The sun had set two hours ago, but this tavern on the coast west of Alinor is still brightly lit with torches, burning with magical fires. One particular corner of this tavern's docks enjoys the best illumination, thanks to the prestige of its current guests. Sielaire can view each and every one of her soldiers' faces with ease under the moonlit sky, where they are gathered for a celebratory feast, courtesy of a commander who had promised one for all who'd survived the war. They listen to her attentively, eyes tracking Sielaire as she paces slowly before them.
"We have walked a long and difficult path to reach where we are now. To stand at home, victorious. But we have lost many of our companions, friends, and partners along the way. And for some of us, our ears." Sielaire reaches out as she passes one table, and ruffles the platinum-blonde scruff that is Earilas' hair, eliciting laughs from the rest. Earilas has lost half of one ear in the war – a bad enough disfigurement by Summerset standards, made worse by the many scars he now bears. He's never been perturbed by it, but smiles sheepishly from the attention now.
"Let us not forget the sacrifice of the fallen, nor the sacrifices we have made. But let's not dwell on our losses tonight. Divines know we'll have too much time to do that later." Sielaire sighs quietly, as a few snort in understanding. "I know that some of you will retire from the military after this. It will be hard to see you go, after all we've been through. But I wish you all the best for the future, and remember – should you stay or leave, we will always be family. The Wings will always be here for you, and you are always welcome to seek us out. I will do my best for you – be it to solve a problem, or just to finish a bottle together."
Sielaire finishes a circuit around the tables, and clasps her hands behind her back. "For the rest – I'll see you back in the barracks on your next shift. That is all. Now let's–"
"Ma'am," Earilas sings from the table, and Sielaire bites back a groan. "There's only one way to end your pretty speech."
Sielaire hides a grimace, while her Wings start to hoot and whistle. "Fine." She beats a fist against her chest. "We are the Wings!"
"We soar with the Queen's fury!" comes the thunderous reply, attracting glances from the rest of the patrons.
A battle cry which works wonders for morale just before a battle, and is just a bit silly to do in a civilian setting, but Sielaire huffs in amusement as her soldiers cheer, then dig into the feast laid out before them. She walks to the first table and takes her place at its head, sitting with the elite squad which has followed her through the war without fatal casualties. A glass of wine is already poured for her, and Sielaire sips at it, listening to the squad chatter on animatedly.
Sielaire is known for many things – strategy and martial prowess being some of the few – but words are not one of them. Already used to her quiet presence, the squad continues chatting as the night grows darker, and they start ribbing a couple in the squad who've planned to marry after the war. Sielaire doesn't pay it much mind and promises to attend their wedding, but she nearly chokes on a slice of roast when the needle turns unexpectedly onto her.
"So, Sielaire. When's your wedding happening?" Firendil asks with a smile that reveals her sharp Bosmer canines, and the whole squad turns to her with shit-eating grins on their faces.
"What wedding," Sielaire deadpans, reaching for her wine again.
"Oh, please. You couldn't act your way out of a crappy roadside play. Now spill."
Sielaire keeps her face impassive, holding fast under the attention. Her affair with the Queen is the company's worst kept secret, but only this squad has the faintest inkling of how deep their relationship runs. Though Sielaire has remained stubbornly silent on the matter, it doesn't take a genius to notice how she'd worried and lost her nerve over Ayrenn countless times during the war, and how the Queen would reciprocate her attentions.
So Sielaire sighs, and relents with a tilt of the head. "There may be...changes in the future. Major changes. And I would appreciate your support then."
"That's as good as a 'yes' coming from her!" Firendil exclaims, raising her own glass. "To all of us climbing up the gods-damned ladder, yeah?"
Sielaire rolls her eyes, but lifts her own glass with the rest, unaware of the grin on her lips.
When Sielaire next opens her eyes, she doesn't remember when she'd gone to sleep, and just how did she end up in her own office?
She squints from the sunlight streaming through glass windows, then closes her eyes, turning her head away from the sun. The world sways around her, and Sielaire becomes aware of how heavy and cotton-wrapped her head feels, like she's swimming in the fog of a hangover–
Right.
Her squad had taken up the years-old challenge of outdrinking their commander last night. Sielaire remembers tossing away an empty mug before falling into her seat, and slumping onto the table where she curled up with an arm around her head, refusing to drink anymore as she sank into unconsciousness. They'd finally drank her under, alright – but only because they'd teamed up against her, and could spare many bodies dropping to the floor before Sielaire did.
Gods, does she feel like slapping them all now. Her head is killing her…
Sielaire drifts into a light doze, then rouses some time later. But it can't be much later, given how bright the sunlight still is, as Sielaire cracks her eyes open under its glare. Mustering the will to move even the slightest bit, Sielaire turns her head and casts a bleary eye over her office – and finds most of the squad similarly spread out on the floor, fast asleep. Only Earilas is sitting up, propped against the wall with the very expression of regret on his face.
He catches her eye, and only bothers to keep contact briefly before shutting his eyes again. "We carried you back last night," he rasps, knowing Sielaire's unspoken question. "All of us. More like dragged, really…"
Sielaire groans, now regarding the dull throbs on her limbs with understanding. She shifts a little on the carpet, then gives up and tries to let her body recover. Waiting a few more minutes, Sielaire pushes her throat to work. "So...breakfast?"
The squad surprises her with a loud groan in unison – she'd thought they were still knocked out cold, given how inert their bodies are.
"I'll take that as a yes," Sielaire mutters, closing her eyes again. "We'll move in...five minutes. Ten."
"Fuck you," moans one soldier, who obviously doesn't want to move just yet – not even for breakfast.
"Latrines."
"Think of something new, ma'am," Firendil replies. "Latrines are getting old as shit."
"Fuck off," Sielaire utters, the most eloquent retort she can muster without the energy needed to kick Firendil's ass.
Only a full hour later do the soldiers manage to drag themselves to their feet, then shuffle over to the closest tavern to fill their stomachs with some food. Then it's a matter of seeing them back to the barracks, and going to the seaside tavern to check that the Wings hadn't caused any damage, before Sielaire finally trudges up to the palace. It's just past noon when Sielaire staggers into Ayrenn's room, veers away from the bed at the last second, and crashes into the sofa by the hearth. Resting her heavy head on a cushion and hugging another, Sielaire falls asleep almost immediately.
It's in the early evening that Sielaire rouses from her long nap, and she lies motionless on the sofa, staring blankly at the cold logs in the fireplace, wondering which era she'd woken in. A quiet shuffle of papers catches her attention, and Sielaire cranes her neck to find Ayrenn sitting at the study desk, gathering a stack of papers into a folder. She must've made an attempt to speak, because her lips are parted, and a rasp escapes her throat, turning Ayrenn's head.
Her love smiles, and Sielaire gazes upon Ayrenn's beautiful visage until her will gives out, sending her head back to the cushion.
"Finally awake?" Ayrenn says, voice sweet to Sielaire's still-sensitive ears. "I'd thought you were in a coma."
"That sounds nice," Sielaire mumbles, and Ayrenn laughs.
"You're in quite a state, aren't you? I heard the Wings finally managed to drink you under the table last night."
"That's a lie."
"I doubt it. Word came from a very reliable source."
Sielaire turns her face up, forcing her eyes open. "Who."
"No one you need care about," Ayrenn croons, leaning down to kiss her. She brushes their lips together once, then scrunches her nose and pulls away. "Oh, your breath stinks, Sie. As a matter of fact, you smell like a brewery. Someone needs to wash up," she sings.
Sielaire whines in her throat, and turns her face back into the cushion.
"Come now, don't stink up my cushions as well." Ayrenn slides her hand under Sielaire's head, and lifts it gently. Then she clasps Sielaire's shoulder and helps her sit up. "Let's get you cleaned up, hm?"
Sielaire groans and tries to slump back onto the sofa, but Ayrenn has grabbed her hands, and starts pulling her up. Sielaire rises to her feet, trying valiantly to keep upright by herself, before she crumples onto Ayrenn, hugging her wife for support.
"I suppose you need help getting to the bathroom?"
"Yes…" Sielaire mumbles into Ayrenn's shoulder, which shakes from her love's fond chuckle.
A week later, Sielaire is kept busy planning troop deployment not only in Summerset, but in the rest of Tamriel as well. She has drafted a proposal, and is just delivering it to Ayrenn's office, where she finds Alwinarwe engaged in a discussion with the Queen. There is an ambassador present as well, one Sielaire has seen around the palace often, but never had cause to speak with. All three women turn to watch her as she walks in.
Sielaire bows. "Your Majesty, I have the deployment plan you requested," she says, then glances at the rest. "I apologise if I'd interrupted your discussion."
"It's alright, Sielaire," Ayrenn replies, gesturing for Sielaire to place the scroll on her desk. "Have you ever met Ambassador Ilensariel?"
She turns to regard the ambassador. "I have seen her around, but we've never had the chance to speak," she says with a courteous bow of the head.
"Likewise, Battlereeve," Ilensariel says with a similar bow, voice smooth. "But it is good to see you now. I haven't had the chance to congratulate your victory in Markarth. I've heard it was quite the duel."
Sielaire hides a grimace, knowing the ambassador's kind intention. "Word about it has gotten...exaggerated. It was a fight like any other."
Ilensariel laughs. "It may be so to you. But to many, it was an inspiring battle. Do not underestimate what you have done for morale."
Sielaire smiles politely and nods. "Then I shall not, Ambassador."
Ilensariel tilts her head, then turns back to Ayrenn. "Since the Battlereeve is here, Your Majesty, I shall take my leave."
"Actually, wait," Ayrenn says. "I think Sielaire's arrival is quite timely. You see." She looks to Sielaire. "We were just discussing our plans for sending the first wave of envoys on preliminary diplomatic missions."
Ilensariel nods, perking up at the subject. "It will be no easy feat to establish dialogue so soon, considering that we gained control through conquest."
"We must send only our best, then," Sielaire replies.
"And that is where Ilensariel comes in," Ayrenn says. "She will be leading this effort."
Sielaire frowns at the ambassador. "But aren't you the Proxy Queen's personal advisor? Aren't you needed here?"
"Yes," Alwinarwe replies in Ilensariel's stead. "But the situation calls for a slight change...for now. Ilensariel's experience with other cultures is one of the most extensive among our diplomats. And, she is one of the most reliable. Our endeavour will have little chance of going awry in her hands."
Ilensariel smiles brightly. "You flatter me, Your Majesty."
Alwinarwe cocks a brow. "It is merely a statement of truth."
Sielaire catches Ayrenn's eye, and they share a quiet moment which leaves them both biting on their bottom lip, determined not to break into smiles. Alwinarwe had chosen Ilensariel as a personal advisor since Ayrenn opened Summerset's borders. After returning from Cyrodiil, Sielaire is surprised to hear that the Proxy Queen has fostered a close friendship with the ambassador. She thinks it's nice that Alwinarwe, who typically keeps a distance from her peers and subjects, has opened up to someone. Ayrenn, on the other hand, thinks it is something else…
Sielaire clears her throat, grounding herself. "I must point out that this endeavour will be dangerous for our envoys. As Ilensariel said – we won through conquest. The air of rebellion may be thick in some regions. If they are angry enough, they may strike at our ambassadors to make a statement."
"A challenge, then," Ilensariel says without hesitation. "I do so love challenges."
Though Sielaire is wary of the ambassador's enthusiasm, she finds herself admiring that boldness. "If I may – I can arrange security detail to ensure your people's safety during your travels."
"That will be wonderful, Battlereeve." Ilensariel replies, a grin breaking through her composure. At a wave of Ayrenn's hand, she bows and offers a farewell, before leaving the office.
Silence falls over them when the door is shut, then Alwinarwe speaks, "Sielaire is right. Our envoys will bear great risk in traveling to other territories so soon."
"Don't worry, Alwin," Ayrenn drawls, leaning back in her chair. "We will take care of Ilensariel's safety."
Keeping a discrete eye on the Proxy Queen, Sielaire watches as Alwin seems to wince faintly beneath her calm facade.
"I don't just mean her safety," Alwinarwe replies evenly. "All of them face equal danger."
"Of course," Ayrenn says placatingly. "But I know you, my dear. Just like me, you take good care of your closest friends."
Alwin's eyes narrow by just a fraction, then she sighs at Ayrenn's laugh, shaking her head in defeat.
"Well then! I've been in this seat for nearly four hours." Ayrenn rises from the chair, and stretches. "Shall we move to the parlour? I'm dying for some cakes and tea."
"Um." Sielaire shuffles uncertainly back towards the door, when Ayrenn looks at her in silent invitation. "I still have some things to see to."
"Nonsense. What could be more important than your Queen?"
Alwin clicks her tongue disapprovingly. "You're impeding her work, Ayrenn."
"I am caring for her well-being, Alwin." Ayrenn saunters over to Sielaire, stroking her cheek. "You work too much, Sie. You need to take a break more often. Preferably with me."
Sielaire laughs, leaning in when Ayrenn clasps her nape, and shares a kiss with her wife. "I suppose I could make some time…"
Alwinarwe snorts softly, walking to the door. "She's leading you astray, Sielaire."
Sielaire smiles, taking Ayrenn's hand. "And I offer no protest."
"See, Alwin? Sie loves me so."
"A little too much, if you ask me." Alwinarwe rolls her eyes, then composes herself and opens the door.
Despite Ayrenn's claims, Sielaire does take breaks often – though her love doesn't notice it, as she always steals those moments between activities. Be it to sit in her office for a few minutes before heading to the training grounds, or to take a stroll along more peaceful routes to functions or meetings. This time, Sielaire is heading back to Ayrenn's quarters at the end of the day, taking a longer route through the palace's gardens to relax after the day's work.
That is where she spots Ambassador Ilensariel again – Sielaire can recognise the mer anywhere, with her sandy brown hair always braided in the latest fashions, and a gleam in her chartreuse eyes which complements the easy, winning smile on her lips. Sielaire stops in her tracks, watching the ambassador stroll ahead of a group, entertaining her companions with a voice akin to a smooth lullaby. Ilensariel is beautiful, wholesomely so. In any other universe, one where Ayrenn didn't exist, Sielaire might've been tempted to approach the mer.
With uncanny timing, Ilensariel looks over at Sielaire, who nearly jumps at the sudden attention. Warmth gathers about her collar as she stuffs her private musings down, and walks to the group when Ilensariel waves her over.
Altmer, Bosmer, and Khajiit eyes rest on Sielaire as she approaches, and Ilensariel speaks, "I assume you all know Battlereeve Sielaire?"
"Ah, yes! The hero who delivered Skyrim to the Queen," says one in the group.
"They say you look fierce, but this one thinks you look quite sleek indeed," says another.
"I–, ah." Sielaire glances at Ilensariel for help, then manages a reply, "Thank you. It is a pleasure to meet all of you."
"So polite too. Such a nice package… I could just gobble you right up."
The group titters politely at the jest.
"Sielaire, these are some of the envoys who will spearhead our diplomatic endeavour," Ilensariel explains. "And I think I've kept them for much too long. Please, feel free to make your escape, my dear friends." She bows, and gestures gracefully at the palace's doors.
"Ah, Ilen, you're welcome to have us for tea as long as you want," says one envoy, patting the ambassador's arm as the group heads into the castle. "We'll see you tomorrow!"
Sielaire watches the envoys leave, then turns to Ilensariel. "Well, you did bring them to a nice place for your discussion."
Ilensariel laughs softly. "It is a peaceful environment. Besides, it was more a friendly chat than a discussion. Speaking of which – there's still some tea left. Care to join me?"
"Sure." Sielaire follows the ambassador farther into the gardens. "So, how are your plans coming along?"
"Oh, they're just forming, really. But coming together nicely. I've already sent some letters out, and so far, only the Argonians have replied," Ilensariel says as they enter the pavilion, where the tea set is still laid out.
"Interesting. I'd have thought the Argonians would be the last to respond." Sielaire takes a seat at Ilensariel's gesture.
"I'd thought so too. Honestly, I'd expected any reply to arrive much later, but the Argonians did surprise me." Ilensariel pours a cup of tea for Sielaire, then herself, and sits down with a sigh. "Their people have suffered enough under the trampling feet of others, and they would rather the world leave them alone. But – I think they grew interested when I mentioned the Queen's intention to give and ensure their independence. Freedom. And after all those years of war and slavery, I imagine they're quite eager at the prospect of self-determination."
"So it seems. The plan is just coming together, you say, and yet you are doing good work already. Alwinarwe is right – you are very capable." Sielaire smiles over the rim of her cup, as Ilensariel accepts the compliment graciously.
"I do my best, Sielaire. How can I give any less when you have done so much for the Dominion?"
"Please, let's not go there," Sielaire sighs, and Ilensariel laughs, probably aware of Sielaire's preference to be away from the limelight. "Tell me, how did you come into the Proxy Queen's employ? I've heard about your experience outside of Summerset. Some say it is rather...peculiar."
"Ah, yes. You see, I grew up in Alinor. Everywhere I looked, all I could see were Altmer, Altmer, and more Altmer. And I could hardly be satisfied with that, not when I know there's a whole world beyond the Blessed Isles, so many different people I haven't met. So I joined the Mages Guild first, to seize the chance to travel. When that wasn't enough, I apprenticed myself to an ambassador, and insisted that they should send me across Tamriel to better understand the world Summerset has to deal with…"
Sielaire listens quietly, as Ilensariel recounts interesting and funny anecdotes from her travels. She is very fluent, and peppers her stories with tasteful little exaggerations that capture one's imagination. Sielaire finds herself enjoying this time with Ilensariel, with whom it is so easy to feel familiar and comfortable. It's no stretch of the imagination that Ilensariel would have her own line of suitors…
"Something on your mind, Battlereeve?"
Sielaire blinks, realising her mind has wandered. But she doesn't think it appropriate to share her exact thoughts at the moment, and deflects the question with, "Pardon?"
Ilensariel smiles. "You wear an expression of curiosity, Sielaire. It is the same as the last time we met. May I help?"
She considers the offer, but finds it difficult to budge. "I have heard much about you," she says. "And you always seemed like…an interesting person, whom I wish to know better."
Though the smile doesn't fade, Ilensariel's eyes turn a tad sharper, as she regards Sielaire quietly. "I know what you are wondering. The Queen wonders the same thing, though she doesn't attempt to hide it quite as much."
So she knows. Sielaire nods, tapping a finger on her teacup. "Ayrenn has had it on her mind for a while now. And I must admit, I am curious. But I know enough to ask no questions that will make your position...difficult."
"Speaking from experience, are we?" Ilensariel teases, bringing the warmth back to Sielaire's collar. "But I thank you for your consideration. The Proxy Queen and I share a...strong friendship. You might say we have found kindred spirits in each other."
"I see," Sielaire replies, choosing her next words carefully. "I will not pry, but I do wish to make one thing clear. Queen Ayrenn may be my top priority, but Alwinarwe is under my care as well. That is to say, if the Proxy Queen is...compromised in any way, I shall find responsibility in it. Do you understand?"
Ilensariel stares back at her, before her practiced smile grows less guarded. "Of course, Battlereeve. I assure you – both our loyalties lie with the throne."
"Good." Sielaire sighs, taking another draught of tea. "I hope I wasn't too...aggressive."
"No, you weren't," Ilensariel assures Sielaire, then looks down at her cup of tea in thought, face turning impassive. "Though you might be a little...premature."
Sielaire raises her brows, and waits for an explanation. But Ilensariel doesn't speak further, and Sielaire doesn't pry.
The night is serene, and though the winds carry the chill of a coming rain, Sielaire doesn't mind staying out on the green slopes behind the palace. If anything, it gives her more cause to hold her love close, to rub warmth into her skin and chase the iciness from her hands.
Sielaire's gaze rests on Ayrenn as she massages her wife's hand, listening to Ayrenn talk about her day, the morsels of information she's overheard, and her plans for the coming days. The talking helps to straighten Ayrenn's thoughts, and Sielaire is content to listen while Ayrenn sets her mind in order. But her wife soon turns to her, head tilted in curiosity.
"Something on your mind, love? You've been very quiet tonight."
Sielaire smiles, playing with a lock of blonde hair. "No. I just like listening to you."
"Hm. Try again."
A huff. "I've...been thinking."
"What about?"
Sielaire takes a breath. "I just realised, there may be a day when I don't have to hide my feelings for you any longer."
"There will be a day, my dear," Ayrenn assures her, getting a smile and sigh in reply. "Not that it'll make much of a difference. It's hardly a secret that you're my lover."
"Yes, I am getting a stronger impression of that the more I speak with Ilensariel," Sielaire says, and Ayrenn cocks a brow. "Do you have any idea how many stories she knows about us? Wild stories? Gossip?"
"Of course I do. Raz reports to me, remember?" Ayrenn laughs. "Speaking of…" She leans in, murmuring, "I've heard there's a new edition of us in the market…"
Sielaire scoffs, pushing Ayrenn back. "No more erotica, Renn."
"You always say that, but I'll get them anyway." Ayrenn grins, then pecks the slight pout from Sielaire's lips. "But, in all seriousness, Sie. You'll only have to wait a little longer, then all shall know you as my consort. My soulmate."
Sielaire's breath catches, as Ayrenn's fingers trace the line of her jaw. "I'll never tire of hearing you say that," she whispers.
"Good," Ayrenn smiles, kissing her once more. "Because you'll hear it for the rest of your life."
A/N: The plot with Alwin will unfold in a separate fic, since it'll deal with a whole new subject (asexuality in Summerset society) and I want to keep this fic focused Sie/Renn. New fic coming when...I can get my brain in order. pls brain