"Another invitation to a festival? They just had one last month."
"Ma–ah."
"It's like they're intent on getting at least one monarch high on moon sugar," Sielaire mutters, bouncing the seven-month-old in her lap absentmindedly. She sets the letter aside and pulls her own parchment over, dipping her quill in the inkpot. "Who should we send this time, Star?"
Sielaire bends her head down, listening to Astaire babble in reply, while little fingers grab at her hair. "Oh yes, I think sending another Khajiit representative would be good. But, you know, we could send your aunt Alwin this time. She's never been to a Khajiiti festival before." Sielaire smiles at Astaire's giggle. "Of course, she'll probably find another good reason to wriggle out of this."
Astaire clutches onto Sielaire's shirt as she receives a kiss on her forehead, and gives a laugh that exposes the single tooth she has successfully grown last week. The girl raises her hands and moves her legs insistently, and her request is granted by Sielaire, who holds onto her sides and lifts her onto both feet. Astaire stands unsteadily on Sielaire's thighs, and though her struggle to keep balanced is impeded by the tickles she receives on her stomach, she laughs gaily and lurches forward to hug her mother's head.
"Oh, Astaire," Sielaire sighs, muffled against her daughter's onesie. "Mama's never going to get any work done at this rate."
Despite her mother's lament, Astaire continues babbling happily, then accepts the kitten doll that Sielaire offers her. Since she awoke that morning, Astaire's been in one of her fussy and clingy moods, where she stubbornly refuses to be with anyone other than her parents. And her mother of choice for today is Sielaire – which is just as well, as it gives Ayrenn some much needed time to focus on her own work. Too bad it means Sielaire won't get the same.
Nevertheless, she still tries – by settling Astaire in her lap again, and working on an official letter's outline. She is only five lines in when Astaire's grabby fingers find their way to Sielaire's elbow, and Sielaire has to wind a protective arm around Astaire, so the girl won't lean too far out and tumble onto the ground.
"Star, sweetheart…" Sielaire looks down, and finds Astaire extending one hand towards the far corner of the study desk. "Are you hungry?"
"Ah," Astaire confirms.
So Sielaire reaches over, and plucks the milk bottle from its self-warming container. Placing the bottle in Astaire's eager hands, she guides its spout into the girl's mouth, keeping a firm hold on the bottle as Astaire sips from it. While she is wiping Astaire's mouth between servings, the secret panel in the wall of her office slides aside, allowing Ayrenn through.
"I see you're keeping busy," Ayrenn teases with a smile as she walks in from her own study.
"Astaire is quite the taskmaster," Sielaire deadpans, adjusting the bottle in the girl's mouth. "Something the matter?"
"Well…yes." Ayrenn pulls a chair over and sits with a tired sigh, holding up the folder in her hand. "I've been reading your report on what happened in the Kinhouse, and…"
"And?" Sielaire asks, as Ayrenn flips through the pages of said report.
"I've been thinking. See?" Ayrenn taps on the paragraph where Sielaire has detailed her encounter with the barrier that kept Astaire safe, during the siege on her home. "The note you found says, 'Only those of the blood, old and true' were able to lay their hands on Astaire."
"Yes," Sielaire says slowly, unsure where Ayrenn is heading.
"And then there's the barrier, which allowed no one through…but you."
"Yes?"
Ayrenn stares at Sielaire, before her expression turns incredulous. "Darling, you're still not getting it?"
"Get what?"
"Sie," Ayrenn says in dramatic exasperation. "Don't you see? This might say something about your blood."
Sielaire squints then. "No."
"'No'?" Ayrenn huffs. "Now that's quite a hasty answer from you."
"Ayrenn, I am quite sure I'm not a noble. At least, not before I sat on the damned throne."
"That's your status, dear. It says nothing about your blood. No, Sie – listen," Ayrenn interrupts when Sielaire opens her mouth to speak. But she waits while Sielaire relieves Astaire of the bottle, the girl tiring of her snack. "Sie, I have a feeling that you are. Even if your family has fallen, it's only been for three generations at most – your blood can't be that far removed."
"Renn, for all we know, it could just be the ring." Sielaire raises her hand to display the royal signet band. "It reacted to the barrier, yes. But remember – it's infused with both our magical essences. It could've just been reacting to you."
Ayrenn regards her silently for a moment. "I'd still like to verify that. Sie, please." She catches Sielaire's hand and clutches it to her chest. "It'll just be a simple ritual to test the purity of your bloodline. If you don't want anything to come of this, so be it. The result doesn't have to be made public. But I'd just like to know for certain. And it'll be good for us too – a safeguard of sorts, if the result is positive."
Blue eyes turn pleading, and Sielaire averts her own gaze with a heavy sigh. She stares blankly at Astaire, watching the girl squeeze at her kitten doll's paw and wiggle its tail.
"Fine, I'll do it."
Per Sielaire's wishes, the test is kept private – with only one trusted priestess of Auri-El to perform the ritual. On the chosen evening, they travel to the royal mausoleum just outside Alinor, under the guise of paying respects and seeking wisdom from the ancestors. With the Wings and Eyes standing guard outside the mausoleum, Ayrenn and Sielaire venture into the tomb with Priestess Eiranwe, who escorts them through the entrance hall with reverent prayers on her lips, then leads them down to the underground tombs.
But they don't have to descend far – their destination is the grand altar within the first chamber, where members of the royal family and nobility will usually stay for prayers. Eiranwe steps forth, reciting verses as she lights the candles on the altar. Then she stands before the sole figurine in the centre of the altar – an intricate depiction of a proud eagle with its wings spread wide, carved in marble and embellished with bold strips of gold and silver.
When the priestess's prayers are done, she takes the crystal vial nestled between the eagle's claws, and turns back to Ayrenn and Sielaire. "This ritual is simple, Your Majesty. It will just require a single drop of blood, and the essence of your magicka."
"Of course." Ayrenn glances at Sielaire, knowing full well her wife's hesitation, and offers her own hand. "I'd like to see how it works for myself, first. Out of curiosity, you understand."
"Oh, yes. I am quite curious myself – this is my first time performing the ritual." Eiranwe carefully pricks Ayrenn's index finger with a sterilised needle, and catches a drop of blood in the vial. Then she casts a spell – an indigo swirl about her hand, coaxing Ayrenn's blue magical essence forth and guiding it into the vial as well, imbuing the blood with a mute glow.
Eiranwe carries the vial back to the altar, and places it into the eagle's claws. Then she kneels and chants quietly, steadily – and an aura manifests within the chamber. The power of its influence is undeniable; penetrating, almost. Sielaire can feel…something watching them, assessing them. And if Ayrenn's curious expression is anything to go by, her wife can feel it too – even if she seems completely unbothered by it.
The priestess's voice rises in a smooth crescendo, followed by a distinct swirl of energy upon the altar – and the crystal vial holding Ayrenn's blood comes alight with a bright golden glow.
"Ah, so that's it. Always good to know I'm not an illegitimate bastard," Ayrenn jokes, getting a surprised glance from the priestess – who seems torn between wanting to smile or remain serious.
But she doesn't take long to choose the latter – Eiranwe rises from the floor with a straight face, and takes the vial in her hands, cleaning it effortlessly with a simple spell. Then she approaches Sielaire to repeat the process, this time drawing forth a green essence to blend with the blood within the vial. Eiranwe sets the vessel into the eagle's claws, and performs the ritual once more – but when her voice has died away to wait for a reaction from the altar, all is silent.
Sielaire crosses her arms, frowning slightly at the inert crystal vial. Her foot taps on the floor impatiently when a minute goes by, then she throws up a hand in defeat. "See? I told you."
She turns around to walk out of the chamber – wrestling with a disappointment she'd rather ignore – but Sielaire is stopped in her tracks when Ayrenn grabs her arm.
"Wait, Sie – look."
Sielaire turns around, and her exasperation at Ayrenn's insistence is replaced by surprise, when her eyes land on the crystal vial – which is glowing with a faint light. She is stunned into silence, left staring at the vial dumbly until she gathers herself. "I don't…"
"It seems you are of the old blood, after all." Ayrenn smiles in triumph.
Reality settling over her in silence, Sielaire glances at the vial uncertainly. "But…it's so faint."
"It is, Your Grace," Eiranwe says. "But this glow, sadly, is not one that will come alive for many Altmer today – even those among the nobility. But you have sparked its glow."
"After all this time spent worrying…" Ayrenn chuckles, her smile growing wider. "And here we are. Divines help me, I feel like screaming this from the palace's steps–" She laughs into Sielaire's shoulder when her wife yanks her into an embrace, as if afraid she'd run out to do just that.
"Please do not, Your Majesty," Sielaire sighs, though she smiles as well, when she presses a kiss to Ayrenn's temple.
"So, does this mean we're related?"
Ayrenn glances over at Sielaire with a bemused expression, still patting cream onto her cheeks. "What do you mean?"
"I mean…for all we know, we could be cousins," Sielaire says, getting a burst of laughter from her wife – who immediately quiets down, casting a glance at Astaire's crib.
"Oh, Sie. You saw the vial's glow. Even if we were related, you'd still be quite distant." Ayrenn stands from the dressing table, and joins Sielaire in bed. "Besides, documentation of your family's fall is scarce. If you were truly close to the royal line, you'd be a little more well-known."
Sielaire shrugs. "I guess."
"Anyway, it's too late to worry now, is it? Are you going to leave me on the off-chance that we're related?"
"No! Of course not."
"See?" Ayrenn snuggles up to her, pecking Sielaire on the cheek. Then a crooked smile spreads across her lips. "Although, it wouldn't be all that weird, would it? Even if you are my cousin. I mean, Alwin's my cousin, and I wouldn't mind being married to her–"
"Now you are making it weird." Sielaire rolls her eyes when Ayrenn breaks into a knowing cackle, then cuts in when her wife starts to speak again. "No, stop. Keep quiet."
"Make me," Ayrenn purrs, pressing up against her side. But the kisses she trails along Sielaire's cheek has barely reached her wife's mouth, when a voice comes from beyond the bedroom's door.
"Your Majesty, Commander Cariel requests an audience."
"An 'audience'? In my nightgown?" Ayrenn huffs in amusement, pinching Sielaire's chin. "The last time it happened, I seduced my wife."
"You finally admit it," Sielaire says drily as she rises from the bed with Ayrenn, who calls for Cariel to be sent in.
The Bosmer commander walks in and snaps off a smart salute. "Your Majesty, I do apologise for disturbing you, but you said to bring any news straight to you after the mission."
Sielaire's bedtime mood promptly falls away at the reminder. Cariel has spared no expense at tracking down the perpetrators of the attack on the Kinhouse, and her investigations had borne fruit just one week after – tracing the blood trail back to a newly-reformed Veiled Heritance. The last mission entrusted to Cariel involves the discovery and, if possible, the capture of the Heritance's leader.
"Yes, of course." Ayrenn waves her apology away. "Go on, Cariel."
"It was a success, Your Majesty. And, if I may say so, a grand one." Cariel's lips curved into a lop-sided smile. "We managed to ambush the Heritance's inner circle during their meeting, and we've captured every single one of them. Including its veiled head."
"And? Who is it?"
"Councilor Ocantar."
The revelation comes as no surprise to them. Given the councilor's history of constantly opposing the decisions of the Empress and her Court, it is only fitting that Ocantar is revealed as the head of the new Heritance – which has risen again, albeit as a shadow of what it once was. Quite literally. Efficient though they are, it's painfully obvious that their numbers are much too small to carry out operations on the scale of what Estre had once orchestrated. They're forced to hide in the shadows like rats, skittering about as they whisper lies and fallacies into the ears of the greedy and gullible, asserting their presence not physically, but politically.
It would've been deviously smart and dangerous indeed – if Ayrenn had not seeded her own loyalists within the Court and the Thalmor, and built her new Empire on unshakeable foundations. Ocantar made the gross mistake of assuming that Ayrenn hasn't learnt from her own missteps in the past, and now he will pay the price – first, by being forced to his knees before the Empress in the throne room, where the Court of Alinor, the Thalmor, and Summerset's nobles have been gathered by Ayrenn.
Sielaire sits in her throne beside the Empress, and Alwinarwe stays next to the dais as the Proxy Queen, while they watch Cariel list each and every one of Ocantar's crimes for all to hear. Nobody moves, all eyes fixed on the kneeling councilor as Ocantar is further damned with each charge spoken. Ocantar himself, already angered by his capture and manhandling, visibly bristles in indignation the longer Cariel speaks, irked by his public humiliation.
"And these are the Councilor's crimes in their entirety, Your Majesty," Cariel says, bowing to Ayrenn. "If you wish, I will present–"
"Crimes!" Ocantar barks. "I have done nothing but fight to preserve the sanctity of our Blessed Isles!" He struggles to rise with his wrists bound behind his back, but his effort is ended by a Prosecution guard forcing him back to his knees. "You want to find a traitor? Then look no further than the throne before us!"
Ocantar is trying to turn the Court against them – a futile attempt, of course. But Sielaire grows concerned when she glances discretely at Ayrenn, whose hand is balled into a fist on her armrest, bearing the faintest glow of magicka. Not a good sign.
"Our Empress has betrayed us from the very moment she set foot upon the Isles. She soils our heritage, disrespects our traditions, and has lowered the noble Altmer to the dirt with the mongrel races!"
He incites movement in the people then, but not in his favour. Displeasure is clear in the Bosmer and Khajiit of the Thalmor, and their unhappy fidgeting is joined by many Altmer as well.
"You, Ayrenn, care nothing for us – your own people. You open our borders and taint our land with the lesser races. You allow others to step over your own subjects in your 'glorious' new Empire. And you threaten to end the royal Aldmeri bloodline – the very line from which you are descended – by placing a peasant on the throne, and choosing an heir of inferior–"
"Shut up!"
Her roar – amplified by the unintentional exertion of magicka – reverberates through the vast throne room, causing the floor to tremble, flames flickering on their candles. Ayrenn has stood from her throne, and a deathly silence falls over the hall as she takes ponderous steps towards the edge of the dais.
"You 'fight to preserve the sanctity of our Blessed Isles'? How? By washing it in the blood of our own people – the very people you claim to serve?" Ayrenn's tone is sardonic, and it is obvious she has no patience to give. "Kinlord Ciryendur and his Kinhouse have done nothing but serve the throne faithfully for centuries, and yet you dare murder him and his people, in an attempt to kill my heir!"
"Your 'heir' is unworthy–"
"I said, shut up!" Ayrenn sends forth a blast of energy – concentrated this time, and it forces Ocantar to hunch over, with his head nearly touching the floor. "I have dealt with you and your ilk for long enough. I will not entertain the grievances of an egotist any longer. Look around you, Ocantar." She waves a hand at those gathered – made of the three races of the Dominion. "The world has moved forward, and we have made it a better place by working with the very races you so despise. Our Empire shall grow and flourish for the ages to come, but it has no place for scum such as you. And we shall no longer waste our energy dragging the lot of you along."
Ayrenn squares her shoulders, clasping her hands behind her back. "We hereby strip Ocantar Elsinian of his seat within the Court of Alinor, and his place among the nobility. All holdings under his name shall be entrusted to the royal treasury until further notice. Guards," Ayrenn barks, and they snap to attention. "Bring this traitor to the dungeons, where he shall stay while he awaits his trial."
Ocantar sputters at the indignity as he is hauled to his feet by the guards, but Ayrenn pays him no heed.
"Court is adjourned," Ayrenn says curtly, and the Empress sweeps out of the throne room without waiting for her subjects to rise.
Exchanging a glance with Alwinarwe, Sielaire stands and receives their bow herself, dismissing the court formally. As they file out of the hall, Sielaire exits through the side door – surprising Alwin, who is walking alongside her.
"Aren't you going after Ayrenn?"
"No. I'll let her cool off by herself, first."
"Hm." Alwin raises a brow thoughtfully. "Or she might stew."
Sielaire sighs. "Most likely."
Sielaire spends most of the day with Alwinarwe, receiving visits from concerned subjects, and arranging for the trials soon to be held. When they've retired from their duties, Sielaire goes looking around the palace for Ayrenn, who has been so scarce that even her Eyes have caught the barest glimpse of her. She checks Ayrenn's office, their bedroom, and Astaire's room where the child is still in her nanny's care, but still finds no sign of her – until Sielaire searches their private training room.
Ayrenn is there, dressed in shirt and pants with her sword in hand, hacking away at a second training dummy – cut-up bits of the first dummy litter the floor, soon to be joined by the Empress's current victim. She takes no heed of Sielaire at first, swinging her sword at the dummy repeatedly, with little care for technique. Her face is flushed, dripping with sweat, and she only slows down when Sielaire moves closer.
Ayrenn glances at her wife with that sharpness in her eyes. "I'm not going to calm down."
"I won't ask you to."
A frown of confusion, then Ayrenn wrenches her gaze away from Sielaire, aiming two more blows at the dummy. "This isn't working," she growls.
"It won't."
"Then why did you do it so much?"
"I was angry. I needed release."
"Did it work?"
"No," Sielaire says simply, cocking her head. "Because I wanted something else."
Ayrenn grows still then, staring at Sielaire quietly. Then she turns around and takes a handful of steps away, before she cries out in frustration and spins on her heel, flinging her sword at the dummy. It topples over with the blade embedded deep in its chest.
"I need–," Ayrenn grinds through her teeth, clenching both fists before her as she paces the floor. "I need to hurt him. I need him to feel–, the pain." She slams a fist into her open hand, grinding her knuckles against her palm until Sielaire takes her wrist gently.
"I know," Sielaire murmurs. "You need revenge."
"And I will have it–"
"Yes. But it will give you no satisfaction." Sielaire grasps Ayrenn's other hand, and tugs her close. "Your heart desires more than you can take."
"Then I will take as much as I can."
Sielaire smiles wanly, and offers no follow-up – understanding Ayrenn's state of mind all too well. Instead, she turns Ayrenn's palms up, running a thumb over fair skin reddened by her tight grip on the sword hilt. Sielaire presses a kiss to her palm, then her knuckles, and smiles a little brighter Ayrenn caresses her cheek.
"Let's go back to our room, hm? We'll wash up, then take Astaire for a walk in the gardens?"
Ayrenn's gaze softens, but she lowers her hand and steps back. "No. I'm–, not yet," she sighs, walking slowly away from Sielaire. "But I'll join you later, alright?"
"Of course, love."
Though Ayrenn grows mellower with much guidance from Sielaire, her mood sees little improvement over the weeks, and turns more severe when the captured Heritance criminals are put on trial. Ayrenn, Sielaire, and Alwinarwe sit in for most sessions, and soon verdicts are reached by the tribunal – every Heritance member is stripped of their status and wealth, their families placed under probation. The inner circle who've masterminded the Kinhouse assault are put to the blade, and while most of the executions are private, only Ocantar's is carried out in public.
Ayrenn attends the execution herself, standing stoically by the platform erected outside Alinor's eastern gates, and watches as Ocantar's head is cleaved from his body, eliciting quiet gasps from the spectators. Though there has been little protest against Ocantar's sentence, the mood that falls over the crowd is heavy and subdued – and Ayrenn carries it with her, all the way back to the palace.
She spends the entire day sequestered in her library, allowing only Sielaire and Alwinarwe access to her. When the sun has set, her self-imposed isolation starts gnawing away at her, and she decides to spend time with the one, very important person she's unconsciously avoided for the past weeks.
Ayrenn doesn't know what she expected – to be shunned or snubbed for keeping her distance, probably – but little Astaire greets her as joyfully as before, and even clings to her mother tighter, as if she has missed Ayrenn dearly. They settle by the fireplace, surrounded by cushions and toys that Astaire plays with as she sits in Ayrenn's lap, receiving many hugs and kisses on her head.
"Oh, thank you," Ayrenn croons when Astaire offers her an indrik doll. "It's very pretty."
Astaire smiles and babbles at her mother, before turning her attention back to her favourite kitten doll. Ayrenn watches her with an oddly peaceful heart, bumping her own toy with Astaire's to elicit giggles from the girl. Laughing under her breath, Ayrenn hugs Astaire again.
"I love you, my dear little Star," Ayrenn murmurs. "You know that, right?"
There's no kiddy babble in reply, but Ayrenn is content, sharing the moment of peace with her daughter. Then Astaire fidgets in place and crawls off Ayrenn's lap, falling playfully onto the cushions, where two other cats are lounging as well. She giggles and kicks her legs when Ayrenn tickles her stomach, then takes the indrik toy back from her mother, bumping her dolls together. One of the cats rouses itself and pads over to the princess, curling up to sleep beside her – but Astaire is hardly distracted by it, already used to the cats living with her.
Sielaire enters the bedroom then, and her tired expression softens at the sight of her family sitting by the fire, with many plump cushions and cats. She takes her place beside Ayrenn, who embraces her tightly.
"Feeling alright?" Sielaire asks, kissing the top of her head.
Ayrenn nods, giving Sielaire a squeeze before she takes a breath, and straightens herself. "I'm fine," she says with a smile, then taps on Sielaire's cheek. "You, on the other hand, look ready to collapse."
"I'm surprised I haven't," Sielaire groans, though she smiles when Ayrenn kisses her softly. She leans in to steal another kiss from her wife, then turns her gaze to Astaire. "Will you look at that. She's starting to take after me."
Ayrenn chuckles as Sielaire lies down beside Astaire, pecking the girl on her forehead and stroking the sleeping cat's back. Ayrenn joins her family among the cushions, lying on her side next to Astaire, and she reaches over to twine her fingers with Sielaire's.
"Think I'll take a nap now," Sielaire mumbles sleepily, eyes fluttering shut. "Wake me in an hour so I can eat."
"Mm." Ayrenn slips the silver circlet off Sielaire's head, so her wife won't wake with a mark on her forehead again. "Enjoy your cat nap, dear."
Sielaire snorts a laugh. "I love you so much."
"I know."