Sielaire hasn't even opened her eyes, but she knows something is wrong as she struggles to do so. Her body is sluggish, heavy, and her muscles are tensed in minute shivers from air which feels unnaturally chilly on her skin – which is well-covered by the thick blanket draped over her.
Auri-El...making a fool of me…
She would groan, but the dense thickness in her throat blocks most of the sound she tries to make, and she clears her throat, feeling it ache in protest. Nose blocked, she breathes through her mouth, and a frown creases her forehead as she rolls onto her side, preparing herself for some exertion. Bracing her palms against the mattress, Sielaire pushes herself up – a simple task made strenuous by a body straining against her very will. Or, punishing her for her foolish obstinacy, which has dragged on for much too long.
Her head spins when she sits upright, and Sielaire decides it is indeed a punishment. How dearly she wants to crumple back onto the mattress, and sink into unconsciousness once more, blissfully unaware of her physical discomfort. Sniffling from the tickle in her nose, Sielaire turns her head, and finds Ayrenn's spot in bed empty. Her wife must've risen earlier than her – a rare occurrence – and faint shuffling from the bathroom tells where Ayrenn has gone. Normally, Sielaire would love to join her wife, and treat her to a lazy hug or kiss which makes Ayrenn wrinkle her nose in that special, playful manner only visible in the early mornings.
But not this time – Sielaire much prefers to stay in bed where she sits, and that is where she remains in a mindless daze, until the bathroom's door is swung open.
"You're finally up, sleepyhead," Ayrenn teases, setting her towel on a hanger. "And here I thought I was the lazy one among us two."
Sielaire tries to grumble, but only manages a deep rumble in her throat.
"Are you alright, love?"
Sielaire remains still when Ayrenn approaches. "No," she rasps, and her wife understands the simple answer in an instant.
Ayrenn touches Sielaire's neck, then her forehead. "You're burning up," she observes. "I told you that you had a fever last night. But you wouldn't listen, would you?"
Sielaire mumbles, "I have things to do…"
"Oh no, you don't." Ayrenn sets a firm hand on her shoulder when she tries to stand, and pushes her back to the bed. "Whatever you have to do, Alwin and I will handle it just fine. You just lie down here, and let me get a healer for you. And no," Ayrenn intones with a hint of warning as she walks away, turning around to raise a finger at Sielaire, who has started to rise to her feet. "If you get up from this bed, I can and will have you locked in this room until you're well again."
Despite herself, a smile breaks over the long-suffering expression on Sielaire's face. "You cannot do that."
"Try me," Ayrenn challenges, tossing a dry look over her shoulder, before pulling her nightshirt over her head.
Sielaire's smile grows, and she is tempted to rebel against her Empress' orders, just to see what happens. But her body demands otherwise, so she stays on the bed, eyes fixed on Ayrenn's toned back, which is soon hidden by the richer, more respectable silk shirt Ayrenn has chosen. Her wife prefers a shirt-and-pants attire for a day kept clear of meetings – and Sielaire suddenly wonders if Ayrenn has deliberately arranged today's schedule in particular…
Once dressed, Ayrenn walks back to the bed and sets her hands on Sielaire's shoulders. This time, she guides her wife to lie down, and draws the covers up to Sielaire's shoulders.
"I've been telling you to see a healer since last week," Ayrenn chides gently, while she bends down to kiss Sielaire's warm forehead.
"I had many things to do," Sielaire croaks.
"I'd rather you focus on your health, my dear."
"Big words from someone I've had to lose so much blood for."
"Touché," Ayrenn chuckles, dipping down again to kiss Sielaire on the lips, but pauses when Sielaire turns her head away.
"No. I don't want to infect you."
"You won't," Ayrenn murmurs, ghosting her lips.
"I've heard that lie back in the war," Sielaire deadpans.
"And you will believe it now as you did back then," Ayrenn croons, closing the distance to kiss her fully on the lips.
For a blissful moment, Sielaire is free of affliction, and mourns the loss of her elixir when Ayrenn pulls away. 'Stay here for today?' Sielaire wants to ask, but silences the question before it's voiced. She knows Ayrenn has as much on her own plate as Sielaire's, and doesn't want to hinder her wife with a childish need for companionship and care.
So she stays quiet, and pulls the covers tighter around herself, watching Ayrenn glance back at her one last time, before leaving through the door. Sielaire sighs, but her clingy desire dies down as silence settles over her, and her eyelids fall shut. She isn't one for slowing down from her busy schedule just to rest, but now…she will make an exception. If only to keep Ayrenn from lecturing her.
Oh, who is she kidding? Sielaire does love to be the one listening to her wife's lectures and nags, for a change.
Although Sielaire keeps mum about her wish, Ayrenn does stay with Sielaire for the day, and the days after, keeping an eye on her sick wife while studying countless documents vying for her attention. She makes an effort to care for Sielaire herself, though she keeps a healthy distance from Sielaire at her wife's insistence – even if she finds pleasure in sneaking a caress or kiss from time to time, smirking at Sielaire's reproachful pout every time she does so.
Nonetheless, Sielaire is grateful for her wife's companionship – not just because she is ill, but also due to Ayrenn's impending departure from Summerset, and yet another prolonged separation.
It is five days into Sielaire's recovery; her stubborn fever has just broken, and she feels well enough to escort Ayrenn to the palace's courtyard. With Ayrenn's hand on her arm, Sielaire strolls through the palace's hallways with her wife, basking in her closeness until they've entered the courtyard, sunshine bathing them in its warm embrace. The Empress' entourage is ready – the horses and carriage, which Ayrenn will spent little time sitting in, stands waiting alongside the attendants, who straighten at her approach. With this train, Ayrenn will travel by land to Shimmerene, where she'll take a ship to Firsthold for a visit to the Kinlord, before heading to Elden Root via portal for the Thalmor meeting.
Sielaire stares at the horses, wishing briefly she could accompany her wife on the long journey, before a touch on her cheek distracts her.
"Take care of yourself," Ayrenn says, cupping her face. "Rest well, and don't you dare dream of going to your office. We've only just broken your fever."
Sielaire wants to pout – from Ayrenn's lecture and imminent departure. But in front of their subjects, Sielaire keeps herself respectable and nods with a smile, turning her head to kiss Ayrenn's palm. "I will try, Your Majesty."
Ayrenn sighs. "That's good enough, I suppose." She clasps Sielaire's chin, and guides her down for a kiss. "I love you."
"I love you more."
Ayrenn laughs as quietly as Sielaire has said it, then tweaks her wife's nose before climbing into the carriage. While her entourage takes their respective places, Ayrenn pops her head through the carriage's window.
"And listen to Alwin. She'll take care of you."
"Not if I take care of her first," Sielaire mumbles, knowing full well that she'll miss Ayrenn's mellow fussing while she receives Alwinarwe's stern raps on the wrist.
A crooked grin parts Ayrenn's lips. "You never are yourself when you're ill."
Sielaire mirrors Ayrenn's smile. "Come back soon?"
"I will, dear heart." Ayrenn reaches out to run her fingers along Sielaire's cheek, then gestures at a guard – a command for the entourage to move.
Sielaire's eyes remain on Ayrenn's until the carriage starts rolling away, and her wife sits back in her cushioned seat. She waits longer, and when the carriage has ridden out of sight, she turns back to the palace with a sniffle.
"Don't cry, Your Grace," Earilas chimes in as he falls into step behind Sielaire. "Didn't the Empress say she'll be back soon?"
"Oh, shut up," Sielaire growls. She rolls her eyes with a smile when she hears a giggle from her closest guard.
Before her departure, Ayrenn has repeated herself over and over, warning Sielaire not to enter her own office until she is well. It is with good reason – she knows all too well that Sielaire will stray back into her office anyway, and be distracted with a minor task at first, then get slowly mired in more and more work, until she is trapped there without realising it.
And this is exactly what has happened just two days after Ayrenn has left. Sielaire's back in her office, seated at her desk by the windows, reading military reports under the sun's morning light, with a frown of concentration between her brows. This peaceful focus is broken, however, when the door is swung open after two short knocks – as is typical of Alwinarwe.
Sielaire looks up and, sure enough, she finds the Proxy Queen striding into her office with that particular expression of disapproval and disappointment, designed to instill the deepest feelings of regret and guilt in its target. Even though Sielaire knows that Alwin can scarcely do anything to her, she has been caught red-handed, and the quill in her hand slows when she meets Alwin's death stare.
"I thought the Empress herself has forbidden you from working."
"Did you really think it would work?"
"Shall I do so as well? Perhaps enact a royal decree which forbids the High Kinlady from working when she should be resting?" Alwin arches her own brow to match Sielaire's growing expression of incredulity. "Your wife did leave you under my care."
"How the tables have turned," Sielaire says drily.
"I am serious, Sielaire. Put the quill down, and stop working. I know all too well that fatigue won't do you any good while you're still recovering."
Sielaire eyes Alwinarwe warily, though she knows the advice comes with good intentions – after all, Alwin herself had once collapsed from overexertion. But Sielaire isn't quite finished yet, and steels herself against the near-palpable glare as she brings her quill back to the parchment, scribbling down the last few lines in her draft of garrison logistics. One full minute later, Sielaire sets the quill down – just before Alwin's brow arches much too dangerously.
Curving her lips into a smile, Sielaire clasps her hands on the table. "May I help you, Alwin, or did you just come in to smack my hands for working?"
"I believe a smack on the head would be more appropriate in this situation," Alwin replies, humour dancing in her flat tone. "But no. It is nearly noon, and I have to ensure you are properly fed with food and medicine."
"I am not a child, my dear."
"So I'd believed – until I saw your fever remedy left untouched on its tray."
"That was days ago, Alwin," Sielaire groans, slumping back in her chair. "And I merely forgot at the time."
"Proof that you need a reminder, at the very least." Alwin gestures towards the door. "Shall we? Or do I have to lure you out with crumbs on the floor?"
"Try cats," Sielaire replies, laughter dotting her voice as she finally relents, and rises from the chair.
Alwinarwe has always been an older sibling figure to them – mostly to Ayrenn, who behaves like an unpredictable imp compared to her cousin, but it's not uncommon to find Alwin fretting over Sielaire from time to time. While Sielaire is loath to put more burden onto Alwin's shoulders, always providing prompt reassurance to voiced concerns, Sielaire has to admit that she does find some enjoyment in their roles now. After years of being the protective older sister to two younger siblings, it is quite refreshing to be taken care of for once…and to finally have a delightful taste of vexing an older sister.
No wonder her own siblings give her so much headache, she thinks wryly, as she leaves the room with Alwinarwe.
"Promise you won't tell Renn?" Sielaire asks, and gets a flat glance in return.
"What is the point?" Alwin replies. "She already knew you'd do it before she left Alinor."
"It'll be fun to keep her guessing."
Alwin cocks a brow as they walk, then tilts her head with a thoughtful look. "Hm. I'll consider it."
True to her word, Ayrenn returns from Valenwood after a month – a notably shorter period of time, compared to the Empress' usual penchant for staying on the mainland longer, to visit and walk among her subjects, or travel around to soak in the views she'd missed. This time, she's passed up the opportunity to stretch her legs, and returns to the Summerset Isles where one person in particular longs for her the most.
By then, Sielaire's mostly recovered, save for a stubborn cough. But she hasn't quite shaken off the fever-wrought longing for her wife, and when she greets Ayrenn in the courtyard as always, she lifts her wife from the ground and spins in a circle, eliciting a hearty laugh which sets her heart dancing with delight. Ayrenn's hair is windswept from her short bout in the air, and Sielaire smooths over ruffled blonde locks with her hands. Ayrenn smiles as Sielaire cups her face, and dips down to press a kiss to Ayrenn's lips, with the sun and sky as their witness – a luxury she's had for years, and will forever cherish.
"You're feeling better," Ayrenn croons, giving Sielaire one last peck before unwinding her arms from Sielaire's neck.
"I am now," Sielaire murmurs, catching Ayrenn's hands to steal a kiss on her knuckles. Their fingers entwine naturally as they turn to walk into the palace together. "How was everything?" Sielaire asks.
"Eh, nothing special. Same old issues…"
Ayrenn starts recounting offhandedly the topics discussed in Thalmor meetings, which had been graced by King Camoran and Queen Khamira as well. Sielaire listens while Ayrenn speaks, tucking away bits of information into her mind, as her eyes drink in the sight of Ayrenn's perfect profile, bathed in the glow of the late afternoon sun. Sielaire's always found it amusing how any length of separation will always make her feel as if she were setting eyes on her wife for the first time, falling in love with that familiar visage over and over again.
It is well-known that this 'honeymoon' passion lasts much longer for the longer-lived races of Tamriel; and among the Altmer, whose marriages are often bonds forged from practicality, this truest sense of love is most exalted and coveted.
As Ayrenn's fingertips drift over her hand in unconscious caress, Sielaire wishes that this feeling would never leave her heart.