"Mama."
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"I wanna walk."
"Aw." Sielaire puts on her puppy eyes, looking at her daughter with a slight pout. "But mama wants to carry you."
"Yeah," Astaire says. "But I wanna walk."
"Oh, honey. But you can walk plenty when you're all grown up and so tall that mama can't carry you anymore," Sielaire coos. "Is it okay for mama to hold you longer while you're still small?"
Astaire's lips press together in a pout similar to Sielaire's, though hers is thoughtful as she gazes at her mother in silence. The three-year-old has developed a tendency to listen, then think over what has been told to her, before replying or making a decision. A wise trait to have, even if Sielaire knows the child needs more time to digest a conversation, but she hopes Astaire will keep this habit as she matures. Some caution like Sielaire's may help temper any wilder whim Astaire may inherit from Ayrenn.
"Okay," Astaire decides. "Mama can carry me."
Sielaire smiles, hearing Ayrenn's chuckle by her side, at the command-like tone of Astaire's. "Thank you, dear," she croons, kissing the girl's cheek. "I'll let you walk in the house. Promise."
"Promise," Astaire repeats, clutching at the scarf around Sielaire's neck as she turns her head to scan the orchards across the main road.
They are paying a visit to Sielaire's family home, as is their annual tradition since their adoption of Astaire. This isn't just a simple vacation away from the palace – it's a chance for Astaire to familiarise herself with the larger family, and to keep in touch with a side of Summerset not rigidly-bound by the rules and dogma of the aristocracy. Or, as Ayrenn puts it – a nice counterpoint to Alwinarwe's royal influence.
Sielaire had been worried at first, thinking Astaire would be so used to the comforts of the palace, that she'd have trouble adjusting to life in the countryside. But Sielaire's fears were dispelled during the toddler's second visit to the orchards, when she'd taken to her grandparents and the apple farm with such zeal, that Sielaire was nearly in disbelief. Nearly. She was reassured, though, and had stoked Astaire's enthusiasm plenty before their visit this time.
She casts her eyes around the homestead, as Ayrenn slips a hand through her elbow. It feels good to be back – the plain, simple quality of the orchards always serves to remind Sielaire where she'd come from, and where she will always belong…despite her purposefully annoying complaints about the 'overabundance' of apples to her family.
Smiling, Sielaire catches Ayrenn's eye briefly as they walk up the path to the villa. It has expanded much since the family had been elevated to nobility, though not too much, out of Sielaire's parents preference for modesty. They have added more rooms and workspaces for each member of the family – even Sielaire, who is rarely home – and replaced the woods and stones to polished, rich materials which won't look out of place in an Alinor manor.
Sielaire eyes the new chandelier in the foyer, while Ayrenn calls out to the family. Soon, the languid click of heels on red oak floors approaches them, followed by a gentle squeal from Sielaire's mother which greets Astaire's similar sound of joy.
"My little sweetie pie!" Lirinwe swoops in and lifts Astaire from Sielaire's arms without ceremony, hugging the girl as little arms wind around her neck as well. "Grandma has missed you so!"
"I missed gramma too." Astaire giggles, being shaken playfully in Lirinwe's firm hug, before she's guided to sit in the matron's arms. "And I miss apple pie."
"Here we go," Sielaire deadpans, while Lirinwe launches into her oft-repeated lines.
"Of course, darling. Grandma's made apple pie for you. She knows how your mama deprives you of your beloved apple pies; such cruelty, such callousness–"
"Mom," Sielaire cuts in with a sigh. "Nice to see you too."
A smile gives Lirinwe away, and she pats Sielaire fondly on the head, before turning to Ayrenn. "And Ayrenn – always good to have you back…with my own daughter in tow."
Sielaire rolls her eyes as Ayrenn hugs Lirinwe, who nods at the hallway and leads them down the west wing, towards a parlour already suffused with the aroma of baked pastries. They set their bags down while Lirinwe bustles off to the kitchen, then emerges soon after carrying a platter with a porcelain tea set, some petite tarts, and two pies – one of which is–
"Apple pie!" Astaire exclaims as Lirinwe sets the platter on the table.
"That's right. Grandma baked it just for you, little Star."
"Yay!" Astaire hops off the couch where Sielaire has seated her, and goes to stand by the table while Lirinwe slices a generous portion for her granddaughter.
"This is all yours," Lirinwe sings, handing the plate to Astaire, who plops herself right on the carpet and starts digging in with a fork. "Look at my darling granddaughter… Such appreciation for her roots, unlike her ungrateful rascal of a mother."
Sielaire raises her eyes heavenwards as Ayrenn receives a plate of apple pie herslf. "Her roots are not of your apples, mom. In case you forgot."
"Oh, what does it matter? She's ours now. The apple of our eye, you could say."
"Gods, save me," Sielaire groans. She looks around for some sympathy from her wife, but finds only a crooked smile instead.
"This is going to be fun," Ayrenn says.
"For you."
But Sielaire's pout is chased away when Lirinwe offers her a plate with a large serving of pumpkin pie, complete with a dollop of cream on top.
"Still your favourite?" Lirinwe asks, though she doesn't have to – her knowing smile tells all.
A sheepish smile curves Sielaire's lips as she takes the plate. "Still my favourite…"
They don't stay in the homestead for too long, lingering for another day to let Astaire meet her grandfather, uncle, and aunt after they've returned from Shimmerene. After a night of family reunion, Sielaire and Ayrenn tuck Astaire into bed early, in anticipation of the next few days to come.
When the sun rises, Sielaire indulges in the rare opportunity to snuggle up to her wife, arms wrapped around Ayrenn in a cozy embrace. When sunlight spills through their window, and a small bundle of energy crawls onto their bed and calls their name, they rouse with lazy smiles, trapping Astaire in their arms for one last cuddle before rising.
Breakfast is served by Lirinwe as always, but this morning, their scones and eggs are accompanied with continuous fretting over their journey ahead. It isn't very long or taxing, truth be told, but Sielaire nods quietly as Lirinwe sets one pastry after another into a cloth bundle, meant to fend off hunger while they're camping, or just to act as a dessert for whatever meals they'll cook up while living in the elements.
Her mother's worrying follows them all the way to the stables, where they secure packs of provisions to their horses, and relent to having one sack of apples tied to the pack straps, before waving Lirinwe goodbye and trotting off into the open fields beside the orchards.
Camping outside the homestead is nothing new for Sielaire and Ayrenn. It's been a perfect way to spend time alone together during these visits. This is, however, a first for Astaire – in fact, she's never even ridden a horse before. Sielaire can't help but smile when she looks to the side, where Ayrenn rides beside her, with the little mer sitting in the saddle. Astaire is secured to her mother by way of a scarf, wrapped around their waists and secured with a knot, so the child won't fall off on accident. Still, Ayrenn remains cautious, keeping an arm around Astaire as the girl giggles and swings her legs.
"Do you like riding horses, Star?" Ayrenn asks.
"Yeah!"
"Want to learn how to ride one yourself when you're older?"
"Yeah!"
Ayrenn chuckles when Astaire grabs at the reins eagerly. "When you're older, darling. We have to wait until you're taller, okay?"
The girl pouts. "Okay."
"So we are getting her that indrik, then?" Sielaire asks.
"Of course," Ayrenn replies, gently slipping the reins from Astaire's fingers. "When she's a little older. I'm thinking we should get her a foal, so they can grow up together. Builds deeper bonds, and all that."
"Sure." Sielaire lowers her gaze to Astaire, who didn't seem to hear a word her mothers had said. The girl is holding her hands up in the air, wiggling her fingers as she feels the air passing through them.
Ayrenn notices Astaire's gesture as well, and a playful grin parts her lips. "Want to go faster, Star?"
"Renn–"
"Yes, faster!"
Sielaire's heart plummets when Ayrenn winks at her. Fortunately, her dread is quickly dissipated when Ayrenn nudges her horse into a swift yet gentle trot – enough speed to give the young one some thrill, but not fast enough that it'll rock Astaire dangerously on the saddle. Not that the girl minds – or is even aware – the slight increase in speed has her shrieking in delight, waving her hands in the air rushing past them.
So easily entertained, Sielaire muses with a quiet laugh, though it's soothed over with tenderness when Ayrenn turns her head, blue eyes meeting green.
Then again, so am I.
They take their horses on a long, meandering route through the fields to give Astaire some quality time on the saddle, before steering their steeds towards the flower-dotted meadow that is their favourite place to set up camp. Sielaire had first found this area with her siblings over a century ago, then introduced it to Ayrenn in their first foray out of the homestead. And now, it is Astaire's turn – the girl voices her delight at the bright hues of the flowers amid the field of healthy green grass, and they stop briefly to pick some for Astaire, before moving onto the woods in the corner of the meadow.
Trees offer them some shade from the midday sun, as they reach the shallow, gentle stream and follow it upwards, finally reaching that one spot by the water which they've used over the years. They dismount and take the packs from their horses, then allow their mounts to wander off in search of a suitable patch of grass to graze on, safe in the knowledge that the horses are well-trained enough to return to them.
As Ayrenn starts setting up their tent, Sielaire plops Astaire down on the grass by the stream, and hands her some biscuits to munch on while they set up their campsite. The girl nods when instructed not to wander off, and Sielaire ruffles her short blonde locks before stepping away to help Ayrenn with the tent.
With so many years of experience tucked under their belt, it takes them mere minutes to erect the tent, and lay out their bedrolls and belongings inside. Sielaire grabs the cooking supplies, while Ayrenn takes the small stack of wood they've brought with them, and starts making a campfire for their midday meal. A simple fire spell makes this task trivial, and soon Sielaire sets over the fire a pot of soup they've prepped back home, tossing into the vegetable broth some dry noodles to cook along with the lukewarm chicken strips.
Ayrenn sighs from the work and sits on the grass, untying a paper package of Lirinwe's pastries. Sielaire picks one and crunches on the crispy treat, looking back at the spot where she'd left Astaire. The girl's no longer sitting on the ground, munching on her biscuits – instead, she's standing in the stream with water flowing past her ankles, staring down at the clear water with quiet wonder. Then Astaire squats down, reaching a hand into the water to run her fingers over a rock, before drawing her hand back and slapping at the water's surface, causing a small splash that makes her cackle uncontrollably.
Sielaire chuckles along with the child. This is a freedom Astaire can't have in the palace. The freedom to explore of her own will, and not be coddled as royal heir to the point where she cannot interact with her surroundings freely, as any other child would. It gives her the chance to grow as her own person, away from royal rules and restrictions. Even Alwinarwe had agreed that this trip will be good for Astaire – admitting with a poorly-hidden grimace that this very experience away from the confines of Alinor and Summerset has served Ayrenn well as Queen. Although, Sielaire doesn't want to think that far yet – merely content to steal some time for Astaire to have simple, childish fun.
Allowing Astaire more time to splash and jump about in the stream, Sielaire waits before calling, "Astaire, come over. It's almost lunch time."
"Lunch time?" Astaire repeats, turning around to skip back to her parents. She reaches a hand towards the cooking pot, but Ayrenn is quick to grab her by the wrist before she burns herself.
"Yes, Star," Ayrenn replies, distracting her. "Remember that chicken soup mama was making back home?"
"Yeah." Astaire nods. "I like chicken soup. Does it have noodles?"
"Of course it does, honey. We know it's your favourite." Ayrenn takes the soup ladle, and motions for Astaire to hold onto its handle. Closing her hand over the girl's, she guides Astaire to dip the ladle into the soup, and scoops up a full portion of chicken, chopped vegetables, and noodles.
Astaire's eyes grow wide. "I'm hungry."
"Me too. But it has to cook a little longer, alright? It's still cold."
"Okay."
Astaire seems reluctant to let go of the ladle, so Ayrenn lets her hold onto it, stirring the soup now and again at her own whim. While Ayrenn reaches for another piece of pastry, Sielaire's gaze remains on Astaire, ready to intervene should the girl venture too close to the pot. But her attention is distracted when she spots motion out of the corner of her eye, and her body tenses as she looks up, spotting a pair of welwa approaching the stream on the opposite bank.
The creatures don't seem to have noticed them yet, dipping their heads down for a drink of water. But after they've slurped enough, their heads rise in the camp's direction, beady black eyes staring back at Sielaire – who realises her own mistake.
Quickly, she lowers her gaze back to the pot and, catching Ayrenn's curious gaze, whispers, "Welwa. Across the stream."
Ayrenn hums, tilting her head, but not saying anything. Long minutes pass as the mer seem absorbed in their own business, not paying a single second's attention to the welwa, until the creatures finally lose interest and wander off.
"They're gone."
"Wards tonight?" Ayrenn says.
"Wards every night," Sielaire replies. Though she knows the meadow is a safe area, her mind starts planning the layout of wards she'll set around their tent at night.
Truth be told, there isn't much they can do with Astaire around. Well – not much of what they'll usually do, which includes hunting, and finding dark caverns or ruins to venture into. With the girl in mind, they keep their activities light – like frolicking among the flowers in the meadow, finding a lake where they can teach Astaire how to swim, visiting an animal farm nearby, and reading children's storybooks under the light of the moon and stars.
Soon enough, three days have passed, and Astaire has started asking if they can go back to see the family and pick apples again. So they pack their bags on the fourth morning, and ride back towards the orchards on their horses – this time, with Ayrenn allowing Astaire to hold onto the reins, getting more than a few laughs out of the girl as she shakes the straps in her hands.
They reach the homestead in the early afternoon. Astaire bursts into the kitchen with an excited squeal upon her arrival, and is promptly spirited away by her grandparents for some pampering. Not that Sielaire or Ayrenn minds – they take the time to clean and pack away their camping supplies, then head out to Virano's cabin by the river for some time to themselves.
Only in the evening are they willing to part from each other's arms, and walk hand-in-hand back home for a hot, hearty dinner full of their favourite comfort foods, which leaves both their hearts and stomachs full to bursting. Still, they nurse an extra dessert by the hearth – warm apple pie with ice cream – while chatting lazily with Virano and Rilenya. That is, chatting when Sielaire isn't embroiled in spirited, but light-hearted bickering with her two siblings.
By the last hour before midnight, they've all been knocked out by their full stomachs and the late night, lounging in the parlour on plush pillows, occasionally taking a sip of cider to soothe their overstuffed bellies. Sielaire is the first to rise among this sated lot, dragging her dozing wife up the stairs for a bath before bed. While Ayrenn opts to soak longer in soapy water, Sielaire climbs out of the tub and dresses, heading back to their bedroom to check on her last concern for the day.
She finds Astaire already lying in bed – having been carried out of the parlour by her grandfather. Now, her grandmother sits beside her, singing a bedtime lullaby and stroking her arm, despite the girl having fallen asleep. Sielaire huffs quietly, understanding all too well the reluctance to leave her little girl alone, even after her presence is no longer needed.
Padding quietly over the wooden floor, Sielaire goes to sit with her mother, gently running her fingertips through Astaire's hair.
"Thanks, mom," Sielaire murmurs softly.
"No need, darling." Lirinwe smiles. When her gaze lingers on Sielaire, it earns her a curious look.
"Something on my face?" Sielaire asks, and Lirinwe snorts.
"Yes." Lirinwe prods at her cheek with a finger. "There's a wrinkle here… Your age is showing."
Sielaire scoffs. "Not as much as yours."
"As it should. I am getting old. You, on the other hand…"
"I'm still young, I know."
"Yet you feel so much older than before."
Sielaire's eyes flicker to her mother, searching but not finding the trace of humour she'd expected to see. "Do I?"
"Yes," Lirinwe replies. "Sometimes it feels like you're growing so much faster than I can keep up."
A breath passes her lips. "A lot of things are happening, mom. Especially in the palace. Sometimes it feels like I can't even keep up with myself." Sielaire's gaze grows faraway in thought, before she gives her mother a smile. "I suppose this is where you'll tell me to come home more often?"
"It will do you good. And we'll get to see you more than just once a year." Lirinwe mirrors her smile. "But I know your duties will have to come first, hm?"
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Lirinwe replies quickly, and cups her daughter's cheek. "If anything…I am proud of you. Have I ever told you that?"
"Yeah. When I came home from the war with Ayrenn? You said you were proud that I managed to find my way home." Sielaire's smile cracks into a crooked grin when Lirinwe bends her ear.
"Don't twist my words, little rascal," Lirinwe laughs, nudging Sielaire's head none-too-lightly. She gently pats Astaire's blanket-covered legs one last time, then rises to her feet, straightening her dress. "Now, it's getting late. Off to bed with you."
"But I want to wait–"
"No arguments," Lirinwe clucks, hands on hips, then points at the bed. "In bed, now."
"You can't order me around," Sielaire protests, as Lirinwe grabs her arm. "I'm the Empress Consort, the High Kinlady–"
"And I am the High Kinlady's mother." Lirinwe guides Sielaire to the bed, where her daughter lies down obediently with an exasperated, amused smile as she draws the covers up to Sielaire's chest. And as she pecks her daughter's forehead, the door swings open, and Ayrenn's voice drifts through.
"Ooh! Are we getting tucked in? Wait for me!"
Sielaire turns her head to watch Ayrenn fling her towel aside, then dive into bed, where she wriggles into place right beside Sielaire. Lirinwe laughs softly, careful not to wake the sleeping child, and bends down to kiss Ayrenn's forehead as well.
"See, at least the Empress herself behaves much better than you."
"Oh, the irony…" Sielaire mumbles, as Lirinwe tucks Ayrenn in as well, then puts out the candles as she leaves the room. Sielaire rolls onto her side, draping an arm over Ayrenn. "You've got my mom all bamboozled, now. Congratulations."
"It's my charm," Ayrenn croons, dipping in to kiss Sielaire, before snuggling up to her wife. "You know it well, don't you?"
"Too well, love," Sielaire sighs, squeezing Ayrenn in her arms. "All too well."
The skies are clear, and the sun shines bright and warm upon the earth. While the workers are busy in the orchards, taking advantage of the good weather, Ayrenn and Sielaire have run off on their own after leaving Astaire in Lirinwe's care. In their hands are the wooden training swords which Sielaire has kept in her room, and their destination is the clearing beside Virano's cabin to the north, where Sielaire has spent much of her early youth training in the martial arts by herself.
Ayrenn is the one to suggest this sparring practice, and after days of soft luxury, the warrior in Sielaire cries out for action, and drives the woman to agree. After all, this practice will be a great way to exercise and have some fun – which her wife obviously has in mind.
After strapping on their sparring leathers, they bow to each other, and hold their swords at ready. Sielaire's eyes rest on her wife, planning to allow Ayrenn the first move, then is taken aback when her wife pounces in what seems like a haphazard line to herself, nearly making Sielaire burst in laughter. Nearly – that's the key word, because Ayrenn suddenly lunges at Sielaire from an impossible angle, and Sielaire is forced to raise her sword at the last minute, blocking a strike which would've crushed her throat.
Ayrenn clicks her tongue. "Careful, battlereeve. I would never want to hurt my wife."
Sielaire smirks, meeting her partner's eyes steadily. "You can try, Your Majesty."
Ayrenn hums in that low, husky pitch which distracts Sielaire briefly – and she flies into action once more, shoving Sielaire back with her sword, and kicks the back of her knee, sending her to the ground. "Seems I don't even have to try, sweetheart."
"You're asking for it," Sielaire rumbles.
"When do I never?"
Ayrenn's flippant reply coaxes a grin from Sielaire, who lunges at her wife without warning, sending Ayrenn on the defensive. Sielaire doesn't let up, swinging strike after strike at Ayrenn, never giving her partner a chance to breathe. When it seems Ayrenn is backed into a corner, Sielaire rears her sword back to the final blow – but is stopped by a sudden lance of pain in her arm, originating from her elbow, where Ayrenn's blade has slammed into.
"Ow!"
"Oh, I'll kiss it later," Ayrenn sings, her blade flashing forward in another strike, which Sielaire blocks. "And if you want me to kiss you all over…"
"We'll see who kisses who," Sielaire replies off-handedly, focused on the slick, agile movements of Ayrenn's feet. Her wife has adopted a sword dance from a Khajiit kata, and Sielaire quickly shifts her state of mind in anticipation of the swift and seemingly-random moves to come.
Sure enough, Ayrenn delivers. In Sielaire's opinion, the Altmer does look quite ridiculous prancing energetically without a tail, her backside wiggling where it requires the Khajiit to hold their tails in certain angles. But Sielaire cannot deny the effectiveness of this sword dance - be it wielded by a Khajiit or not. She suffers many hard strokes on her leathers while she adjusts to this style, but years of sparring with her wife allows her to adapt quickly enough to deliver as many counter strikes on Ayrenn's body.
The proud smile on Ayrenn's face sends that same rush through Sielaire as it always has, buoying Sielaire's heart as she takes the initiative this time, and rushes towards Ayrenn. Growing nimbler with each stroke, Sielaire's feet finally finds its rhythm to match Ayrenn's. She parries and knocks Ayrenn's blade aside, sending her wife stumbling forward, while she hops to the back and smacks the flat of her blade on Ayrenn's ass.
Ayrenn bursts into a laugh. "Is that a new move, Sie?"
"Maybe. Would you like to help me refine it?" Sielaire deadpans.
"If you promise to use it only on me."
"Deal," Sielaire laughs, raising her sword. "Although I would much prefer using my hands…"
"You can use your hands if you win this round, darling," Ayrenn purrs, lowering herself into a wide combat stance. "And if you knock me on my back…I'll allow you to use more than your hands."
Sielaire's heart beats faster from adrenaline not borne of exercise, and her lips unfurl into a grin. "'If'?" Sielaire repeats, voice smooth and slick. "You do remember that I am the better warrior, right?"
Ayrenn merely smiles at her taunt. "That's what I'm counting on, my dear battlereeve."