, but of precedents. It is true – no monarch in our long history has taken a spouse not of the noble class. And I assure you – I will not be the first.

"So that brings us to the issue of raising Battlereeve Sielaire's family to nobility. You claim that it is whimsical, that there is no reason for it – only that the Empress wants their daughter as a wife. It is untrue, but I will disprove this claim later. Councilor, you've also said that it is 'artificial', which is insulting – not only to me, but to fellow members of the Court as well. My father, the late King Hidellith, had elevated many families in his time – including those who had fallen centuries ago, much like the battlereeve's. And you recognise them, don't you?"

Ayrenn gestures at the two councilors sitting on her left, and they bow their heads. "Kinlord Cirenar and Kinlady Lanendarie. Both whose families had fallen, but were raised again by my father for their loyalty to the Blessed Isles and its people. Kinlord Cirenar's family lends their strength to our navy even to this day, and their people play an integral role in repelling the Maormer from our shores – spilling much of their own blood to keep our people safe. For their sacrifice, King Hidellith granted them a place among the nobility again."

"It is an honour to serve, Your Majesty." Cirenar bows with a fist over his heart. "And we pledge to serve you as we served the noble King."

Ayrenn nods, then turns her attention to the other. "Kinlady Lanendarie. During the worst times of our war with the Maormer, her family opened their doors to the displaced, offering food and shelter without asking for anything in return. They contributed to reconstruction efforts as well, building homes for their people after the fighting had passed. For their compassion and generosity, the late King welcomed them into the nobility once more."

"It is our duty to look after our own." Lanendarie smiles, bowing her head to Ayrenn.

"Now, tell me, Ocantar. Were their circumstances 'artificial'?"

"I–, no, Your Majesty–"

"Good. Now, let's talk about Battlereeve Sielaire. She has served valiantly in the war against the Maormer in King Hidellith's reign, and led a victorious campaign in Cyrodiil, claiming victory for the Aldmeri Dominion in the Alliance War. Moreover," Ayrenn continues, blatantly ignoring the councilor's attempts to speak. "Her family has not only donated their crops to the war effort, but a substantial amount of gold to the treasury as well. And, they've employed many veterans to work in their orchards and mills, at the end of the war. This, I believe, are actions befitting nobility – and they have earned their place in their rightful class."

"Your Majesty–"

"Now, let us talk about your actions, Councilor Ocantar," Ayrenn says, finally deigning to look upon him directly. "What has your family done? For my father, I recall that you've…donated some gold to the treasury. Hm." Ayrenn tilts her head, making a show of trying to remember something. "Cousin, I'm afraid that's all I can think of. Is my memory failing me, or is that all they've done?"

"Yes, I'm afraid," Alwinarwe says evenly. "Token contributions of gold to the royal treasury are their most notable acts thus far."

"Oh, on the contrary. I can remember much more that they've done recently." Ayrenn smiles at the councilor. "The most memorable of which – their passionate opposition of my decree to open the borders of Summerset. In fact, they turned away many visitors to their city – in blatant disregard of their Queen's will – and misused the Divine Prosecution in removing innocent foreigners from their territory. Curious is it not, that they would in turn earn more gold from the very decree they've rebelled against?"

"Speaking of gold, Your Majesty," Alwinarwe joins in. "I would like to point out that Battlereeve Sielaire's family orchards are on lands that belong to Councilor Ocantar's kinship. That is to say, he is profiting from their thriving business. If the battlereeve's family is elevated, they will gain ownership of the land, and will no longer have to pay taxes to the kinship – divesting the councilor of a source of income."

"Ah. Is that it, Councilor?" Ayrenn muses.

"I–, that is not–!"

"Is it not?" Alwinarwe cocks a brow. "Councilor Ocantar, even in King Hidellith's time, your kinship has done more in wresting power from other clans, than you have in supporting the very throne that you claim to hold in the highest regard. You and your family's game has been obvious to all from the very start – even to the late King."

Ayrenn smiles again – close-lipped and dangerous. "My father might have tolerated your presence, Councilor, but I will not suffer self-serving egotists in my court. Should you persist in your family's…'traditions', you shall no longer give counsel to the throne."

Turning her gaze away from the mute councilor, Ayrenn speaks, "Are there any further concerns that the Court wishes to address?"

She waits, and only silence greets her – but it's not an uncomfortable one, with a few agreeable smiles.

"Then it is decided – we shall be wed, and Battlereeve Sielaire coronated as Empress Consort, on the 17th of Sun's Dawn in the coming year."

With the ceremony scheduled in a year's time, Sielaire is set to work, spending all her days in preparation for the throne. The battlereeve has to be relieved of her regular duties as commander of the Wings, relegating most of her responsibilities to her second-in-command while she studies for the role of High Kinlady, and is put through all the necessary rites leading up to the coronation.

The latter is relatively simple, involving prayers to the ancestors for their blessing, supplications to the Divines, and many symbolic rituals to cleanse one's spirit and soul. For these, just following the priests' instructions and reciting familiar prayers is enough, and Sielaire doesn't have to expend much energy during the rituals. Her studies, on the other hand, are drastically more exhausting.

The most learned Sapiarchs from the Crystal Tower have been assigned to Sielaire, giving her a monarch's education within a tight and rigorous schedule. Day after day, her mind is filled to the brim with the intricacies of politics, the long and rich history of the Altmeri people, the language and magics of the ancient Aldmeri, as well as a broad range of subjects that range from astrology to literature. All that she's never given a second thought in her life, are now the focus of her days. It's maddening.

Thankfully, the one to blame for all this is more than happy to help. Despite spending most of her youth away from the Isles, Ayrenn is surprisingly knowledgeable in these matters, and is able to answer Sielaire's questions effortlessly, while the future Consort is burning the midnight oil back in their own room.

But the training doesn't end with theory alone – Alwinarwe becomes involved with Sielaire's preparations as well, mostly in the practical. That is, instructing the battlereeve in holding court and audiences with her people, making the best judgments for petitions, and most importantly – informing her on court intrigue. All of these, Alwin has given Sielaire but a taste so far. Since they've only just begun, Alwinarwe decides to start with the simplest task possible – to train Sielaire in royal etiquette.

It sounds simple enough to the battlereeve. That is, until she is given her first proper lesson.

"Smile."

Sielaire tilts her head, not expecting the request. When Alwinarwe raises her brows, obviously waiting, Sielaire does as instructed – and smiles.

"A little more."

Sielaire frowns briefly, but pulls the corners of her lips higher.

"Your eyes."

"I'm sorry?"

"Smile with your eyes as well," Alwin explains. "You'll seem more genuine. Now, relax and try again."

Sielaire drops the smile with a sigh, then curves her lips again.

"Better," Alwin says slowly. "But not quite there yet. Really, there are many different kinds of smiles that you can put on. But for this, I want you to look approachable – like a queen you can trust and love. To give you an example, do it like this." Alwin smiles, gentle and close-lipped, her eyes bright and soft – the perfect visage of a beautiful, compassionate monarch. "See? This is one way. Or, you can try…however Ayrenn does it. Show her, cousin."

Alwin gestures at Ayrenn who, unfortunately, isn't much help at the moment. Ayrenn keeps the back of her fingers pressed against her mouth, in a very poor attempt to hide her smile and burgeoning laughter. She tries to take a breath, but her shoulders start shaking in mirth when she looks back at Sielaire, and Ayrenn has to turn away to hide her laughter.

"Yes, thank you for your help," Alwin says drily.

"I'm sorry," Ayrenn finally manages, after a few giggles and snorts behind her hand. "I'm so sorry, Sie, but you look constipated when you smile like that."

Sielaire starts to frown at Ayrenn, then squints at Alwin, who has clamped a hand over her own mouth to muffle a snort. To her credit, Alwin's face remains carefully placid.

"Alright, how about this?" Ayrenn touches Sielaire's cheek. "Try smiling at me. You do that very naturally with me."

"Ayrenn," Alwin says. "She can't look at everyone like they're her wife."

"We're just giving her a start. Sie, come on. Try."

"I'm suffering because of you," Sielaire deadpans, looking utterly unamused.

"Oh, darling. You've been suffering for me since the day we met. The difference is now, you're not suffering with a sword in hand, or a bleeding wound on your body. Isn't this so much better?" Ayrenn croons sweetly, closing the distance to peck Sielaire on the lips. Then she gives another peck, and another, until her wife returns her little kisses, Sielaire wrapping an arm around her waist.

"See?" Ayrenn murmurs, tapping at the corner of her lips. "There's that smile…"

Sielaire laughs under her breath, as Ayrenn leans in again – only to have their reverie broken.

"Ladies," Alwin interrupts, voice flat and long-suffering. "I'm still here."

"And you're welcome to watch, if you'd like," Ayrenn drawls, then swoops in for another kiss, refusing to part from Sielaire's lips until Alwinarwe pulls her away.

"Ayrenn, you are free to do with your wife as you will, after the lesson." Alwin catches Ayrenn's wrist when her cousin tries to tweak her nose. "Now, if you don't mind." She nods at Sielaire. "I have a Kinlady to groom."

Other than her studies and ceremonial rites, Sielaire has to prepare for the throne in yet another fashion – quite literally. The High Kinlady cannot be seen in public wearing the shirts, pants, and coats that the battlereeve is so fond of wearing in her downtime; thus, Sielaire is to be given a whole new wardrobe that befits her station. But to obtain the royal wardrobe, Sielaire is first put through hours of measurement taking, outfit choosing and fitting, and so many discussions on the types of dresses she'll have, that she's about ready to bang her head against the wall. Hard. Multiple times.

Naturally, Ayrenn is well-aware of her exasperation, and has planned a little surprise to lift Sielaire's spirits.

It is yet another afternoon, and Sielaire is waiting in the changing room with Ayrenn, when the door opens to admit not the usual parade of tailors, but a single mer.

"Rilen?" Sielaire says in disbelief, rising from her chair.

"Sie!" Rilenya runs forward, and practically jumps onto her older sister, engulfing her in an embrace. "It's so good to see you. This is so exciting!"

"Yes, but…why are you here?"

"Rilen will be the tailor in charge of your wardrobe," Ayrenn explains, grinning when she receives a hug from Rilenya as well. "I know how you hate having all the other tailors fiddling with your body, so I brought in someone you'd be comfortable with. Besides, who would know your tastes better than your own sister?"

"No one, that's who," Rilenya declares, taking a roll of measuring tape from the basket she's brought along. "Now, take off your clothes."

"But don't you have your own shop to worry about?" Sielaire says, stripping off her dress. "I thought the business has been growing."

"Yeah, but my people can handle it while I'm away. Besides, Ayrenn's setting me up with more contracts after I'm done with you, so…" Rilenya's voice drifts away as she takes notes of Sielaire's measurements, then glances at Ayrenn. "We're doing the wedding gowns first, yeah?"

Ayrenn nods.

"Good, I've a few ideas for it already." Rilenya reaches into her basket, and hands her sketchbook to Ayrenn. She grabs Sielaire by the shoulders and holds her in place, when her sister tries to look into the book as well. "No, Sie. You stay here. And don't worry – I know how much you love having things hanging from your back. All my designs have scarves…though I really think the shawls work much better."

Rilenya hums to herself, turning Sielaire this way and that, while Ayrenn peruses the dress sketches with great interest.

"By the way, Sie," Rilenya says off-handedly. "Have I ever told you how much I hate your battle outfit? Because I do. I'm surprised you even survived the war with those stupid scarves hanging off your back."

"They're interwoven with reinforced fibres."

"Still, what about grabbing?"

"All who tried are dead," Sielaire informs her, earning an appraising glance from Rilenya, before her sister resumes examining her arms.

"I see you haven't changed," Rilenya chuckles to herself, grasping Sielaire by the shoulders for a visual examination. Then she loops the measuring tape around Sielaire's chest. "Honestly, I thought it's a phase you'd grow out of. Really, Ayrenn – there was a time when she refused to go anywhere without a scarf, rain or shine. It was absolutely ridiculous."

"Really?" Ayrenn laughs. "But just as well. I think she looks good in them."

"She definitely does. Trust me, it attracted no small amount of attention from the ladies…and men too, but they know better than to approach her by now."

"Why?"

"Sie punched any who tried pestering her. What, she never told you?" Rilenya huffs when Ayrenn looks surprised. "In fact, she punched anyone who tried to bother me and Virano too. But she got out of hand sometimes, and there were periods of time when no one dared to approach us. I had so many dry spells because of you, Sie."

"When are you ever dry," Sielaire deadpans, and Rilenya snaps the tape tight around her diaphragm in a silent chide.

"Anyway, I guess it's good – her reputation kept most of the pompous assholes away."

"Oh, Sie," Ayrenn says, "You've punched people for your siblings, but you've never punched anyone for me."

Sielaire's eyes grow wide, fixing Ayrenn with an incredulous stare. "I killed people for you, Renn. I've killed hundreds–no, thousands for you."

"Ah yes," Rilenya says, gathering her tape. "Nothing says 'romance' quite like spilling blood all over the battlefield, hm?"

"Hush, you."

"A full platoon of First Auridon Marines will be sufficient to establish patrols along the roads, as well as bolster Firsthold's city guard. And there will be spare soldiers who can be assigned to the scholars investigating the source of the Daedra." Sielaire looks over at Ayrenn, who sits in the throne next to hers.

The Empress nods with a slight smile, and turns her gaze towards the Canonreeve of Firsthold. "In addition, we grant you the aid of two experts from the College of Sapiarchs, to bolster the ongoing efforts of the Mages Guild to end this Daedric problem permanently. We wish you swift success, Canonreeve."

"You have my deepest gratitude, Your Majesty." The Canonreeve bows deeply to Ayrenn, then Sielaire as well.

When the last petitioner has left the throne room, Ayrenn dismisses the guards with a wave of her hand. Sielaire waits for the doors to close behind the last guard, then breathes a sigh of relief and leans back in the throne. Her throne.

Seven months have passed swiftly, with Sielaire diligently soaking up every lesson from Alwinarwe and the Sapiarchs. Apparently she has processed so much knowledge in so little time, with such acuity that Ayrenn and Alwinarwe both decided that she is ready for actual practice. Though she hasn't taken to the throne in her full capacity, and merely acts as advisor to the Empress, Sielaire already feels the weight of the crown she has not yet worn.

"You've been doing well, my love," Ayrenn says gently. "No need to stress yourself so."

"I've been stressed since the start of the year," Sielaire utters, resting her head briefly on the tips of her fingers. When Ayrenn stands and takes her hand, Sielaire follows her wife's urging and rises from the throne as well. She leans into the soft kiss placed upon her lips, feeling Ayrenn's fingers massage the tense muscles of her nape, and forces herself to relax when they part.

"I have a…little gift for you."

Sielaire tilts her head, wondering at the playful smile Ayrenn wears, as her wife turns towards the side doors. Ayrenn casts a telekinesis spell, hitting the bell affixed to the wall by the doors, which are promptly opened to admit a small guard contingent. They march towards the throne, and give a sharp salute.

"I hope you don't mind, my dear, but I've taken the liberty of assembling your personal guard," Ayrenn explains, and Sielaire has to keep from groaning out loud. "Most were chosen from the best of the Wings, and I believe you are familiar with their commander?"

"Battlereeve Earilas, reporting for duty, ma'am!" Earilas salutes again, holding his chin a little higher.

Sielaire nods slowly, her mind still…reeling. Earilas has served under Sielaire since Ayrenn's coronation as Queen, and became her protégé through the years. He has proven his worth in the Alliance War, rising through the ranks quickly, and is now due to lead the Wings after Sielaire is coronated. "It is good to see you again, Battlereeve."

"Likewise, ma'am." He tries and fails to keep a grin from rising to his lips. "If I may say so, the Wings miss you dearly. In fact, all of us here are volunteers."

"I see."

Ayrenn smiles, and clasps him briefly on the shoulder as she addresses Sielaire. "Earilas will serve as your personal guard, as you were to me. Well…maybe not exactly as you were to me, but you get the idea."

Sielaire rolls her eyes when a snicker escapes from Earilas. "Leave us, Battlereeve."

"Yes, ma'am!" The guards salute as one, and march out of the throne room.

Sielaire waits for a long moment after the doors are shut, then sighs. "Ayrenn…"

"Hm?"

"…Do I really need them?"

A grin parts Ayrenn's lips. "I believe you know the answer very well, dear Battlereeve of mine."

Sielaire groans, head falling forward to rest on Ayrenn's shoulder, as her wife pats her on the back in comfort.

Six days. That's how long it took, before Sielaire found herself pressing a discrete switch in her personal study, revealing a hidden doorway set into the pristine marble of the wall.

She glances back at the main door, then sneaks through the open section of the wall, entering Ayrenn's study. Closing the doorway behind her, she glances around the Empress's private sanctuary, making sure that it is empty – as it should be. Ayrenn has a meeting with the Thalmor currently, and it shouldn't be over until the evening.

Sielaire strides over to the opposite wall, and reaches for a wall sconce, giving it a firm tug. Gears grind quietly behind the wall as a tall rectangular section indents and slides aside, revealing one of the few entrances into the palace's secret passageways. She conjures a wisplight in one hand to help her navigate through the dark and narrow corridors, but she has barely taken a step in when the study's door is unlocked with an audible click.

Panic floods Sielaire's veins, and she scurries from the passageway, pushing at the wall sconce with all her might to make the secret entrance close before–

"My, my." Ayrenn smiles at Sielaire, shutting the door behind herself. "Whatever are you doing, my dear Consort?"

Sielaire keeps her silence, until the wall panel has slid back into place. "I was…going for a walk."

"Oh?" Ayrenn saunters over to her, with a knowing smile on her lips. "A walk through cold and dark tunnels?"

"The gardens. I was heading for the gardens."

"All by your lonesome?" The laughter in Ayrenn's tone is obvious. "You know, I think you forgot something very important. And…Sie, it could just be me, but I feel like there's something missing. I can't put my finger on it–"

"My guards, alright? I left them behind," Sielaire breaks under Ayrenn's casual 'interrogation'.

"Oh yes, I know. I saw them standing very dutifully outside your doors." Ayrenn only smiles brighter when Sielaire's expression turns all-suffering. She holds her wife gently by the arms, tugging her close. "But Sie, you cannot do this. You are much too important to be wandering around without your guards."

"Spare me the lecture, Renn," Sielaire groans.

"Now, where have I heard that before?" Her smile grows soft when Sielaire gives a quiet whine. Ayrenn cups her face in one hand, raising Sielaire's eyes to meet hers. "But I'm being serious now, my dear. We can't afford to take your safety lightly. At least, not too often," she adds with a tinge of humour.

Sielaire heaves a sigh, pressing a kiss to Ayrenn's palm. "I know. But they are so…inconvenient."

Ayrenn chuckles, nudging at her cheek. "You'll get used to it, love."

Another groan. "Can I at least stay here a while?"

"Well, of course you can. But…" Ayrenn twines their fingers together, and nods at the wall. "Wouldn't you rather go for a walk in the gardens?"

Four months before the wedding, their regalia arrives at the palace ahead of schedule, courtesy of Rilenya and her personal, tireless attention.

For Ayrenn, she has designed a dress inspired by the wedding gown worn by Ayrenn's mother, the late Kinlady Tuinden – a high-necked sleeveless dress made of the smoothest silk, dyed a deep shade of blue with golden embroidery to match her crown. Sewn into the dress's shoulders is a sheer cape that flows to the ground, with peacock feathers woven down its length in a gentle wave.

She is beautiful indeed, but Ayrenn can't keep her eyes glued to the mirror for long – not when her wife has donned her gown as well.

Sielaire wears a white off-the-shoulder dress, made of the same silk as Ayrenn's. But where Rilenya had originally designed a shawl, she has replaced it with a sheer cape similar to Ayrenn's, sewn into the back neckline of her dress. Instead of peacock feathers, tiny crystals are woven into the airy silk, and are enchanted to emit a faint, ethereal glow when they catch the light.

Ayrenn is captivated as Sielaire spins in a circle at Rilenya's urging, to demonstrate the crystals' glow. Then Ayrenn forgets to breathe when Sielaire dons her crown as well.

The Consort's crown is much like Ayrenn's, though spun in silver and gold. It is considerably thinner, more alike in appearance to a circlet, though the golden winged tips flaring at its sides effortlessly matches the Aldmeri crown in grandeur.

Ayrenn only remembers to breathe when she takes a quiet, sharp inhale upon meeting Sielaire's eyes. She cups Sielaire's face in both hands, gazing at her wife in silent wonder, with an enraptured smile.

"You are perfect," Ayrenn breathes.

The wedding.

Ayrenn has been eagerly awaiting this day, ever since she first saw Sielaire in wedding regalia.

And Sielaire? She is…

"Nervous."

Sielaire jumps, her eyes snapping open to find Alwinarwe standing with her, outside the temple's closed doors. The excited murmurs of Alinor's citizens blend into a constant buzz behind her, contributing to the haze in her mind. "I–, pardon?"

"I said, you look nervous." Alwin smiles. "You looked like you were trying to go into a trance."

"I'm…trying not to feel." Sielaire takes a breath, keeping her mind off the countless dignitaries inside, waiting for her entrance.

"With little success, I imagine," Alwin laughs gently, and clasps her by the shoulders. "Don't worry, Sie. You've practiced for this – flawlessly, I might add. You'll do well." When Sielaire nods, still rather uncertain, Alwin adds, "If you do feel nervous, just focus on Ayrenn. I'm sure that will do the trick."

"Okay," Sielaire breathes, which seems to amuse Alwin even more.

"I said don't worry, Battlereeve. If you can win a war, you can get through your own wedding with no trouble." Alwin touches her cheek. "And look on the bright side – at least you don't have to smile for this."

That does the trick, and Sielaire breaks into a short laugh. "You've been around Ayrenn for too long, Alwin."

"We all have, my dear," Alwinarwe deadpans. "Now, I'll head in and get the ceremony started. See you on the other side…cousin."

Sielaire blinks, and watches dumbly as Alwin gives her one last smile, walking back into the temple through its side door. Alwin's little ploy worked, though – and Sielaire manages a small smile, before she drops it when a bell is rung inside the temple.

She straightens herself, holding her chin level as she hears the slight rustling of armour from the guards behind her. She thinks of the goofball Earilas marching into the temple along with her, and her nerves calm slightly as the doors are swung open. Taking care to look confident, Sielaire walks in at a slow, deliberate pace, hearing the guards' boots thud against the floor in perfect synch with each step she takes.

Sielaire keeps her hands clasped together at waist level, but her grip starts tightening under the weight of countless stares from the gathered guests. Recalling Alwin's advice, her eyes move discretely to where Ayrenn waits by the altar, that soft blue gaze akin to a loving caress, and Sielaire holds that warmth close to her heart, drawing strength from her beloved.

Soon, she reaches the middle of the aisle, where three priests await her, each carrying a small gilded brazier filled with enchanted coals. Sielaire holds her hand over the first brazier, and in a strong voice recites a mantra in old Aldmeris, before weaving a spell that lights the brazier with blue fire. She repeats the process for each brazier – lighting the fires in honour of the Divines, the ancestors, and the Aldmeri line respectively.

When she is done, the priests take their place by her sides, and escort her up the flight of steps leading to the altar, where Ayrenn moves forward to receive her. Sielaire takes her hand gratefully, feeling Ayrenn give her a light squeeze, before they hold their hands over the last brazier, reciting the one last mantra for their very own bond, and set the flame alight.

They hold in place over the benign fire, waiting for the head priest of Mara to scatter a specially-prepared mixture of glow dust over their hands, before they turn to face each other. As the dust quickly evaporates from their skin, they touch the tips of their index and middle fingers to each other's forehead, mouth, and heart – leaving a soft glow that vanishes soon after.

May you be true in thought and deed, and speak nothing but love for each other.

Sielaire notices the minute quirk in Ayrenn's lips, before they turn back to face the priest, who launches into a short sermon of the teachings of Mara. Having heard this so many times, Sielaire's mind turns off for a little while, but switches on again when the priest finally bestows the blessings of Mara upon the couple.

A priest steps forth from the side, bearing a velvet pillow in his hands, upon which sit two identical rings of gold and inlaid platinum. Ayrenn takes the first, slipping it onto Sielaire's finger, then breaks into a tiny, forbidden smile when Sielaire does the same for her.

A second priest approaches them, carrying a tray with two glasses of wine. Ayrenn and Sielaire take one each, and hold them side-by-side while the priest speaks of 'love, sweet and everlasting', then entwine their arms and take a sip from their own glass.

When they return the glasses, the priest of Mara makes way for the head priest of Auri-El, who bears reverently in his hands the most important symbol for the ceremony – the Consort's crown. Sielaire bows her head in supplication as the priest bestows upon her the blessings of Auri-El, and she holds her breath as the crown is set upon her head. Sielaire swallows nervously, then straightens herself at the priest's behest.

She turns to face Ayrenn, who has taken both her hands gently. Sielaire wishes she doesn't have to look away from those lovely blue eyes, as she leans in to meet Ayrenn's lips in a kiss – chaste and sweet. When they part, Sielaire nearly breaks into a smile. Nearly.

Hand-in-hand, they turn around to face the guests, who bow deeply to them in unison, reciting a blessing in Aldmeris.

The people of the Blessed Isles, greeting their Empress, and the newly-crowned Empress Consort.

The rest of the day following the ceremony had been incredibly exhausting. They were first paraded through the entirety of Alinor, where they were finally allowed to smile and wave at those cheering and celebrating on the streets. Then, they went through more religious rites upon returning to the palace, and had to receive a long line of nobles and officials, who've traveled from all over the Summerset Isles to pay their respects. It lasted until evening, when it was time for a lengthy banquet – during which Sielaire had to keep herself from drinking too much wine.

It is late into the night when Ayrenn and Sielaire take their leave of the celebrations, and retire to their chambers. But as tired as Sielaire is, she cannot rest just yet. She indulges in a few kisses with Ayrenn, but insists on staying outside while her wife washes up alone in the bathroom. Sielaire merely smiles when Ayrenn shoots her a suspicious look, and only after the bathroom's door is shut, does she spring into action.

Sielaire sheds her dress quickly, throwing on a simple shirt and pants, then digs into her personal chest for the pair of silver bracelets that she has kept carefully hidden for months. Glancing back at the bathroom door, Sielaire walks out into the terrace and slips one bracelet on, activating its enchantment.

One teleport.

Sielaire checks everything over, and is satisfied.

Another teleport, and Sielaire reappears on the bedroom's terrace, just in time to hear Ayrenn call her name. She walks in, noting the slight worry tinging Ayrenn's expression.

"I thought you were gone!" Ayrenn hugs her tightly. "You had me worried."

"I'm sorry," Sielaire says with a smile, and she is distracted for a second, when she notices Ayrenn's wearing that favourite nightgown of hers. But she tears her gaze away from the sheer fabric, and holds up the second bracelet in her hand. "I have a gift for you."

"Oh?" Ayrenn smiles softly as Sielaire slips the bracelet onto her wrist. "It's beautiful, Sie."

"This isn't the gift. Just a small part of it. Hm, hold on." Sielaire goes to the wardrobe and retrieves a coat, draping it over Ayrenn's thinly-clothed shoulders.

"Is it enchanted?" Ayrenn asks, examining the bracelet with sharp eyes, before she spots Sielaire's bracelet as well. "We have a matching pair!"

"Yes, and yes." Sielaire grasps Ayrenn's hand. "It's attuned to your signature, and can only be activated by your magicka alone. Why don't you give it a try? And – close your eyes."

Ayrenn cocks her head, curiosity apparent in her smile as she watches Sielaire press a kiss to her knuckles. But she closes her eyes as instructed, and channels her magicka into the bracelet. It comes alight with a blue glow akin to Ayrenn's magicka, and a swirl of light quickly engulfs them. Within the next second, the teleport spell has delivered them to their destination.

"Open your eyes," Sielaire tells her, and Ayrenn does – to find themselves standing on the magical glyph of a portal pad, in a small empty room.

"Where are we?" Ayrenn asks, as Sielaire takes her by the hand, guiding her out.

"In the basement." Sielaire leads Ayrenn into a lit corridor, and lets her wife poke her head through each door they come across – finding a neatly-packed storage area, a modest training quarters, and a cozy little library.

"Sie… What is this?" Ayrenn asks again with growing wonder, as they climb up the stairs into an open dining room.

"Can't you tell?" Sielaire lets Ayrenn take the lead, following her wife through the dining room and kitchen, then into the spacious living room – furnished with a sofa, armchairs, a coffee table and a rug by the fireplace. Bookshelves and paintings line the wall as well, adding a little richness to the simple setting.

"It's…a house."

"Very astute," Sielaire teases her gently, then brings her over to a window, pointing out the faint lights of the palace in the distance. "We're on a small island to the west of Alinor."

"Sie…" Ayrenn murmurs, running her fingers along the stone wall as Sielaire leads her up the staircase.

"Yes, love?"

"Is this place yours?"

Sielaire huffs in laughter as they reach the top of the stairs, then circles an arm around Ayrenn's waist. "It's ours, Renn."

Ayrenn remains silent as Sielaire guides her from room to room, showing her the spare quarters, the two studies, and their bedroom. It's much smaller than their chambers in the palace, but still immensely comfortable for two. Sielaire leads Ayrenn onto the balcony, their hair flowing in the sea breeze as Ayrenn looks out from their house atop the hill, eyes roving over the gentle grass slopes leading up to their front door. Then she turns around to look over the sturdy house made of stone, and gazes back at Sielaire.

"Did you…build this?"

"Well, I had it built. I certainly don't have the skill to build it with my own hands." Sielaire smiles when Ayrenn gives a snort of laughter, then wraps both arms around her wife, pulling her close. "I know how much you miss the freedom of being away from the palace, and I thought you'd like to have a place to go, whenever you need a little escape."

"You did this for me?" Ayrenn sounds breathless, in disbelief.

Sielaire nods. "I wanted to give you a little gift for our wedding. And…well, this is what I'd imagined it'd be like, when I got married. No palace, no politics, no expectations. Just a peaceful, comfortable little house, where I'd spend the rest of my days with my beloved. It seems like a distant fantasy now, but...I thought you'd like it too." She laughs quietly at the admission, stroking Ayrenn's cheek with her fingers. "Do you?"

"Sie–, of course I like it. I love it! Sie–" Ayrenn's voice catches in her throat, and her face scrunches up briefly before she surges forward to plant a kiss on Sielaire's lips – rough in her haste, soft in her affection. Ayrenn pulls away to wipe at her eyes, the hitches in breath audible in her giddy laugh. "Gods, Sie – I love you. I love you so much, I just…"

"I know," Sielaire whispers, giving Ayrenn little pecks to distract her, calming her down. "I know, Renn." She cups Ayrenn's face in her hands, smiling gently when her wife takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. "There you go."

Ayrenn sniffs, tilting into Sielaire's touch when she runs her fingers through soft blonde hair. Ayrenn leans in to give her another kiss – slower this time, deeply, ardently.

"I love you, Sie. I simply, utterly adore you," she murmurs against Sielaire's lips, getting a soft smile in return.

"And I love you, Ayrenn. I am yours, in heart and soul – now and forever."

A/N: Sie just wants to retire to a house in the peaceful countryside and not get smacked around by gryphons. Ayrenn pls she needs a break