The secret tour about their own home is quickly finished, with an effortless trek over lands they know better than the back of their hands. The roads eventually lead them southward, where they pay a visit to Alwinarwe's estate, before turning west for the city of Sunhold, where they will board a ship that will bring them away from the Summerset Isles, to start their honeymoon 'proper' – as Ayrenn puts it. She expects their holiday to be nothing less than an adventure, and an adventure she will never find unless she steps out of Summerset, where she is home and much too safe…for her tastes, at least.
Sielaire sighs quietly at the thought, but she can hardly stay troubled when her partner seems overcome by happiness, the smile never leaving Ayrenn's face ever since she greeted Sielaire with a kiss that morning, when they woke from a night's rest at Sunhold's premier inn. While Sielaire bade the luxury of Summerset a silent farewell, Ayrenn had dressed quickly, then pulled her wife downstairs to start their day in earnest. A good breakfast, another stroll through the market to pick up supplies, and now here they are, walking towards the docks to look for their ship.
'Wavestrider' is the ship's name, and it takes a brief search to find the one sturdy and well-polished ship among its similar counterparts. Ayrenn takes Sielaire's hand again, her eagerness apparent in her firm grip and tug, but she slows as they near the ship – and it takes a moment for Sielaire to figure out why.
Ayrenn's eyes are fixed on a Khajiit leaning against a wooden pillar, flipping a coin nimbly between his fingers. Years of experience helps Sielaire recognise Razum-dar in an instant, even though he has swapped his fashionable leathers for a duller shirt and pants, with a brown cap hiding his distinctive red mohawk. The nondescript Khajiit smiles at the approach of his very ordinary Altmer friends, and he tiptoes as Ayrenn meets him in a hug.
"I didn't expect to see you here," Ayrenn says, pulling back.
"Of course you didn't. This one wanted to surprise you." Razum-dar tosses Sielaire a casual two-finger salute. "He figured, might as well send you off before you go missing for…oh, maybe another ten, twenty years again?"
Ayrenn snorts and elbows him in the ribs. "Don't push my buttons here. There's nothing stopping me from shoving you off the docks."
"Nonsense. Our darling Siranya wouldn't let that happen, would she?" Razum-dar looks at Sielaire pointedly, though his confidence fades with amazing speed at her growing smirk.
"I don't know, Ranzik. My dear Aralinwe does tend to have accidents while I'm looking away…"
"Oh, you two can be so cruel," Raz laughs, though Sielaire notices his glance at the waters below the docks, as he inches away from the edge of the platform. "And here kind-hearted Ranzik was, planning to give you a parting gift…"
He holds up a travel box bag in one paw, and swings it deliberately before Ayrenn takes it with a smile. It's no bigger than a portable medicine box, and its handle can be detached on one side, so the bag can be fastened to something else – a backpack, for example.
"Thank you," she says, unclasping the bag when Raz waves his hand.
She lifts the lid and peers in with Sielaire; rolled-up scrolls are packed neatly at the bottom, on top of which rests a folded scarf, two small packs of candy, a sheathed knife, and a pair of black fingerless gloves.
Ayrenn picks up the gloves and asks, "Why only one pair?"
"Because your wife gets the scarf," Razum-dar explains. "And you get the gloves because this one remembers how cold your hands can get."
"That's so sweet," Ayrenn croons.
"Sweet for Sie, not you." Raz rolls his eyes, sharing a sympathetic glance with Sielaire. They've both had plenty of experience with Ayrenn's hands, which can feel ice-cold on a particularly chilly night, and will seek out the nearest source of warmth for comfort. Sielaire's been jolted many times before, when Ayrenn had reached under her shirt to touch her warm skin. And Raz had been a victim in their younger days, when Ayrenn constantly grabbed his nape with chilly hands just to hear him yelp.
"Still, it'll keep me warm. If someone doesn't, that is…"
Sielaire sighs, averting her eyes from Ayrenn's impish gaze. "Thank you, Raz. Ranz," she corrects herself.
"It's nothing. Oh, those are recall scrolls, by the way." Raz points them out as Ayrenn clasps the bag shut. "For when you get into trouble. And this one knows you will get into trouble."
"Then we shall fulfill your prophecy, oh wise one." Ayrenn bows with flair while Raz crosses his arms, looking half-fond, half-exasperated.
"He looks forward to being proven wrong. Just so you know." His eyes turn towards the ship, when the first call for passengers is bellowed from a sailor's mighty lungs. "And that's you. Time to go."
Razum-dar spreads his arms wide, and Ayrenn flies in for another embrace, two old friends trying to squeeze the life from each other. When they survive, Raz turns to Sielaire for a briefer, but no less sincere hug.
"Take care now. This one has friends everywhere, keeping an eye out for you. Just give the signal if you need help, yes?"
Ayrenn smiles, and gives his hand one last squeeze. "Of course. Thank you."
As they walk away from Raz, Sielaire turns back to wave at him, a gesture returned with a happy flick of his tail. He's very easy to read when he lets his guard down, Sielaire muses; gazing back at him, she realises that she will miss this wily Khajiit while they're away. And he'll probably miss them too…though it does give him more time to bother the Proxy Queen, of whom he's quite fond as well.
Sielaire laughs under her breath as she climbs up the ship's ramp with Ayrenn.
Good luck, Alwin.
Though Sielaire has more patience than Ayrenn, and can pass longer periods of time with little to do, she finds herself growing restless just four days into the journey, thinking of the month-long voyage that would take them around the main continent. They've opted to start their travels from Morrowind, then wind their way home from there. Part of her often wonders why they'd chosen this mode of travel – until she remembers it was her wife who'd talked her into this, whenever she tried to argue for travel by portal. 'It's part of the experience,' is all Ayrenn offers on her part, a notion Sielaire thinks is frivolous, but gives in to anyway. It's a frequent occurrence for one wrapped so tightly around her wife's finger.
At least Ayrenn provides her with sufficient entertainment to pass the time. Sielaire follows her around the ship as they explore the decks together, acting less as a guard, and more a self-appointed keeper who ensures Ayrenn doesn't get up to mischief…that will get her caught, anyway. Sielaire closes an eye when Ayrenn plays little pranks to keep herself amused, like tripping an annoying passenger with telekinesis, but intervenes when Ayrenn seems on the verge of doing something foolhardy – like jumping off the ship to join a group of dolphins leaping up from the sea, under the light of dawn.
Sielaire has earned a few pouts since the voyage started, and no doubt will receive more as they travel longer – be it by land or sea. As it so happens, Sielaire is expecting to get one as she searches the ship, trying to find a wife who slipped away while she was busy watching a performance by an acrobatic troupe on the main deck. Honestly, Sielaire isn't worried about Ayrenn's safety, only growing concerned when she can't find her partner after a sweep through the ship. But any suspicion of Ayrenn's mischief is put to rest, when Sielaire walks into their private cabin last, and finds Ayrenn sitting on the bed, reading an old book which seems on the verge of falling apart between the tips of her fingers.
Sielaire's surprise doesn't last long as she shuts the door, eyes falling on the book in Ayrenn's hands. She grimaces, realising why the faded cover looks so familiar…
"Just why are you reading that?" Sielaire asks, going to lie beside Ayrenn, propped up against the wall.
Ayrenn shoots her a crooked grin. "For old times' sake. You have to revisit the classics now and again…"
"That is not a classic," Sielaire points out. "It's utter trash."
"Oh, but Sie," Ayrenn says in mock reproach. "Where else can you find such an iconic line as, 'Oh, Battlereeve Sielaire! Please delve into my wet, hot cave and sate the demons of lust that dwell within!" Laughter dots Ayrenn's voice as she speaks, before breaking into a full-blown cackle. "Gods, I missed these!"
Sielaire groans, and slumps farther down the wall. This particular edition of erotica was one of the first published, and though Sielaire had managed to convince Ayrenn to toss these pieces of…'literature' she's obtained, they're now replaced with updated editions which involve the Empress and her Consort. The contents of which Sielaire knows well, because she's had the misfortune of having none other than Empress Ayrenn herself narrating the tawdry antics written in those pages.
Well, 'misfortune' being a subjective word. Though Ayrenn doesn't indulge in this too often – thankfully – she always does seem to get her way when she sets her mind to it. And past experience tells Sielaire exactly where they're heading, when she feels the press of Ayrenn's chest to her side.
"Sie…"
"Mm." Sielaire tries to sound as bored as possible, even if she knows it won't deter Ayrenn in the slightest. Maybe spur her on, even.
"Do you feel in the mood for…chapter 12?"
Ayrenn's voice has dipped to a lower timbre, and Sielaire has to focus to keep her mind straight. Frowning to herself, Sielaire discovers that she had successfully purged parts of the erotica from her mind, because she can't recall what 'chapter 12' entails.
Sielaire sighs. "Do I dare ask what that means?"
Ayrenn's soft chuckle sends puffs of breath over Sielaire's jaw as her wife inches closer, hand trailing up beneath Sielaire's shirt. "Oh, Battlereeve. Please," Ayrenn recites huskily into Sielaire's ear, which twitches. "Please plunge your strong, thick blade into my wet, quivering sheath…"
Sielaire snorts a laugh, but when she next draws breath, it's just a bit more difficult. She doesn't resist when Ayrenn takes her hand, presses her palm against a thigh, and slides it ever upward.
"I've been waiting for you," Ayrenn murmurs, lips caressing a sensitive ear, and Sielaire wonders dimly if she'd memorised the lines just for this occasion. "I want you to fill me…up to the hilt–"
Ayrenn breaks off, chuckling when more laughs escape from Sielaire's lips. She pecks Sielaire on the cheek, then catches her in a quick kiss. "So?"
"This is ridiculous."
"You say that, Sie." Ayrenn parts her thighs further, adjusting Sielaire's hand where it's nestled in between. She pushes against the back of Sielaire's fingers, which presses up against her, through the fabric of her pants. "But you're still here."
"I can't go anywhere with you holding me down," Sielaire deadpans, though she adds more pressure with her fingers, half-wishing there was no barrier between them.
"If you're going to lie, dearest. You'll have to try harder."
A smirk – lascivious and hard – curves Ayrenn's lips. Sielaire cannot look away from Ayrenn, as her hand is guided up, then down past the waistband. Her fingers slide home at the juncture between Ayrenn's thighs, and she strokes the dampness there – once. Then she stays still, and Ayrenn rises to the challenge in earnest.
"Stubborn," Ayrenn breaths, just a hairsbreadth from Sielaire's lips, before she ghosts over her wife's cheek, and hovers by the ear. "But I know exactly what will make you break." She moves Sielaire's fingers, stroking herself by proxy.
Sielaire has to force herself to take a breath, already feeling giddy from the steel in Ayrenn's voice.
"You're mine, Sielaire. You've always been mine," Ayrenn intones in her ear. "And you will give me. What I want."
A swallow through a throat suddenly dry. Ayrenn guides her fingers again, stroking the core which grows wetter as Ayrenn uses her, and grinds slowly against her palm.
"Do you know what I want, Sie?" Ayrenn has changed tack, a breathy quality mixing with the husky command in her voice. "What I need. Sielaire…" She grinds fully against Sielaire's hand, moaning ever so softly, so sweetly, when she angles her hips just so. "I need you. I need you to take me. Claim me. Fuck me. Make me yours–"
Ayrenn gasps, body tightening when Sielaire drives two fingers into her, winning the challenge in a single heartbeat. Or did she lose, breaking just how Ayrenn wants her? No matter. Sielaire pumps her fingers into her wife, who moans and keens at the pace she has set, hips bucking involuntarily against her. She clamps an arm around Ayrenn's waist, holding her in place as she drives into Ayrenn relentlessly – then pulls out without warning.
Ayrenn's eyes snap open, and her hips haven't stopped moving, searching for Sielaire's hand, when she is shoved down to the bed. Sielaire yanks Ayrenn's pants off, and sinks her fingers back in before her wife can react. Ayrenn keens again, a pitched whine in the back of her throat as her body arches. Sielaire has to refrain herself from letting go, and bends down to give Ayrenn a single kiss.
Her wife's eyes are clouded as they stare back up at her, overtaken by lust, yet still bearing a glint of triumph. Sielaire smiles faintly, love buoying in her chest, before it is smothered with a harder desire.
"Prepare that pretty little mouth of yours, darling," Sielaire purrs, slick and dangerous. "You will beg before I'm through with you."
After an entire month spent on the seas, the sight of Telvanni mushroom towers looming in the distance is a welcome sight, even if odd and foreign. Sielaire sits on a bench with Ayrenn, bags set on the floor as they wait for the ship to moor at the docks. The rest of the passengers stream up to the main deck as the ship sails to a smooth stop, and the ramp is finally set down. A jovial call from the captain, and his passengers take the cue to start disembarking.
Slinging the travel bags onto their shoulders, Sielaire stands and takes Ayrenn's hand which has slipped into hers. They join the crowd strolling down the ramp, and catch the eye of the captain, who bellows to them a hearty farewell – conveying thanks to the Altmer pair who has helped his crew repel two pirate attacks on his ship. Sielaire nods at him, while Ayrenn smiles and waves, before the crowd blocks the captain from view.
Making their way from the docks without hurry, Sielaire follows Ayrenn's lead as her wife ventures farther into town, looking for the inn recommended to them by fellow travelers on the ship. Sielaire eyes the Telvanni guards patrolling the roads, but forces herself to relax; the last time she was in Morrowind, Sielaire had been guarding the Queen while she met with the Tribunal in talks for peace. Tensions were high, and the sight of any armed Dunmer set Sielaire on alert, ready for any sudden movements towards the Queen.
Of course, her severe caution is unnecessary while they're incognito, but it's a habit that is hard to break. Not that she ever intends to break it.
Sielaire looks at the giant mushroom tower to the east, guessing it to be a town hall of sorts, and turns to Ayrenn for confirmation. Her wife had spent some time in Morrowind before, and possesses more knowledge on the Dunmer – which she seems disinclined to share at the moment.
Ayrenn's eyes are fixed on the display of cages set up beneath the shade of a large mushroom cap, the solid metal bars holding one or two captives each. Khajiit and Argonian make up the majority, with a few mer and humans tossed into the mix for some diversity – no, for choice. Distaste wells up in Sielaire as she eyes the heavy slave shackles on their wrists and ankles, and notes their various states of undress which shows off their physique. Blood pumps quicker in her veins, and she has to tear her eyes away from the display.
A glance at Ayrenn – who is now frowning at the slave merchant – and she tugs on her wife's hand. There's slight resistance at first, but Ayrenn relents, turning her head as they walk towards the town centre. Making sure to keep a good grip on Ayrenn so she won't fly off to cause trouble, Sielaire casts her eyes around and finds the mug-and-sword sign hanging at the entrance of a large inn, built with stones to cater to foreign tastes.
They rent a room for two nights, and head up to set their bags down. Sielaire digs into her pack for her coinpouch, then straps a sword to her hip – just in case. When she looks up, she doesn't find Ayrenn similarly preparing for a short walk through town. Instead, her wife stands at the open window, staring at the corner where the slave cages are half-hidden from view by the market.
"Renn, you ready?" Sielaire asks, hoping to break the intensity that has fallen over Ayrenn's features. But she doesn't react, staring with a scowl on her face, eyes hard and hateful.
"It's been outlawed for so long. Even back in the Pact," Ayrenn mutters to herself, pressing knuckles to her mouth in thought. "Telvanni, Dres. There must be a way to end this…"
The Empress is starting to emerge, and Sielaire hesitates for a moment, before walking to the window. Gently grasping Ayrenn's shoulders, she turns her wife around, and cups Ayrenn's face in both hands.
"There is a way, and you will find it when you're back in the throne. And that," Sielaire places an emphasis when Ayrenn opens her mouth to speak. "Won't be for a while yet. Unless you want to fly home this instant."
Ayrenn's lips part, and Sielaire can almost hear the argument threatening to spill over, but it's replaced by a vexed huff instead. She purses her lips, which Sielaire covers with a soft kiss.
"I know it's hard to swallow," Sielaire says when she pulls back. "But…"
"Not the time," Ayrenn utters. She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath; when she looks back at Sielaire, a smile curves her lips. "Let's grab a bite to eat, hm?"
Sielaire tilts her head and returns the smile, making a mental note to stay away from the mushroom tower.
Two days and nights pass without incident, and on the third morning, their packs are refilled and their map marked with plenty of details that will help them navigate the area. So they set off on a trek with confident gaits, sharing a companionable silence as they walk down the road. Occasionally venturing off the paved stones, they help each other over an earthy terrain with endless slopes, as if the waves of the ocean have been captured in likeness by hard soil. There is a slight ashy tinge to the air, but Sielaire doesn't take it for granted – she knows from experience that the air will only get worse the closer they travel to Vvardenfell.
The morning passes quickly, and they don't stop for lunch, choosing to sate themselves with the cake and guar strips they've purchased from the market. Sielaire has just shoved the rest of the cake into her mouth, when Ayrenn suddenly grabs her arm, holding her in place. She glances at her wife curiously, noting the frown creasing Ayrenn's brows – when she hears it. The cut of a whip through air, the painful impact on flesh, and the harsh barks in Dunmeris.
Sielaire's heart beats quicker, and she tries to move in a direction away from the sound, but it's too late – Ayrenn is already pulling her towards the commotion. They stop and kneel behind a cluster of bushes, peering over the leaves to watch a small slave caravan being pulled over sparse grass by a trio of guar, escorted by a handful of guards. A slaver stalks around the caravan on the back of his horse, barking and lashing a whip at his 'cargo' for no apparent reason but his own pleasure.
The soft hiss of a blade against its well-oiled sheath catches Sielaire's attention, and she shoots a warning glance at Ayrenn, who's already gripping her sword at ready.
"Renn, please."
"Either follow me, or stay here. Your choice," Ayrenn says curtly, and wrenches her arm from Sielaire's hand, which has reached out to grab her.
"Renn!" Sielaire whispers urgently, even as she draws her own sword as well, knowing full well how this will end.
Ayrenn rises to her feet and skirts around the perimeter, sneaking under the shade of trees until she flanks the caravan. Sielaire opts to stay behind the bushes, watching Ayrenn stalk her prey with feline grace, then lunge forward to sink her sword through the back of one guard. Taking the cue, Sielaire bursts from her hiding place, lightning flashing from her hand to rend through three bodies which keel over to the ground, flesh charred. The slavers have barely pulled together when Ayrenn and Sielaire descend upon them, swinging their blades with deadly accuracy, ending the battle before it can begin.
While Sielaire checks their surroundings for any witnesses, Ayrenn searches the Dunmer bodies, and finds a key with which she unlocks the caravan's gate. Five slaves walk out of their cage shakily, looking at them with wide eyes, as if in disbelief. Ayrenn unlocks the shackles binding their wrists and ankles, and heals their wounds with magic. Then she hands them a small coin purse, and tells them to run – that they are free.
A rugged-looking Argonian steps forth to clasp her hands in his own, and rumbles his thanks. He bows his head, murmuring a few short phrases in his native tongue, before smiling up at them and waving for his companions to follow.
Sielaire watches as the freed slaves fall in behind the Argonian, who leads them towards the shade of the trees with confidence. She suspects the Argonian has some woodsman expertise, as he is quick to teach his fellows how to blend into the foliage. The Argonian looks back at them, gives them one last grateful wave, before slinking farther into the trees with his group.
"See?" Ayrenn says, hands on her hips as she looks at Sielaire. "Didn't take more than a few minutes."
Sielaire raises her eyes skywards, feeling a brief flicker of frustration before relief takes its place. "Don't get cocky. We won't be this lucky all the time."
"I know," Ayrenn concedes. She slings an arm around Sielaire's, and pecks her on the cheek. "And thank you for helping."
"Your wish is always my command, Your Majesty," Sielaire grumbles under her breath, sheathing her sword. "For better or worse."
"Surely for better, Sie. At least, I'll try to make it so." Ayrenn smiles.
Sielaire sighs, unable to feel upset as she gazes back at her wife's happy visage. She runs a hand down Ayrenn's black locks, and presses a kiss to her temple – all is forgiven after a promise made. It probably won't hold for too long, but Sielaire still appreciates Ayrenn's intent.
She glances back at the empty caravan behind them, and the bodies lying around it. Blood rightfully spilled, in Sielaire's opinion, but others may not share her view – and the thought sparks an urgency in her gut.
"Let's go," Sielaire says, nodding at the road. "Before anyone stumbles across this."
"Thinking like a criminal now, hm?" Ayrenn teases her, as they stride briskly away from the scene. "I could teach you a few more tricks…"
"Don't push your luck, dearest."
"Oh, you'll give in, my darling," Ayrenn croons. "You always do."
A/N: Seems it'll be a while before I slow down...habit amirite? Moar gey coming ;)