Bruised and bloodied after a lengthy campaign in Wrothgar, the Dominion army takes but a moment to breathe and recover, taking heart in their victory over the dauntless Orsimer, before marching towards Rivenspire. With Ayrenn at its head, the Dominion fights and pays for each step they take in Breton lands. The playing field changes with the face of their foes – where magic had been their greatest advantage over the Orcs, it's now merely a common tool in their war with the Bretons, who are well-versed in spellplay and capable of holding fast against Altmer battlemages. It is a constant game of move and countermove, weaving equal amounts of cunning and ingenuity into their magically-bolstered strategies, to gain a foothold over their enemies.

At times, Sielaire appreciates the stout resistance of the Bretons – she often admires their tactics when she is forced to retreat from the field. But in truth, she would rather the battles be smoother, the Bretons easier to defeat. Too many times has she ended up in the healer's tent with broken bones and bleeding wounds. Too many soldiers has she witnessed breathe their last while their comrades watch in silent grief. Too many times has she flown to her Queen's side in the midst of battle, clasping a hand over Ayrenn's wound or breaking the shaft of an arrow sunk into her body.

A grim reality of war still difficult to swallow after all these years, but Sielaire is used to its bitter taste in her mouth, driving her ever onward from one battle to the next.

Sword glinting under the sun, Sielaire cuts down soldier after soldier, blade quick as the lightning that flashes from her fingers, leaving bodies and ashes in her wake. As her Wings surge forth from her sides, she pauses to take a breath and looks around at the battlefield. Dominion soldiers are locked in heated battle with the Breton forces, who are bolstered by a smattering of Orsimer and Redguards in a weak facsimile of the broken Covenant. They've been here for what feels like hours now, and Sielaire is dismayed to find that they've achieved no progress. The Dominion is nowhere nearer to the city they've been marching towards, and their foes show no signs of giving ground just yet.

Frowning, Sielaire peers into the distance, and spots that polished off-white of King Emeric's armour. It had been a surprise to see him leading the troops – intelligence from the Eyes had them believing that Emeric was with his own forces in Wayrest. Unfortunately, they hadn't had the luxury of time to analyse this anomaly, before their foes had charged towards them.

As she watches, Emeric fends off countless Dominion soldiers, swinging his sword in precise and energetic strokes. But he and his guard are slowly being pushed back, and when they've lost enough ground, he hollers a command that Sielaire can just barely make out amid the din of battle, 'Hold them off!' His head turns towards the Queen, before he runs off with half of his guard covering his tracks, and leaps onto the horse a footman has led out to him. Sielaire whips her head towards Ayrenn, who has been watching Emeric as well. The Queen raises her sword towards Sielaire, then points it in Emeric's direction and roars, 'After him!'

Sielaire snaps into action. Lightning crackles around her fingers, and she sends two bright sparks up into the air: a command for the Fury's Wings to mount their horses. Sielaire winds and slashes her way through the chaos, and reaches the backlines where the non-combatants have hunkered down, and are guarded by a dedicated troop. She makes for the horses that have been left behind by the Wings, and mounts her own armoured warhorse along with her soldiers.

"On me!" Sielaire shouts, spurring her horse into action.

Her dragoons thunder across the field, magic flashing and crackling as they clear a path towards Emeric, who has broken away from the fighting, blazing an escape route that borders close to a ravine. Despite the Bretons' best efforts, Sielaire and her Wings are upon Emeric's heels in no time, and they leap off their horses to resume the charge on foot.

In a surprise move, Emeric and his company halt in their tracks and turn back to face the Wings, weapons hefted and steady – completely unlike the desperation of fleeing soldiers. Sielaire slows her pace when she comes close enough to get a good look at Emeric's face – and discovers it isn't Emeric at all. Merely a Breton of similar age and build as the king.

A trap, Sielaire realises, just as the imposter king yells to his troops, "Cut off the Queen's wings!"

And the battle begins. Sielaire fights through the onslaught of Breton troops, suffering an axe slash to her cloth-covered arm and numerous nicks to her armour, before she blows the surrounding soldiers clear with a blast of magic. While her foes scramble to their feet, Sielaire leaps towards the unguarded 'Emeric', and engages him in combat. He is sturdy and quick enough to block and dodge Sielaire's sword swings, and he's able to conjure wards to dissipate Sielaire's lightning before it touches him. But where he is robust and immovable, Sielaire is agile and relentless – aided with the swiftness of magicka-enhanced steps, Sielaire flashes towards an opening her opponent has left in his attack, and pierces her sword under his arm, driving it near enough to nick his heart.

'Emeric' gives a wet gurgle as blood drips from his lips, and he grabs onto Sielaire's pauldron, lips parting in a crooked grin. "For the Covenant," he growls.

Just then, a deafening explosion shakes the air. As the ground rumbles beneath her feet, Sielaire shoves 'Emeric' off her sword, and turns around to find a ragged fissure cut into the ground, no doubt by the violent burst of magical force Sielaire felt seconds ago. She takes a step forward, and her heart stops when the ground starts to give beneath her feet – the fissure has cut off this section of the cliffs neatly, dooming it to fall into the ravine below.

"Run!" Sielaire cries, waving for her Wings to follow in the Bretons' footsteps – many of their foes have been caught in this devious trap as well.

She stops many times to haul her soldiers to their feet, and she has grabbed a Khajiit by his chest harness, flinging him across the widening fissure, when gravity takes hold of her body. The Khajiit turns around to grab her hand, but he's too late – the commander of the Wings falls with half of her dragoons.

Even Ayrenn, in all her ferocity and valour, is tiring from the battle. Everyone is. There is a point in every fight when the combatants start to slow down, their sword swings driven by necessity, drained of their initial fire – and Ayrenn believes they have gone well past that point of lethargy.

Her hair beneath her winged helm is damp, and sweat drips down her face like rain. Her left hand is uncomfortably warm from the constant use of destructive magic, and her right is growing number with each strike of her blade. When she drives her sword through the throat of a Redguard, who looks as exhausted as she feels, she wonders if it isn't time to call for a retreat. Little good can come of this battle, where their numbers have been whittled down for no clear purpose, and will only end with a decrease in morale.

Ayrenn looks up from the Redguard who falls to the ground, and as she takes a deep breath, she notices something odd – the Covenant soldiers seem to be disengaging from the battle, sprinting off in a hasty retreat. Her soldiers look to her for orders, but she pulls on a smile instead, and raises her sword to the air – a declaration of victory, even if she doesn't feel it is so. And if her troops share her doubt, they do not show it. They raise their faces to the sky in a victory cry, then clasp onto their fellow survivors as they move back to regroup.

The Queen raises a hand when her guards gather around her – a quiet command to wait, as she scans the soldiers moving past her, feeling a faint worry when she doesn't spot that green-clothed figure. Her brows furrow into a frown when a Wing approaches her on his horse, and dismounts quickly to kneel before her. The Khajiit bows his head to report the Wings' chase after the imposter king, and their success in ending his life.

But when he points towards the cliffs, Ayrenn's heart plummets.

Her first order is given to the soldiers standing in reserve – to search the cliffs and the ravine below for their lost troops. Then she orders for the camp to be set up, so the wounded can be tended to, and the soldiers given some reprieve while the commanders plan their next move. Losing more than half of the Fury's Wings is a substantial blow to the main force – Sielaire and her dragoons have been an important part of their tactics in the war so far – and the commanders respectfully defer to Ayrenn's decision to stay. With their numbers depleted, it will be wise to wait for the recovery of their lost soldiers, or reinforcements from their garrisons in Orsinium.

But Ayrenn suspects they've given her a sliver of personal allowance as well. The Queen's affair with Sielaire is a well-known secret among their people, and this…setback has left a deep wound in Ayrenn's heart. Perhaps they sense that the Queen will not go on without her most important battlereeve…

Damn it. Damn it!

Ayrenn wrings her fingers tightly, heart aching as she reaches for the wedding band again, channeling her magicka into it. No matter how much of her energy suffuses the ring, it remains as cold as her body feels. But it doesn't stop her from trying again and again; hoping, praying, begging with the gods that she can feel an answer. An answer from Sielaire. But the ring remains inert – never coming alive with the warmth of a reply from her wife.

In her frustration, Ayrenn rams her fist onto her desk, and the wood cracks audibly beneath her blue-glowing knuckles, before she hears a gentle purr, "Now, now. Raz thinks the training dummy would be a better target…"

Ayrenn huffs in irritation. "Shut up," she utters, pacing around the tent again.

Razum-dar waits patiently, watching Ayrenn walk in aimless circles, fingers always fidgeting with her ring. When she opens her mouth to speak and fails, he fills in the silence for her, "This one heard what has happened, and has sent many Eyes to scour the cave systems in the ravine. We will find her."

Empty promises. Ayrenn's throat tightens, and she shakes her head. "The caves are extensive here. It may take too long. We cannot stay here forever." The dispassionate analysis sends another stab in her chest, and she covers her face with a hand, in a futile attempt to compose herself.

"Then let's hope the moons shine on us," Raz says. He moves forward to where she has stopped in her pacing, and peers at her in concern.

"I can't feel her, Raz," Ayrenn whispers, touching her ring again. "I can't feel her. What if she is–, I can't lose her." Her hand trembles as she screws her eyes shut, tears streaking down her cheeks. "I can't lose her."

Paws reach up to her head, and she bends down gladly as Razum-dar guides her to his shoulder. Ayrenn presses her face into his shirt, and covers her mouth with a hand as sobs wrack her body.

Despite her body feeling deader than a log, Sielaire jerks a hand up in defense when someone touches her arm. But she stops gathering magicka when she hears that familiar voice speaking over her.

"Ma'am. Please don't kill me right after I survived that fall."

Cracking her eyes open, Sielaire squints up at Earilas, and the wet strands of blond hair stuck to his forehead. He has bruises and cuts all over his face, and his uniform has seen similar wear, but he doesn't seem the least concerned with himself at the moment.

Earilas smiles when Sielaire frowns at him. "Great, your ears are working. I've checked you over, you don't seem to have any grave injuries. Here, let's get you up."

He grasps onto her arm and hauls her up, but stops when Sielaire cries out, motioning for him to lay her back down. He does so gently, and Sielaire struggles to breathe through the stabbing pain in her ribs. Earilas holds her down by the shoulders to stop her writhing, and he's tipped off to her injury by the hand she clutches to her ribs, and the pained gasps she takes.

"Hold on, ma'am. I'll take care of it."

Earilas takes her hand away, and Sielaire digs her fingers into the soil beneath her instead, while her lieutenant weaves a healing spell that slowly alleviates the pain. Her breaths grow easier with each second that passes, and soon, she's able to fill her lungs with air without trouble. She presses a hand against her ribs to check for any flaws in the spell, and is satisfied when no pain flares at her prodding.

"You're getting better at this," Sielaire mutters, pushing herself up. Her whole body is aching, as if it'd been tossed around in a barrel full of rocks. It might very well have been the case, Sielaire thinks, as she eyes the rocks jutting up from the fast-flowing river they are seated by.

"I've only had years to practice," Earilas replies, and she quietly marvels at his ability to stay jovial even after the near-death encounter.

Sielaire nods and rises to her feet without a word, glancing around to take stock of her surroundings. The Wings who are already awake and moving, are currently busy dragging out their comrades who lay half-submerged in the river. There's a short line of dead bodies laid out by the side, and Sielaire has little doubt there'll be more when they're done. Whether they can be done, however…

Sielaire looks up at the cliffs towering over them on both sides, and finds no discernable path leading up to the surface where the battle was. Have they been washed far from the site of battle, and the main Dominion army? The Queen… Ayrenn will wait for them, right? Wait for her…

Her heart clenches as she reaches for the wedding band on her finger, and is surprised when she can feel its cool golden surface instead of the glove that covers it. She looks down to find the glove torn, half-hanging from her hand, and rips it away. Sielaire takes another glance at her ring, glistening from river water, and she takes it off as well, wrapping it in the ripped cloth before stuffing it into one of her belt pouches.

Sucking in a deep breath through her mouth, Sielaire exhales and turns to find Earilas looking intently at his compass. Her mouth quirks at the confusion etched on his brows, and she turns her attention away to scan their surroundings. A thick forest lines the riverbanks, and according to the Dominion scouts' reports of this area, there should be an extensive system of caves nearby. Perfect for a makeshift camp, and for hiding from enemy troops should they come searching.

"Search farther up and down the river," Sielaire commands, and her Wings turn to her attentively. "But don't roam too far. We'll search for survivors and bodies for an hour, before we find a cave for shelter. We can't afford to remain exposed for too long"

Knowing better than to shout in the affirmative, her soldiers salute to her – albeit tiredly – before resuming their grim task with the commander at their side.

Sielaire waits by the cave mouth, arms crossed as she looks out into the forest, hoping nothing has happened to her soldiers. Earilas has led a scouting party out to look for signs of a Dominion camp above, and while she knows he is more than capable of handling himself, she still worries – and gives herself yet another chide. Earilas is the only lieutenant she has groomed to assume her role should something bad befall her; thus he is the commander the Wings default to, when Sielaire isn't around. She should've left him behind with Ayrenn, so there's someone to rally the remaining Wings in her absence, and guard the Queen while she's indisposed…

Shaking her head, she lets out a sigh that attracts glances from the two guards standing by the sides, before they return their focus to the forest beyond. The soldiers have made camp in the driest cave they could find, one with just enough space to house their wounded comfortably, and is nicely hidden by the trees. But it has been four days, and while Sielaire does wish to give her soldiers more time to heal, they cannot stay for much longer. If no help arrives from the Dominion soon, they will either have to find the camp themselves, or stay in the cave while their supplies run out, dooming more to die from their wounds due to the lack of proper care.

Discretely, she touches the armour protecting her abdomen. She wears bandages beneath her uniform, holding together a stab wound from a skirmish with a Covenant search party she'd stumbled across the day before. It was a messy battle that left her battered squad struggling to even stand, and they'd reached the base only hours later. Though Sielaire had tended to her wound the instant they were in safe grounds, she's still worried…

Ignoring the unusual chill on her skin, and the dull aches in her body, Sielaire turns back to the front when movement rustles the bushes ahead. She grasps her sword's hilt, but her caution falls away when Earilas and company stalks into sight, only letting their guard down when they've entered the cave mouth.

"The Breton search parties are still around," Earilas says. "Seems they haven't given up. You know, I'm starting to think that they're misleading our own people…"

"Possible, but I would think our own are more capable than that." Sielaire tilts her head in thought. "Or…they're not as familiar with the territory as the Bretons."

Earilas nods, and Sielaire falls into silence. She looks back into the cave, where her soldiers are lying on the floor or huddled around the fire, munching on berries and meat they've hunted. There can be any number of reasons why they haven't spotted Dominion colours in so long, but Sielaire doesn't want to sit and wonder anymore. They have to move, and put a gamble on that narrow uphill slope that Earilas had found yesterday.

"Listen up," Sielaire says, keeping her voice low enough so it won't travel from the cave. "I want all of you to get ready. After tonight, we are moving out."

Ayrenn waited for nearly a week, and her hope has slowly died along with the subtle levity that buoys her authoritative mien. The Queen is now harsher and more impatient, trying desperately to keep a firm grip on the situation, while battling another war within. Too many days have passed since Ayrenn had decided the army will stay and wait. Reinforcements from Wrothgar are taking too long to arrive, and only a few still have hope that the lost dragoons will be found and returned to their ranks. Ayrenn is one of the few, but she is far too aware of her commanders' growing restlessness as well.

Time spent waiting is also time that the enemy can use to reinforce their defenses, and prepare for the Dominion assault. Or worse, now that their foes are aware of their general position, they may launch another attack while the Dominion force is still weakened. Danger grows with each passing day, and no matter how Ayrenn weighs the scales, her people will always command more value than the one soul she is waiting for. So the Queen steels her resolve, ordering their camp to pack and move.

But it is too late. While the Queen's heart was torn and undecided, their foes had regrouped and marched back with renewed strength, charging towards the Dominion camp in the midst of their packing. Under Ayrenn's fierce command, fueled by her searing anger that bursts to life at the sight of those murderers, the Dominion soldiers pull together just in time to meet the Covenant's first charge. Their camp's borders are breached in the initial strike, but furious retaliation soon turns the ground red with Covenant blood, and the invaders are forced out of the camp, inch by inch.

Though the Dominion fights with all their might under Ayrenn's lead, she can tell that they are in a bad position. The Covenant's numbers seem to have been replenished, and will soon overwhelm the tired Dominion soldiers if Ayrenn doesn't think of a way out for her people. But as she ponders a reckless assault on the Breton commander, aided by the indomitable magic of her battlemages, Ayrenn is given pause when she spots movement in the distance, closing in on the Covenant's flank.

Ice pours into her veins when she thinks it is a Covenant reinforcement, but she is taken aback by the twin flashes of lightning that rends through their foes. Ayrenn stops dead for a full heartbeat, before her heart swells with hope, a war beat pounding in her chest. As the next lightning storm tears through the Covenant's ranks amid a torrent of destructive spells, Ayrenn takes advantage of their enemies' shock, and roars for her troops to reform their lines and charge forth once more.

Heartened by the sight of such familiar magic, the Dominion soldiers heft their weapons with squared shoulders, and sprint forward on the heels of their Queen, ripping into the Covenant ranks with abandon. Ayrenn's lips part into a bloodthirsty grin as she hacks and slashes through the swarm of Covenant soldiers, carving a way towards the raging tempest, which seems to be finding its way to her as well.

With their formation broken from two sides, and an imminent rout looming over their heads, a Covenant war horn sounds from its backlines – a single note ordering the soldiers into retreat. The Dominion troops cut down as many fleeing soldiers as they can reach, before stopping the chase to relish their victory, then start a search for the living among the bodies scattered about the battlefield. But Ayrenn doesn't pay any mind to her soldiers, casting her eyes about in search for the one she yearns for.

It doesn't take long – one would be hard-pressed to spot the unique attire of this battlereeve. Ayrenn takes slow, uncertain steps in her near-disbelief, before Sielaire turns towards her, and the growing smile on the battlereeve's face shatters her restraint. Breaking into a run, Ayrenn flies across the field and leaps straight into Sielaire's arms, glimpsing the flash of surprise on her wife's face, as she clutches Sielaire tightly in an embrace – in plain sight of their troops.

But Ayrenn doesn't care. She doesn't care. She'd thought she has lost her wife, made the decision to abandon the search for her love, only to be saved by Sielaire's miraculous return? Damn the rules, and damn etiquette, nothing can pry Ayrenn from her wife, not even–

Ayrenn pauses, opening her moist eyes when she realises her cheek is pressed against Sielaire's skin – which is uncomfortably warm. She pulls back from the embrace, and notices something wrong with Sielaire's expression. The battlereeve looks haggard, with deep shadows beneath her eyes, and dirty strands of hair hanging about her face. But her eyes – they gaze upon Ayrenn with love that shines through a glassy stare.

"Sie?" Ayrenn cups Sielaire's cheek, flushed skin hot against her palm. "You're burning up. I think you have a fever."

"Yeah," Sielaire utters, and alarms Ayrenn when she sways on the spot. "I've been…for a day, maybe."

Ayrenn's eyes falls upon Sielaire's stomach, where the battlereeve clasps gingerly with a shaking hand, soon stained with blood.

"I might…need a healer," Sielaire says, before collapsing onto Ayrenn.

Sielaire's entire body seems to protest the moment she wakes, and she lies still in defeat for a while, feeling her head swim even though she hasn't moved an inch. When the dizziness has passed, and the aches in her body have dulled, Sielaire cracks her eyes open to find herself lying in the Queen's tent. It is dark, and the only light comes from the desk where Ayrenn is hunched over, writing on something with her quill, a deep frown etched on her brows.

Sielaire stares at her wife for a moment – she has always found Ayrenn to be quite attractive while she is focused on work. She gets this stern expression on her face, a true reflection of her tireless drive for the Dominion, perhaps. It is such a stark contrast to that playful, devil-may-care attitude she has around Sielaire, but Sielaire loves it all the same. And only in times like this, while she lies in bed unnoticed by her wife, is Sielaire able to appreciate this side of her…

Ayrenn dips her quill into the pot with a quiet huff, and glances briefly at Sielaire's direction – then does a double-take. She drops her quill immediately, and stands from her desk, grabbing the lantern as she walks to the bedroll. Setting the lantern on a nearby stool, Ayrenn sits beside Sielaire and strokes her cheek in greeting. She tries to stop Sielaire from sitting up at first, but when Sielaire refuses to be pushed back down, Ayrenn gives in and helps her up.

"It…feels chilly," Sielaire rasps, clearing her throat. Her breaths are a little heavy from the exertion, and she sits with shoulders slumped.

"It's your fever, love. It hasn't subsided." Ayrenn feels about her neck and face with a hand. "But your temperature has fallen much since we gave you the medicine. Do you feel uncomfortable?"

"A little. But I'll be fine." Sielaire smiles, reaching up to trail her fingers over Ayrenn's cheek – a sensation she'd missed dearly during her arduous trek up to the command camp. "Are you hurt?"

"Shallow wounds, but they're healed now." Ayrenn's gaze turns unbearably soft at her concern. "It's just like you to worry about me, right after you were…"

Sielaire waits when Ayrenn's voice trails off, and the ensuing silence doesn't soothe her nerves. So she tries to coax Ayrenn out of her brooding. "I know I was gone for a while. I'm sorry," she sighs. "I thought you'd have moved the command camp by the time we reached this location…"

"We were going to," Ayrenn admits heavily. "We've waited for too long, and I… Gods, Sie. I thought you were dead. I tried to contact you through our rings, but I could feel nothing from you. I thought you were dead."

Sielaire's heart aches when Ayrenn's voice trembles. "I'm sorry, beloved," she says, though she cannot help letting a hint of laughter colour her tone. "I took it off after we fell… Didn't want to dirty it any further. So I kept it in my pouch."

"You–" Strained laughter breaks through Ayrenn's thick voice, and she wipes roughly at the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. "You made me worry, made me think you were dead. And here you are…"

Ayrenn stares at her with that weak smile on her lips, before cupping Sielaire's face and pulling her in for a kiss. Sielaire yields under the firm press of Ayrenn's lips, losing bits of breath with each kiss that Ayrenn gives. She returns her wife's kisses with fervour that deepens with each pass, but pauses when she feels moisture on Ayrenn's cheeks. Sielaire moves back by a hair, just as Ayrenn clutches her shirt and breaks into a sob.

"I'm sorry," Ayrenn utters. "I'm sorry, Sie. I was going to leave you for dead. I was going to–, but I can't. I can't–"

Sielaire draws Ayrenn close, holding her wife firmly as Ayrenn breaks into muted sobs on her shoulder. Ayrenn's arms circle around Sielaire as well, while she is rocked gently in comfort.

"It's alright, Renn. I understand," Sielaire whispers. "It's not your fault."

"I can't live without you, Sie. I can't."

"I know. And you don't have to. I'm here now. I'm here with you." Sielaire strokes Ayrenn's back, hearing her wife fight against the sobs. "Even if you'd left, I would've fought the entire world just to be with you again."

What sounds like choked laughter breaks through Ayrenn's quiet crying. "Even after I abandoned you?"

"I know you had no choice. Ayrenn, I know that you love me, as much as I love you. You would never leave if you knew that I was still alive."

A long moment of silence meets the end of her words, while Ayrenn sniffs and tries to even out her breathing. She turns her face into Sielaire's neck, fingers digging into her shirt. "I'm–, I love you, Sie. I love you so much."

Sielaire smiles gently, and clasps her wife's fist, pressing it to her heart. "I love you too, my dear. And I shall never be parted from you so long as I still draw breath."

Ayrenn nods against her, clinging onto Sielaire longer, before her body starts to relax in her wife's hold. Sielaire closes her eyes and rests her head on Ayrenn's, throat constricting briefly, before she smiles and buries her face into soft blonde locks.

A/N: Sie's skills:
- War tactics
- Swordplay and destruction magic
- Cat hoarding
- Falling off cliffs
- Fainting dramatically onto wife after battle