Nights in Anequina are always crisp and cool, when the deserts are given reprieve after sunset. Ayrenn particularly enjoys venturing out into the sands at night, with the silvery moon in the sky as her guide, and the winds on her back spurring her ever onwards, taking one step after another into the unknown. On this night though, Ayrenn doesn't have the luxury to walk far. But she does push her luck – slipping out of her tent and past her guards, trekking over sand dunes until she finds a perch high enough to provide a good view of the Dominion camp.

It's such an eyesore – a bunch of identical tents pitched in neat rows, with torches burning bright to provide illumination, breaking the gentle cover of the desert's night. Ayrenn sighs as she looks at the camp, wondering not for the first time if she could go through with this. This whole…'Queen' thing. Oh, she can handle leadership, politics, and military strategy just fine, but the amount of attention and rules which have been piled on her… It makes Ayrenn want to scream and hurl her crown at the nearest person, sometimes.

With a shake of the head, Ayrenn closes her eyes, and pinches the bridge of her nose. Only when the simmering frustration has died away, does she open her eyes and scan the camp again. Despite all the new restrictions imposed by her station, Ayrenn does appreciate certain things in her new endeavour. Her allies have been few since she'd first set upon creating the Aldmeri Dominion, but as days go by, she can see many who are starting to embrace her cause and ideals. Many who've been distant at first, are starting to draw closer, willing to listen and understand her, and even work together to have a taste of what their future may be. It is a relief, and very gratifying – signs of progress which keep Ayrenn working despite the odds stacked against her.

Her sharp eyes rove over the camp, picking out select faces which have become familiar in their journey across Dominion territories, and finally come to rest on a battlereeve waiting by the makeshift 'front gates' of the camp. A faint smile curves Ayrenn's lips. Battlereeve Sielaire is one of the few who have supported her without question from the beginning, and though Ayrenn can tell the battlereeve still harbours some doubt for the Dominion, Sielaire has been unwilling to divulge them, merely demurring to Ayrenn's better judgment. Though Ayrenn much prefers to dispel Sielaire's doubt quickly, she recognises the need for patience with this mer, who prefers to think things over before casting her lot. Besides, Sielaire's presence has given her much comfort in this time of flux, and Ayrenn is loath to scare the battlereeve away…

A dramatic huff and puff distracts Ayrenn from her musings, and she looks around to find Razum-dar panting loudly as he trudges towards her, tossing over one of the two bottles in his hands.

"Raz understands your need for some quiet, but this is ridiculous," he says, plopping down on the sands beside her as she takes a swig of ale. "This one has spent an hour looking for you, and he has to trek up a large dune to reach you. How dare you make your dear friend work like this–" His mock rant ends in a laugh when Ayrenn's fist collides into his chest.

"That's enough, drama queen," Ayrenn says, taking a shorter sip of ale. "Why are you looking for me? Has the alarm been raised back there?"

"Oh no, Raz just wanted to have a drink together, that's all." Raz shrugs. "What about you? What are you doing all the way out here, all by yourself?"

Ayrenn imitates his shrug. "Just thinking, I guess. And yeah, I did need some quiet away from camp."

Raz chuckles under his breath. "Quite a change from our clandestine little outfit, eh? Honestly, Raz cannot believe how loud and demanding these people are. And persnickety – he means your own people, by the way."

"I know," Ayrenn replies with a roll of the eyes, before turning her gaze back to the camp. "But not all of them are like that."

Battlereeve Sielaire is still at the gates, but it seems her dragoons have returned. She clasps the hand of her lieutenant, then listens to his report while nodding at the rest of the scouting squad marching in. As Ayrenn watches, a soldier seems to make a comment, and Sielaire reaches out to knock her fist on their head, causing the rest bend over as if in laughter. Sielaire shakes her head and waves a hand to dismiss them, but as she walks away, Ayrenn fancies seeing a secret smile on Sielaire's lips as well.

"Stare at the battlereeve any harder, and your eyes will pop out of your skull."

Ayrenn chokes on the ale she's sipping, and coughs. "What?"

"Oh, no need to pretend. Raz knows you're looking at her. You always get that smile when you do. And that hungry look in your eyes…"

"I do not look hungry, you horrible cat," Ayrenn retorts, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "You're exaggerating."

"Maybe he is. But Raz still thinks you look a little desperate. And he is quite surprised you haven't made a move yet."

Ayrenn sighs in exasperation, half-tempted to cut their conversation off right here. But she hadn't had much time to chat with Raz in the past month, and she does want to get this off her chest. "She's different, Raz. She's an Altmer raised in Summerset. You can't jump too quickly with these types."

"Well, she doesn't seem too persnickety to Raz–"

"And stop using that word. I hate it."

"–even though she still hasn't cracked a smile at his witty humour yet," Raz continues, unruffled. "But he thinks you have a chance. She has eyes for you too."

Ayrenn pauses, then shoots her friend an incredulous glance. "Are you sure?"

"You don't trust Razum-dar?" Raz scoffs, holding a hand to his chest in hurt. "After all these years, you still don't trust him–?"

"Oh, quit it, Raz." Ayrenn smacks his arm, and leans in. "You think she's…"

Raz snickers, then leans in conspiratorially as well. "Raz can tell. She behaves differently with you. Her eyes are always on you – even though you cannot tell." His gaze grows distant in thought. "How you haven't noticed is a mystery. Raz honestly wonders how can two people, who are constantly making eyes at each other, not notice the mutual attention? Unless they are both dense Altmer with very thick skulls–"

Ayrenn shoves the chortling Khajiit onto the sand. "I hate you, Raz. You know that?"

"Yes, yes. You made your point," Raz gasps, shoulders still shaking as he sits back up. "How about this? Raz can help you, be your wingman–"

"No!" Ayrenn cuts in sharply. "No more. Last time you did that, the woman leapt off our bloody ship!"

"…Raz did convince her to get back aboard. Eventually."

"Only because she had no other choice, and she avoided us like we were lepers after that," Ayrenn reminds him. "You will not interfere. Understand?"

"Fine, fine." Raz relents, gulping down more ale. "But if you take any longer, lonely old Raz may make his move first–!"

He lands on the sands a second time, laughing amid the smacks on his body, and cries out, "Just kidding! Just kidding!"

"Ayrenn?" Sielaire says softly, but she doesn't have to.

Though her back is turned, Ayrenn can hear the door being opened and shut with the calculated care of the battlereeve. Ayrenn smiles as the footsteps draw close, and she turns around to watch Sielaire approach her in the Queen's private training room, where they've agreed to meet for some combat exercises.

Sielaire smiles gently to mirror hers, before green eyes are drawn to the sheathed blade in Ayrenn's hand. Her head cocks, fingers flexing around her own wooden training sword, as she asks, "Is that your new blade?"

"No." Ayrenn closes the distance, and lifts the sword between them, holding it in both hands. "It's yours."

Sielaire's brows rise in surprise, as she looks back at the sword. Her perceptive eyes rove over it, no doubt taking in the expensive hardened leather sheath, and guessing at the sword's make beneath, putting together how precious this weapon is. Sure enough, Sielaire speaks, "This is a…valuable gift."

"To put it lightly," Ayrenn says with a quiet laugh. Sielaire hesitates, before taking the sword in her hands. "I've had it custom-made for you. Go on, try it out."

Eyes flickering briefly up to Ayrenn, Sielaire grips the sword's hilt, and pulls it out. The polished adamantium blade glints from the torches in the room, then dances as Sielaire takes a step back, twirling the sword nimbly.

"I've noticed the way you handle your sword," Ayrenn explains. "Your grip is very…relaxed, comfortable. Or loose, you could say."

Sielaire snorts. "Yes, it is. You wouldn't believe how much my mentor chided me for it."

Indeed, Ayrenn doesn't believe how one so perfect could ever have done something bad enough to warrant a reprimand, but bites down the adoration that rises to her tongue. She gazes at Sielaire longer, taking the time to calm herself, before continuing, "It only means you're confident in your swordplay, Sie. But the way you hold your blade – the straight hilt of our standard-issue swords makes it difficult to handle, no?"

Sielaire's head tilts in thought, then relents with a nod. "Yes, it does. It tires me out quickly." She looks down at the sword, then opens her fingers around the curved hilt. "So you had it made this way?"

"Yes. I thought this would suit you better."

"It does," Sielaire replies, laughter bubbling beneath her voice. "I've only held it for a minute, but it's already much more comfortable than my regular blade."

"Good," Ayrenn sighs in relief, as fears of Sielaire's rejection are put to rest. She clasps Sielaire's wrist, and guides her to hold the blade horizontally, running a fingertip over the intricate runic inscriptions on the blade. "The sword is adamantium – sturdy enough to withstand blows from most materials. But, I thought it wouldn't hurt to strengthen it with enchantments. I think you'll find it cuts through metal and bone very easily."

Ayrenn heads to a weapons rack at the side, and picks out a mundane steel blade. She twirls it around her body as she walks back to Sielaire. "En garde."

Sielaire raises the blade before her, clasping it in both hands, and Ayrenn swings her sword at the new blade with utmost force. Steel chips and cracks near to breaking from the impact against adamantium, and Sielaire's eyes grow wide at the sight.

"Amazing," Sielaire says under her breath, almost to herself. She runs a finger near the blade's razor edge, then flips it around to touch the flat end of the one-sided blade. An inscrutable expression flits across her face, then she looks up at Ayrenn. "I…am not worthy of such a gift."

"You are the only one worthy of this blade, Sielaire," Ayrenn says airily, though her heart aches for her partner. "It was, after all, made for you."

Sielaire's lips part, but no words follow. As she looks down at the blade again, Ayrenn grasps her arm and pulls her close. "You have to put yourself in such danger so frequently, and I wondered how best to protect you. I thought this is one way…"

Ayrenn nods at the sword, and Sielaire gazes at her impassively for a long moment, before a gentle smile curves her lips. Sielaire leans in to kiss her, and it is all Ayrenn can do to hold onto her partner, so she won't fall to her knees. It has been months since they've fallen together, nurturing an intimacy that warms and fills Ayrenn to the core. But she has yet to stop falling, every little thing Sielaire does making her heart skip a beat – Sielaire's voice, her touch, her quiet laughs, her kisses, and that smile which makes Ayrenn weak in the knees.

Her gaze is transfixed on that exact smile Sielaire wears as they part, and she can hardly think of doing anything but pulling her partner close once more. But Sielaire speaks, breaking the spell.

"This is how I will protect you as well."

Ever dutiful, and the thought brings a pang to Ayrenn's chest. Sielaire still sees her as the Queen first, and Ayrenn sometimes wonders if Sielaire cares for the Queen, or her. She stares back at Sielaire, perhaps for too long, as her partner cups her cheek, a hint of concern in those beautiful green eyes. Ayrenn grows soft, her insecurity falling away under the warmth on her skin, and she smiles softly.

"Thank you, Sielaire."

It is a year later that Ayrenn receives her answer. Sielaire loves both sides of her – the Queen, and the mer beneath the crown. Sielaire gives her loyalty and service to the Queen, and all the rest of her belongs to Ayrenn – the fiercest love and devotion that Ayrenn has ever known, which she cherishes and reciprocates in full. Sielaire loves her, all of her, as no one else has done or even dared, and Ayrenn is resolved to never let this one important blessing slip from her fingers, as she had with so many past, broken chances.

But loss she still fears, even as she sits in the peacefulness of her own garden terrace with her beloved, caressing Sielaire's hand and the engagement ring worn on one slim finger. It is a simple yet elegant ring, and though Ayrenn would've loved to gift her partner something more elaborate, she knows discretion is still key in their relationship. A secret engagement, a secret wedding. It is an indignity, Ayrenn thinks, for one who has given so much to her. But her beloved only smiles whenever Ayrenn promises a proper wedding after the war, and reassures her that this is more than enough.

Ayrenn turns her gaze up to Sielaire, whose eyes are fixed on the ring Ayrenn touches. As always, her lover's expression is unreadable while deep in thought, but Ayrenn knows Sielaire still feels doubt about their union. Sielaire doesn't voice it – only vows and promises fall from her lips, meant to soothe Ayrenn's worry. But there is still part of her, deep inside, which feels she isn't worthy of the Queen, and this knowledge makes Ayrenn afraid – afraid that Sielaire will pull away when the time has come, and allow the weight of the crown to crush this love they share.

Ayrenn swallows against the lump in her throat, and distracts herself by lifting Sielaire's hand, placing a kiss on her partner's knuckles. "Are you nervous?"

Sielaire holds her gaze, before giving a small smile. "I am, yes."

Ayrenn smiles as well, though her heart squeezes in sympathy. "You won't change your mind, will you?" Ayrenn asks lightly, half in jest. Her heart stops when Sielaire's eyes turn to her sharply, and stares in quiet thought.

"I…do not change my mind easily," Sielaire replies, after a long moment of silence. She seems to want to speak more, but purses her lips after that.

Ayrenn waits, then prods. "Are you scared, Sie?"

A breath, then a sigh. "I am. Very much so."

"Don't be. I will keep things under control. You just have to trust me."

"I do trust you," Sielaire replies immediately, and the lack of hesitation warms Ayrenn's heart. "But I do not trust in fate."

"Fate is but a future of our own choosing, beloved." Ayrenn presses Sielaire's hand to her chest, to feel the beats of her heart. "And I choose to be with you. I will accept no other outcome."

Sielaire stares, frozen, before a quiet laugh falls from her lips. "When you speak like that, it is hard not to believe everything you say."

"You should, Sie. Here, look at me." Ayrenn clasps Sielaire chin, and raises her love's gaze. "Listen well. We may wed only in secret for now, but I will still be your wife, as you will be mine. And when the time comes, when we have brought peace to the land…you shall be my consort. I shall wed you before the Court, and all shall know that my heart belongs only to one."

Sielaire listens quietly, and Ayrenn notices with a bit of amusement, that her partner's complexion has paled a little. "Let's…take this one step at a time, shall we?"

Ayrenn laughs, then kisses her beloved. "Very well, then. We shall be united in simple matrimony – as wives. How does that sound?"

Though Sielaire is nervous, she smiles – and Ayrenn's heart is set at ease. "It is…perfect."

Their rings are exchanged in private, their hearts and souls promised to each other, for all eternity. Ayrenn has chosen to hold her beloved close, tightly enough that the world cannot tear Sielaire away with its cold, cruel fingers. But hold and fight as she may, she hasn't anticipated that the very one in her arms will step out of her embrace willingly – from her protection, from this safety she has built for themselves.

And Sielaire has done it all for her.

"It didn't have to be you!" Ayrenn brings her fist down on Sielaire's chest – a blow softened last minute. Her fist trembles, then uncurls, fingers digging into Sielaire's shirt. "It didn't have to be…"

Her head is bowed, eyes screwed shut to fight against burgeoning tears, but she feels the gentleness with which Sielaire's arms circle around her, pulling her close. Swallowing painfully, Ayrenn forces her eyes open to look at her beloved, and Sielaire's wan smile nearly shatters her into pieces – not a hint of regret or resentment at Ayrenn. Just the same warmth that Sielaire always carries for her wife.

"You act as if I will never come back," Sielaire says, humour dotting her soft tone.

Ayrenn wants to argue – Cyrodiil has turned into a war-torn, merciless land which has taken the lives of many Dominion scouts and soldiers, sent to snatch precious bits of territory, from which to mount a proper assault on the Imperial City. An assault which Sielaire has volunteered for, and will throw her life into such peril that Ayrenn cannot bear to think of it. Ayrenn, who has challenged and beaten death countless times, cannot bear to fathom the death which awaits her beloved.

She wants to argue, to force her love to stay, but she cannot. She knows she will not win, and fights through the helplessness to look up at her wife. "You will come back, won't you? Swear to me."

"I will, dearest. I swear," Sielaire murmurs, touching their foreheads together. "Not even the chains of Oblivion will keep me from you."

Ayrenn's breath hitches, heart skipping at the steel in Sielaire's voice which she so loves, and she cannot help but believe. Their entwined fate rests in Sielaire's hands now.

Ayrenn's eyes open just in time to watch the brief second where lightning casts a stark light over her bedchambers, followed by a loud clap of thunder which shakes her to the bone. But she pays no attention to the weather. Her breathing is ragged, heart beating fast from the moment she'd woken, paralysed by an overwhelming sense of fear. She is terrified. Wide eyes flicker about to search for the source of her fear, but finds nothing until she turns inward, and realises she's had a…dream. A nightmare. Potent lightning striking her very being, ripping her asunder from within.

"Sie." The name falls from her trembling lips, and she doesn't know if she seeks comfort…or something else.

Fear overlaps fear as Ayrenn suddenly feels frightened for her wife. Why? Why, why?

Unable to close her eyes or calm her nerves, Ayrenn slides out of bed, and paces an unsteady circuit around the room. Her fingers wring together as sense starts to take hold, and she realises the fear is not for herself, but for Sielaire. Why? What has happened? How does she know? Is it even true?

Questions make her head spin, and Ayrenn glances at the door repeatedly, before making her decision. She flies out of her room, bare feet padding over plush carpet as she ignores the calls of her guards behind her. She walks in a daze, and doesn't bother knocking on the door she opens. She enters Alwinarwe's chambers, shutting the door behind her, and goes to sit on Alwin's bed. Ayrenn hesitates for a long while, staring at her cousin's peaceful visage, before setting a hand on Alwin's arm. That's all she needs to do – Alwinarwe rouses blearily, turning over as her eyes land on the visitor.

"Ayrenn?" Alwin says, syllables slurred in sleepiness.

"Alwin, I–" Breath catches in Ayrenn's throat, and she struggles to speak. "I… May I stay here for the night?"

Alwin groans, and waves a hand dismissively. "I'm not in the mood for another one of your games, Ayrenn."

"Please."

The hushed plea gives Alwin pause, and her eyes flicker to Ayrenn, taking in her stricken expression. Slowly, she sits up, eyeing her cousin warily. "What happened?"

"I–, I know this won't make sense," Ayrenn says, voice quivering. "But I know Sielaire is in trouble. I don't know how, but I can feel it. She's in trouble, in pain."

A firm hand clasps her arm. "You've just had a nightmare, Ayrenn," Alwin says gently. "And there's a thunderstorm tonight. You're just confused by a dream, and the thunder–"

"I am not confused!" Ayrenn barks, then catches herself. Shame washes over her, and her mind backpedals. "I'm sorry. I just… I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone."

Alwin sighs, and catches her by the arm before she starts to rise. "You can stay here, if you want to. And…" Alwin's voice trails off as she tucks a lock of hair behind Ayrenn's ear. "About Sielaire. Even if she's in trouble, there is little you can do from here, until her next report."

Ayrenn's hand curls into a fist on the sheets. "I know," she growls, throat tight. "It's my fault, Alwin, I shouldn't have sent her there."

"She volunteered for it, Ayrenn. Besides, it is her duty as battlereeve–"

"I know it's her duty, damn it! You can't imagine how many bloody times I've had to hear it from her mouth!" Regret rises in Ayrenn, but contrary to her expectation, Alwin doesn't chide her. Instead, she cups Ayrenn's cheek.

"Sielaire promised she would come back, didn't she?" Alwin asks, and Ayrenn nods. "I know her to be a mer of her word. She will be back."

"And if she comes back…wounded? Broken?"

"Then we will help her heal," Alwin replies, so matter-of-fact that it steadies Ayrenn in the moment.

She realises Alwinarwe's point – there is nothing they can do for now. But when the opportunity presents itself…

Ayrenn nods, screwing her eyes up to squeeze out the tears lingering there, and wipes them away roughly. With Alwin's hands on her shoulders, Ayrenn is guided into the empty spot beside Alwin, where she crawls beneath the thick comforter, and feels just a bit safer there, beside her cousin. Alwin lies on her side, and keeps a hand on Ayrenn's arm, which she strokes gently. Ayrenn smiles, and curls up closer to her.

"Thanks, Alwin."

A lazy hum is the only reply she needs.

Sielaire doesn't report directly to the Queen for the next two months, and it frays Ayrenn's nerves. She'd first received a report that Battlereeve Sielaire had been presumed killed in action; then a week later, another reporting her return. Ayrenn had waited, and waited, but Sielaire remained silent. Eventually, no word is needed – Ayrenn deems it fit to pull their troops out of the Imperial City to regroup, and orders Battlereeve Sielaire to return to Alinor and deliver a full report on the campaign.

The sight of Sielaire, haggard and shamed and defeated, rends Ayrenn's heart deeper than the news of her presumed death ever did. Sielaire tries to avoid her, but Ayrenn is not dissuaded, coaxing and pleading her love back to her side, to speak whatever words Sielaire can muster. It is painstakingly slow – Sielaire is not the type to divulge her own suffering easily. But she does, after weeks of patient care and love. Sielaire is convinced to receive therapy for the scars that Cyrodiil has left on her psyche, and Ayrenn is more than happy to walk the slow path of recovery with her, step by step.

One day, under the gentle sunshine of a cloudy morning, Sielaire finally wears that fond smile reserved for Ayrenn, which makes her heart flutter. Ayrenn kisses her softly then, a simple affection, a welcome home, and a vow. Sielaire shall never be parted from her side again. If her love shall throw herself into the chaos of war, then Ayrenn will be at her side, fighting not only for the fate of her people or the world, but for themselves as well.

It takes six grueling years of war. Six years of battle and pain and arguments, though their bond never once wavered, staying strong and fierce despite the torrent of blood that tries to drown it. Sielaire serves and protects her Queen, as the Queen does for her, until the battlereeve wins a critical duel which finally casts the Dominion's victory in stone. Cheer follows, then two more tiring years of diplomacy, reparation, and reconciliation, as Ayrenn works to unite the unique races of Tamriel into a single, diverse yet harmonious coalition. And when peace finally settles over Tamriel, Ayrenn brings her personal dream to fruition.

A grand wedding is held in Alinor, where the newly-crowned Empress Ayrenn weds her love, and walks proudly with High Kinlady Sielaire's hand on her arm, in front of her people for the first time. The day of the wedding ceremony is hectic, and it is only late in the night when Ayrenn is left alone with Sielaire in their bedchamber.

Ayrenn gazes at her wife, dressed in an elegant gown, with the silver Consort's crown on her head, and feels her life falling together. She raises her hands, and Sielaire closes the distance, allowing Ayrenn to cup her face, staring at Sielaire's regal visage.

"We've done it," Ayrenn says, and her love smiles. "After all these years of fighting, we are finally in a future of our own making."

"It is all thanks to you, beloved," Sielaire murmurs, resting their heads together.

Their eyes fall shut, as Ayrenn clasps her wife's shoulders. She takes a deep breath, savouring Sielaire's delightful perfume. "You as well, dear. Now it is time to make a life together."

Ayrenn doesn't have to open her eyes to know Sielaire is smiling. Her love embraces her with strong arms, and meets her lips in a firm, ardent kiss.

A/N: Been re-reading Raison again (yes hush) and spotted a few more gaps I wanted to fill. Now it's Ayrenn's turn to pine. heheh