Composure is Battlereeve Sielaire's greatest strength; it keeps her anchored amid the tumult of battle raging on all sides, threatening to engulf her with glinting blades and flying arrows, all thirsting for her blood. Her mind whirls with endless calculation – lunging forth to land a risky blow, giving ground to lure foes into a false sense of security, suffering the bite of steel on her flesh to deliver the final blow on her opponent. Against the Redguards, to whom the dance of blades is an art form, such minute tactics are necessary to survive, to win. And Sielaire, who has broken the Redguard's flank with her Wings, gains ever more ground and sows such chaos among their foes, that even in the clash of blades, she can feel hesitation humming beneath the ferocity of Hammerfell's warriors.
It is, perhaps, this conceit which blinds her. With victory so close at hand, Sielaire throws off the trappings of caution, and darts at their foes like a vicious predator, leading her pack as they take down another foe with each swing of the blade, every scorching lance of magic. Bloodlust pounds in Sielaire's veins, and only instinct slows her down for a second, as she casts her eyes back to the Queen.
Her love, ever resplendent in blue-and-gold splattered with red, shines like a beacon through the chaos. Sunlight plays off the polished metal of her armour and crown, and heedless of her own beauty, Ayrenn fights through the endless attempts on her life, dauntless. Sielaire's heart beats with an ache that nearly matches the sting of her wounds, then freezes in the heat of battle.
Ayrenn comes to an abrupt halt in her deadly dance, shoulders jerking forward as she stares unseeing at the soldiers before her. Sielaire is mystified, until she spots the wooden shaft of an arrow jutting from Ayrenn's unarmoured back, sunk too deeply for comfort. In an instant, Sielaire's mind switches to the defensive. But as she takes a step towards her Queen, suffering a sword wound on the arm in her distraction, another sight stops her in her tracks.
Quick as lightning, a Redguard warrior flies forward to plunge the thick blade of his spear into Ayrenn's gut. She staggers backward, blood dribbling from her lips as blue magicka gathers in her free hand, and Sielaire's cry splits the air.
Calm shattered, Sielaire doesn't pay mind to Earilas tackling down her own opponent. With magic and blade, the battlereeve carves her way through the field of soldiers in her want, in her need to be with her beloved. Green lightning recedes as Sielaire nears Ayrenn, who has blown her opponent back, the spear ripped from her body in the same motion. Blood seeps through her tunic immediately, dripping beneath punctured armour. Ayrenn seems shaken, head turning to Sielaire, who catches her before she can fall to the ground.
Sielaire grips onto Ayrenn's body, as the Queen's shaking fingers scrabble briefly at her cheek, then clutches at her collar.
"Sie," Ayrenn rasps after a wet cough.
"Hush. Hush, love," Sielaire breathes. She glances around when a war horn blares in the distance – a signal for the Redguards to retreat. As Dominion soldiers start tightening ranks around their Queen, Sielaire sets Ayrenn on the ground, sitting upright while leaning heavily against Sielaire's chest.
"I'm–"
"Hush, love," Sielaire repeats, as she slices off a scarf hanging from her back. "Please."
Head growing light when blood from Ayrenn's mouth drips onto her hand, Sielaire loops the thick scarf around Ayrenn's stomach, and tightens the makeshift bandage with a sharp tug on both ends – ripping a breathless cry from Ayrenn's lips.
"Stay with me. Renn, focus." Panic rises in Sielaire when Ayrenn's head lolls against hers. She quickly cuts off a portion of the arrow shaft jutting from Ayrenn's back. She prays it isn't so, but knows the arrow is buried too deep to have missed the lung.
"Sie," Ayrenn croaks through a slow, rattling inhale, her death grip on Sielaire's uniform losing strength. "Can't…breathe…"
Sielaire nearly breaks, but hope overshadows despair as she looks up at the horse Earilas has brought to her. Her lieutenant bends down, and together they lift the Queen onto the saddle, where Sielaire joins her.
"We'll be on your heels," Earilas says, and Sielaire nods, though her eyes are not on him.
Ayrenn's gaze is clouded over, stubbornly fixed on Sielaire, even as her shoulders tremble with the effort of taking painful, stuttering breaths. Sielaire guides Ayrenn's head onto her shoulder, and winces in sympathy when Ayrenn gasps quietly from the sudden, jerking motion of the horse running forward.
The ride back to camp is torturous for the Queen – Ayrenn groans at the constant jostle of the arrowhead in her, occasionally coughing up blood, before she loses enough energy that she cannot respond to the jolts of pain anymore. Sielaire's heart beats close to bursting, and she doesn't stop even when she tears through the camp on horseback, only coming to a halt before the Queen's tent.
"Healer!" Sielaire bellows at no one in particular, but it doesn't matter – as she dismounts and carefully slides Ayrenn from the saddle, the rest of the camp echoes her command in ever-rising volumes, quickly reaching an urgency that brings a squad of healers to the tent.
They follow Sielaire inside, and barely wait for her to finish setting Ayrenn on the ground, before wresting matters from her hands. Panic overtakes Sielaire again when she realises she doesn't want to be parted from her beloved, gripping futilely onto Ayrenn's limp hand as another healer takes her firmly by the shoulders, and guides her away. Ayrenn's eyes have fallen shut when Sielaire loses grip, and her throat tightens as the healer pushes her out of the tent.
"Is she–?"
Her hoarse question remains unfinished. The last thing Sielaire glimpses is the healers unbuckling Ayrenn's armour, before the tent flaps are pulled shut, blocking the Queen from view. Sielaire stands dumbly before the tent, fear squeezing her heart tight, her mind imprinted with the image of Ayrenn's pale complexion and the blood dripping down her chin. She has to leave, but she doesn't want to – what if something happens? What if Ayrenn needs her? She needs to be there for her wife…
Sielaire nearly reaches for the tent flaps, when a hand lands on her shoulder. She jerks her head around to find Earilas peering at her in concern. His dirt-smeared face and flyaway blonde hair brings a modicum of sense back to her mind. Growing aware of the tightness in her throat, the dampness of her eyes, Sielaire swallows painfully and averts her gaze.
"Ma'am. Are you alright?"
Lips parting soundlessly, Sielaire glances back at the tent. Fear which had rooted her to the ground, suddenly pushes her away with an urgency burning deep within her chest. A coward's fear, Sielaire recognises in the back of her mind, but it takes hold of her, and she surrenders.
"I–, I'll take a few with me…secure the area."
She sounds far away, lost, and Earilas frowns in concern. "Ma'am, you are in no condition to–" He seems to swallow his words when Sielaire shoots him a glare. "I am perfectly capable of that task. I will patrol, while you hold the fort."
"No." Sielaire's voice slowly regains strength. "I will patrol." She glances back at the tent, reluctance still biting deep. But her presence here will make no difference, for better or worse…
She shakes her head free of imagination before it turns darker. Drawing a breath, Sielaire squares her shoulders in a picture of false confidence. "Send the signal if…anything goes wrong."
Earilas looks at her longer, then nods. "Yes, ma'am."
Sielaire regrets her decision the moment she steps out of camp. The thought of Ayrenn lying amid a huddle of healers tears at her, and though Sielaire knows she cannot help in any way, the protective part of her demands that she return to her Queen's side, to be close at hand for her beloved. But the choice is made, and Sielaire accepts the consequence of her impulsiveness, making the best of a flawed decision. She sets a modified patrol route to cover a larger area around the command camp, just in case the Redguards have sent spies to circle around where they expect a dead body to appear soon. She clenches her jaw at the thought, but it seems her caution is warranted, as she spots and chases away a few shadows in the distance – all of them too tall to pass as a creature.
Despite the sightings, their patrol ends on a peaceful note when night falls, though Sielaire's heart beats quicker as she hands the shift to the next commander. Her body still aches from wounds healed with her own spells, and her uniform is dirty from the day's battle, but Sielaire doesn't stop on her way towards the Queen's tent. The soldiers are going about their business as usual, which Sielaire takes to be a good sign, and she glances at the group drinking around a campfire before slipping through the tent flaps discretely.
In the darkness, Sielaire makes out the shape of Ayrenn lying in her bedroll, tucked in neatly by whoever had attended to her last. She lays a hand gently on top of the woollen covers, taking comfort in the slow rise and fall of Ayrenn's chest. Her wife is well. The revelation soothes the tension in Sielaire, who reaches for the lantern beside Ayrenn's bedroll, and lights it with a simple spark of flame from her fingertip. The candle catches and casts a dim glow, though Sielaire is satisfied that it won't disturb Ayrenn from her slumber. She looks back at her wife – and starts in mute surprise when she finds tired blue eyes gazing up at her.
"Renn," Sielaire whispers, bending down. "You were–, did I wake you?"
Ayrenn shakes her head, weak smile curving her lips to match Sielaire's. It's hard to see, but Ayrenn still appears pale beneath the warm light of the lantern, and she bears the lethargy to match her complexion.
"Do you need anything?" Sielaire strokes her cheek gently, and Ayrenn shakes her head again, leaning into Sielaire's touch.
Silence passes between them as Sielaire sates her wife with the simple caress, before Ayrenn draws breath audibly and says, "I thought I was going to…"
"No," Sielaire replies, a reflex too quick to catch.
Ayrenn looks up at her, smile growing lopsided. "And I didn't," she says simply, reaching up to curl weak fingers around Sielaire's wrist. "Thank you, my dear battlereeve."
You were hurt because of my inattention. Buried guilt rises, but the apology catches in her throat, Sielaire knowing Ayrenn will rebuff it. So she settles for another soft smile, and bends down to kiss Ayrenn – once to comfort, twice to indulge. Despite Sielaire's grimy state, Ayrenn reaches up to clasp her nape and pull her closer, and they share another kiss before Ayrenn stops suddenly. Sielaire pauses, confused at her distraction, then remembers something when a mewl floats from the hood behind her head.
A thin, scruffy kitten pokes its head out from behind Sielaire's ear, clinging onto the mer's clothes with its claws so it won't fall off at that awkward angle.
"Oh, Sie," Ayrenn sighs. "Not another one."
Sielaire blushes, breaking into a sheepish smile. "Well…"
"Picking up random cats was what got you into trouble in Elsweyr back then." Ayrenn has to breathe twice in the sentence, but it doesn't deter her lecture.
"I'm pretty sure this isn't an Alfiq," Sielaire retorts, taking the kitten from her shoulder. "Hey, nod if you're an Alfiq."
The kitten meows in response.
Ayrenn heaves another sigh. "How did you even manage to find a housecat in the middle of a desert…"
"I don't know," Sielaire says, setting the kitten down. "But it was struggling so much, so I…"
"Of course you did," Ayrenn whispers, though a smile accompanies her exasperation. She watches Sielaire play with the kitten, and allows it to clamber onto her own shoulder.
Sielaire reaches out to pet it again, but stops when she glances at her armoured arm, reminded that she is still wearing her uniform. "I'll go wash up," she says. "Or my stink will rub off on you."
"Like marking territory."
She snorts. "There are better ways to do that," Sielaire says, then notices the sly smile growing on Ayrenn's lips, tired eyes coming alight with that playful glint. Sielaire knows her wife is merely teasing, but rolls her eyes anyway and adds, "Not until you're healed."
"Cruel," Ayrenn says with a pout, replaced by a smile when Sielaire gives her another kiss. "But I still love you."
Sielaire huffs. "I love you too."
Injury is never an easy thing to bear on the warfront. It demands more from oneself, especially from a queen who has to appear steadfast and strong before her soldiers. Having suffered such fatal wounds, Ayrenn has had no choice but to accept the healers' advice, and is confined to her bedroll for the first week. Not that she argues against it – though her punctured lung and severe internal bleeding have been mended by the most potent of healing spells, Ayrenn still feels lifeless, and has to exert too much energy just to breathe properly. Most of her time is spent drifting in and out of sleep, preferably in her wife's protective arms.
By the second week, however, Ayrenn feels that her time has run short, and she forces herself to her feet despite the healers' pleading. She nearly collapses on her first attempt, but Sielaire grabs Ayrenn by the arm before she falls to her knees. Ayrenn's fingers slip between Sielaire's, gripping tightly as she commands the healers to work another spell on her, feeling the dangerous pull in her once-wounded muscles. She takes a deep, steady breath when the wave of bright golden light falls away, then smiles and gives her thanks, before releasing Sielaire's hand.
Queen Ayrenn lifts her chin, squares her shoulders, and walks out into camp dressed in simple tunic and pants, greeting soldiers who receive her presence with no small amount of relief and awe. No doubt they think the Queen has wrestled death and won, judging from the rumours Sielaire has relayed to Ayrenn, and she doesn't try to dispel that myth. Ayrenn smiles and laughs, walking among her troops until the world starts spinning around her, and she sweeps gracefully back into her tent – where she faints in Sielaire's waiting arms.
The strain upon her is immense, and it takes Ayrenn's sheer strength of will to keep herself on her feet, in a mortal struggle to appear immortal. But there is one silver lining to all this – the attentions of one battlereeve. Sielaire, who will always stay close after Ayrenn suffers so much as a simple blade stroke over her flesh, has become utterly inseparable from her. Even after Sielaire returns from a battle, bloodied and victorious, she insists on tending to a wife who has fretted in safety, callused hands handling Ayrenn as if she were priced porcelain.
Normally, Sielaire knows better than to treat her so delicately, but Ayrenn is inclined to indulge in Sielaire's need to provide care for now. She suspects she'd scared Sielaire half to death when she had sustained her injuries, and was left clinging onto Sielaire as she was carried back to safety. Ayrenn had been scared herself as well, believing that she was standing on death's doorstep, and in her dazed mind wanted only Sielaire to be the last thing she saw, before her soul departed Mundus. Perhaps Sielaire had seen her fear and resignation, and believed Ayrenn's end was nigh?
No matter. The past has gone, and now Ayrenn finds ample joy in Sielaire's soft kisses and caress, quelling her wife's remnant fears through warmth on skin. Nothing brings her so much joy as the simple, encompassing love she shares with Sielaire amid the grim uncertainty of war, and Ayrenn is thankful she's had the foresight to wed her love before joining the battle herself. But there is still one thing that bothers her, which Ayrenn hides behind a benign smile as Sielaire kisses her hand in farewell.
A month has passed while the Queen recuperated in camp, leading the Dominion from the war table, or by proxy of Razum-dar in battle, who wore a glamour in Ayrenn's guise to strike fear in Redguard troops who'd believed her dead. It had all gone smoothly, but Ayrenn has decided enough is enough – the Queen shall return to battle, personally.
In the security of the Queen's tent, Ayrenn steals one last caress over Sielaire's cheek, before the battlereeve steps back, placing that unspoken distance between them. Sielaire's stoic mien replaces all softness from her expression, save for her eyes, which linger on Ayrenn before she strides out of the tent first. Ayrenn takes a breath, then follows her out, walking to the cleared area in camp where the Fury's Wings are waiting by their steeds.
They've crafted a plan to lay siege on Hammerfell's largest field camp, the last obstacle standing between them and the city of Alik'r, and Sielaire's dragoons have been tasked to launch a surprise attack from the flank. Due to the Redguard's meticulous patrol routes over the deserts, Sielaire has to lead her dragoons to a safe spot far from their target, and even farther away from the Dominion army, where they will lay in wait until the assault begins. Sielaire will be separated from Ayrenn for a few days at least, and when they next meet, it'll be in the thick of battle with their lives at risk once more.
Ayrenn feels a twinge at the thought, but restrains herself as Sielaire checks the harness on her horse, and the packs of supplies it carries. Then the battlereeve turns around, face straight, and knocks a fist over her heart in salute – such a perfect picture of a proud, professional commander, that it snaps Ayrenn's will to pretend any longer.
"Sielaire," Ayrenn says, taking her by surprise when she reaches for the saddle.
Sielaire turns back to Ayrenn, and doesn't have time to react before Ayrenn reaches for her nape, guiding her in for a gentle kiss. Ayrenn feels Sielaire's surprise in the stiffness of her lips, gifted with the favour of the Queen in plain sight of their soldiers. Sielaire's lips tremble in a brief moment of indecision – so much like her uncertainty in their very first kiss – before pressing back to Ayrenn's.
The kiss is brief, but deep enough to leave Ayrenn weak when they part. She looks up into verdant eyes, and is thoroughly amused by the stunned gaze fixed on her.
Raising her hand to cup Sielaire's cheek, she says, "Go with the grace of Auri-El, beloved."
Sielaire's lips part, but no reply comes. It only amuses Ayrenn even more, as Sielaire jerks her head in a nod, then climbs onto her horse as if in a daze. The battlereeve sits motionless in the saddle for a few moments, before barking out a command – a chorus of leather and steel, then a roar from the Wings answers her. Another command from Sielaire, and the Wings stream out from camp at a healthy gallop. Sielaire steers her horse after her soldiers, going off at a slower trot. She casts one last glance back at Ayrenn, who gives her a nod, before she turns her gaze to the front and takes off along with her dragoons.
Ayrenn watches them for a while, before turning to walk back into camp, purposefully avoiding the curious stares that follow her. She nearly breaks into a grin, pleased after her audacious claim on the battlereeve, but she's saved from the effort of self-control when Razum-dar sidles up beside her.
"Well," Raz purrs, voice low so they won't be overhead as they walk to the command tent. "If our foes start targeting Sie…we'll know there are spies among us."
Ayrenn's heart drops – she has painted a target on Sielaire's back.
Damn it.
Vexation surges in her chest, but she settles for clasping both hands behind her back, one clenching the other so tightly it hurts. Ayrenn takes a breath, and composes herself. "Just as well," Ayrenn replies, in the most casual tone she can muster. "Then you'll know where to start investigating."
"Oh, you're going to work this old cat to death," Raz laments, throwing his hands up.
"You're not that old yet, Raz," Ayrenn points out, regarding her friend with fondness. "And you're not allowed to die on me just yet."
Razum-dar chuckles, tail flicking approvingly behind him. "Raz wouldn't dare dream of it, kitten."
The day's battle is won, though not before it has left its mark on both the Queen and her battlereeve. Ayrenn has suffered a few sword strokes over her arms and torso, while Sielaire bears many more all over her body. But they've both declined the healers' attention, insisting that they tend to the severely-injured first. Sielaire cleans and binds Ayrenn's wounds herself, then lets Ayrenn tend to her as well. When they've tidied up well enough, they don't take a moment to rest just yet. Instead, they meet a certain Khajiit spymaster behind the camp, where he waits with a backpack on his shoulders, ready to travel in preparation for their last and most important battle in Hammerfell.
"Be careful, kitten," Razum-dar says, as Ayrenn releases him from the hug. "Don't take unnecessary risks, and don't overtax your wife. She's taken enough damage protecting you."
"I know, Raz. Don't need to guilt me anymore," Ayrenn huffs.
"Sometimes, you need it," Raz sighs, clasping Sielaire's hand in farewell. "Now, Raz really needs to go. He's overstayed here…and sneezing quite a bit. Cariel must be cursing his name already."
Raz grins and tosses a casual salute, turning away to start his march into the deserts. Sielaire watches him go, concerned that he's setting on a trek in the dark of night, though she knows he's capable of traversing these deserts, which are similar to the sands in his homeland.
She smiles faintly, remembering Raz's casual reassurances, before thoughts of the Khajiit is banished when Ayrenn reaches for her hand. Sielaire looks to her wife, who tilts her head and starts leading the way back to camp, their steps slow and unhurried. She finds solace in Ayrenn's simple touch, and is reluctant to let go as they near the torch-lit vicinity of the Dominion camp – that's when she remembers, a question she has forgotten from a week ago.
"Renn," Sielaire says, and Ayrenn slows to a stop, looking at her curiously. "About…" She nods at the camp, and adds, "Us. What you did?"
Ayrenn smiles, catching her meaning. "Now they know."
"But–," Sielaire stutters. "You cannot afford to…"
"I can. And I have." Ayrenn looks at her with such resolve, that Sielaire is ready to give in. "I have chosen you, Sie. I will have no one else." She takes Sielaire by the hands, and tugs her close. "I love you with all my heart, and I won't hide it any longer."
Sielaire averts her eyes briefly. "It may not be the wisest move."
Ayrenn gazes at her in silence, then arches a brow playfully. "To let them know I'm taken? Why, Sie... Do you want them to think I'm still available?"
Green eyes snap back to her. "No," Sielaire says quickly, though she grows quiet in thought. "But I don't want to jeopardise your position."
"You won't, Sie. I promise."
Though Ayrenn is confident, Sielaire's soft gaze is still tinged with resignation, and a hint of doubt. Breathing a sigh, Ayrenn cups her cheek, and presses a kiss to Sielaire's lips. Her wife returns the kiss gladly, strong arm circling around Ayrenn's waist, pulling her close, kiss deepening with a tilt of Sielaire's head. Ayrenn starts to melt under the firmness of Sielaire's kisses, and whines under her breath when her wife pulls away, drawing a smile from Sielaire.
"I know you well enough by now," Sielaire says softly. "You'll tell me you have a plan for this. But you really don't, do you?"
"No," Ayrenn admits. "I know many things, Sielaire. But not all. And I don't know what may come of this, but I have vowed to let nothing tear you away from me." She takes a breath, knowing how empty her words feel despite their weight. "Trust in me, Sie. Please."
"I do," Sielaire replies, a gentle curve on her lips. "I do trust you."
Ayrenn laughs under her breath, relieved. "Even if you know I have no plan?"
"I am quite the fool, it seems," Sielaire sighs.
"A fool in love," Ayrenn croons, kissing her once more. "But aren't we all?"