Chapter Summary: Escape from Amenos Island, and a much-needed rest on All Flags Islet.
Between two seasoned warriors, Queen Ayrenn's task is an easy feat. Sielaire and Aneril retrieve a shedded red feather near a harpy nesting ground, slay a fiery vulk'esh for its obsidian claw, and utter a short prayer before plucking a fingerbone from a long-dead sailor's skeleton, half-buried in the beach's sands.
They meet with Ayrenn on the shore as instructed, and the Queen accepts the ritual components with a smile. She asks them to find King Emeric next, waving Sielaire away when she lingers, reluctant to leave Ayrenn behind. An arched brow and tilt of the head is all she needs to send the battlereeve away, short of breaking into an argument in front of the hero of Tamriel.
Swallowing her protest and ignoring Aneril's sidelong glance, she sets off in the direction that Ayrenn had pointed out. The forest is quiet, almost peaceful, but the illusion is shattered when they stumble across the bodies of slain fighters, dotting the forest floor in a morbid trail. They draw their blades, careful to keep their approach subtle with whisper-soft steps, following the trail of bodies until it ends before a cave – where the Breton king stands amid fallen enemies.
He seems to be catching his breath, but lifts his shield and sword at the sight of them, eyeing Sielaire with outright suspicion. But he treats Aneril with better regard, recognising her as the Queen's agent who had saved him from a Daedric titan during the failed peace talks on Stirk, years ago. He listens while Aneril explains their situation, persuading him to lower his weapons and regroup with the Queen.
His mouth twitches at the prospect, but he relents. Emeric puts away his sword and shield, then turns around to heave the strong axe stuck in the ground behind him.
"The Skald-King's axe. I'd tried to track Prince Irnskar down, but…" He shrugs, tying it to his back. "It seems we're on the right trail. Better find him soon, or those pirates will be the end of him."
"Pirates?" Aneril asks.
Emeric nudges over two bodies with his boot, and Sielaire notes that their armours, though similar at first glance, are of different make. One is of the Ascendant Order – with well-oiled, supple leathers and clean metal buckles. The other sports cracked, weather-beaten leathers, held together with worn belts and fraying scarves.
"Green Serpents, they call themselves," Emeric supplies, gesturing for them to start walking, and falls in between the Altmer pair. "Pirate mercenaries…" He snorted. "I've survived assassins of much higher calibre. Surely they do not think so low of me?"
Sielaire purses her lips, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Does every alliance leader have a death wish?
Lion and Eagle have barbs aplenty, and do not hesitate to fling them at each other as they argue over their next move. A well-healed Caska proves to be Ayrenn's trump card, however; after a casual yawn revealing sharp canines the length of his hand, King Emeric sees wisdom in Queen Ayrenn's plan to search the nearby coin fort for Prince Irnskar. The Green Serpents have made that fort their base of operations, and are most likely keeping Irnskar within its walls.
Ordering Caska to clear a path to the fort for Aneril and Emeric, Ayrenn leads Sielaire towards the water on brief reconnaissance. They trek along the shoreline for a few minutes, the wash of waves on sand filling the silence between them, until Ayrenn holds out an arm before Sielaire, bringing them to a stop. She points at a long wooden platform in the distance, jutting out from the back of the fort, just barely visible over waters roiling from the dark storm around the island.
"The docks – our best way out of here. I believe I caught a glimpse of the Perfect Pounce in the distance, but it cannot reach us through this storm. I'll need to perform the weather ritual before they can close in."
"Have you cast it before?" Sielaire asks, and Ayrenn turns back to her. "Will it work?"
Ayrenn cocks a brow. "Don't you have faith in me, Battlereeve?"
Sielaire's lips part, but a sigh passes through them in place of an argument. "Always, my Queen."
They regroup with the others near the fort's gates, hiding behind the collapsed ruins of an old watchtower, out of sight from guards patrolling the fort. Naturally, Ayrenn takes the opportunity to ruffle the Lion's fur again – by suggesting Aneril disguise herself as a Green Serpent, and taking Emeric as her 'prisoner' to gain entry into the fort.
Emeric starts to protest, but bites his tongue when his eyes dart briefly towards Caska. He heaves a world-weary sigh, and waits impatiently while Aneril sneaks off to scavenge a Serpent uniform. Ignoring Ayrenn's poorly-hidden smile, he holds his back straight with dignity when Aneril returns in Serpent garb, and ties his wrists together with a torn, bloodied scarf.
The Serpents are fooled easily enough, raising the fort's gates to allow Aneril and Emeric entry. Once they have crossed the threshold, Caska, Ayrenn, and Sielaire burst out of hiding and fly in at their heels, bringing down every pirate within the courtyard before they can raise the alarm. Ayrenn sends Aneril and Emeric into the fort's dungeons to search for Irnskar, then turns back to Caska and Sielaire with a gleam in her eyes.
Their job, Queen Ayrenn declares with a grin, is to cause utter, bloody chaos for the pirates – as a distraction to keep the Serpents off their allies, of course.
With a quiet sigh, Sielaire bids caution goodbye and throws herself into the three-woman blitz – keeping close to Ayrenn and Caska as they charge into the fort's entrance hall, spilling fresh red over gritty floor tiles as they strike down Serpents caught off-guard. Ayrenn's victorious laugh rings in Sielaire's ears, the adrenaline-fueled delight in her Queen's voice sparking to life a fire in her own veins.
Refusing to fall behind, the loyal battlereeve fights in lockstep with her queen, charging down corridors and clearing chambers with spell blasts and sword swings that synchronise the longer they fight together. A battlesong lain in silence in their months apart, now sung by blades that whistle through the air, one after another with intimate harmony.
Sielaire's right ear twitches, and she reaches out unthinking, yanking Ayrenn to her chest as arrows pierce the air where the Queen had stood. She allows Ayrenn to break free, slaying the pirates rushing towards Sielaire's flank, while lightning ravages the archers hidden in the pillars' shadows. Caska mows down the remaining Serpents as Sielaire turns back, catching Ayrenn's eye. A knowing smirk tilts her love's lips, perceptive eyes reading the primal, combat-riled pleasure in Sielaire's stricken gaze.
A wild impulse crashes over Sielaire, but Caska's loud sniff breaks her state of rapture.
"I can smell the sea. This way!"
They follow Caska's lead through the fort, and emerge onto the eastern battlements surrounding the fort's private docks. As luck has it, Aneril and Emeric appear on the southern battlements as well – with Prince Irnskar in tow, dressed in prison rags with a bloodied axe gripped tight in his hands. The two parties wave and point at the docks, then run down twisting flights of slick stone steps to meet each other.
As they reunite, an Argonian ranger leaps onto the docks – flanked by two giant, snarling white tigers. Sielaire's shock doesn't take root; her mind latches immediately onto Ayrenn, flinging out an arm to hold her Queen back, and feels a touch on her shoulder.
"Hold them off! I'll cast the ritual," Ayrenn barks. "Emeric, Caska – with me!"
"Always with the commands!" Emeric retorts, but follows her to one wooden deck regardless, keeping guard with Caska behind the barrier that Ayrenn has conjured in their wake.
Sielaire doesn't have time to look back at Ayrenn – the two white beasts have charged towards them amid a hail of strategically-aimed arrows. Sielaire, Aneril, and Irnskar split up, keeping a distance from one another while they take the tigers head-on. Sielaire throws herself aside to avoid one tiger's lunge, then spins farther out of reach when large fangs snap at her. In a split-second, she throws herself forward and plunges her blade deep into the tiger's side, straight through its ribs.
It howls in pain and fury, twisting its body free from Sielaire's blade. She dodges the heavy swipe of its paw, and it rears back on its hind legs, blotting the sun from Sielaire's vision with its mighty form. It raises its front claws for a downward slam, when twin torrents of fire slam into its broad chest, eliciting an earth-shaking howl as the smell of seared fur and flesh tease Sielaire's nostrils. The tiger staggers back awkwardly on its hind legs, and Sielaire gives it no time to recover – she flies forward, piercing her blade into its burnt chest, and rips brutally downwards.
She ducks away from the creature's falling body and the gush of blood from its open wound, heart hammering in her chest from glorious combat adrenaline. Sielaire allows it to drive her forward on pure instinct, joining Irnskar's battle against the Argonian ranger while Aneril distracts the other tiger with a determined, yet odd look over the shimmering edge of her conjured shield.
"Get over here and face me, coward!" Irnskar roars, chasing after the Argonian pirate who dances out of the Nord prince's reach with agile leaps. The taunting grin on his scaly lips, however, starts to mouth a Jel curse when an electric green whip locks around his waist.
Sielaire smirks when the Argonian meets her eyes, then wrenches hard on the magical whip – forcing the Argonian to stumble forward, into Irnskar's reach. The prince hollers an eager laugh and raises his axe for the kill, but the Argonian twists in the whip's confines, knocking Irnskar off his feet with a hard swipe of the tail. Sielaire clicks her tongue – Ayrenn would've evaded that move easily, instead of falling unceremoniously on her ass in a moment of victory.
Before the Argonian can fall on Irnskar, she shoots a potent bolt of lightning at him, causing his body to lock up in the throes of a fatal shock. She ends his suffering with a telekinetic blast, throwing him hard into the wall behind them, skull splitting against stone with a loud crack.
"Hey, I had him!" Irnskar gripes, getting back on his feet. "You stole my–"
A shadow falls over Irnskar, and the flash of white behind his shoulder shocks Sielaire into action. She throws herself forward, taking Irnskar aback. Before he can raise his axe on instinct, she shoves Irnskar to the floor and tries to roll over with him – but it's too late. Sharp claws rake over her jaw and shoulder mercilessly, tearing through cracked leather and flesh.
Sielaire is thrown onto her back from the force of the blow, head spinning from motion and pain. The tiger has nearly closed on her when Irnskar steps in, swinging his axe upwards in a forceful blow that knocks the beast aside, gushing red from a deep slash between its neck and shoulder. Aneril keeps the tiger down with a blast of flame, allowing Irnskar to sink his axe deep into its skull.
While Sielaire forces herself to sit up, Aneril and Irnskar run over. Both hesitate when she motions for them to reach down; at her insistence, they grab her arms and haul her up onto both feet.
"Are you alright?" Aneril asks. "Can you walk?"
Sielaire nods, triggering another cascade of pain from her jaw and shoulder. She is light-headed, but the pain is bearable, not dangerously bone-deep. Irnskar bends down to retrieve the sword she'd dropped, and she takes it gratefully, feeling herself tremble as she grips its hilt tight.
With her arm around Aneril's shoulders for support, they follow Irnskar to the wooden docks, where the rest stand waiting. The storm around the island has already been dispersed by Ayrenn's magic, allowing the sun to adorn calm waters with a golden shimmer.
The Queen's eyes widen at the sight of her, and she hurries forward to meet them. She grasps Sielaire's arm, taking care not to jostle her shoulder as she guides Sielaire onto the boat with the rest of the group. As Emeric and Irnskar take the oars and row them towards the Perfect Pounce waiting for them in the distance, Ayrenn settles beside Sielaire and weaves a strong healing spell, easing much of her pain. But the soothing golden light fades away too quickly, and frustration knits Ayrenn's brows together.
"The weather ritual took a lot of magicka out of me," Ayrenn says quietly in Altmeris. "Can you hold on?"
"I'm fine," Sielaire whispers, restraining the urge to take Ayrenn's hand. She is much too aware of how Aneril is pointedly staring out at the Pounce despite sitting across from them.
The climb up onto the ship is awkward with an injured shoulder, but Sielaire makes it onto the deck with poise, and is escorted to the prow of the ship by Ayrenn when the group disperses for a short rest. With a gentle grip on her elbow, Ayrenn steers Sielaire towards a wooden bench by the rails and sits her down. She wanders off on a quick search, returning with a clean towel and water canteen.
Sielaire holds still as Ayrenn peels the shoulder guard off her, and pulls down her shirt to expose the wound beneath, half-hidden beneath a coat of fresh red. Ayrenn pours a thin stream of water over her stinging wounds, rinsing off thick blood, before patting carefully at the gashes on Sielaire's shoulder and jaw. When she is done, Sielaire's skin is clear of dirt and blood, red only where the shallow remnants of her wounds remain.
Ayrenn looks up in satisfaction, and Sielaire doesn't bother hiding the fact that she'd watched her partner the whole time. Ayrenn smiles and cups her chin fondly, before the thud of boots makes her step away.
Sielaire watches Ayrenn pull her shoulders back into a dignified posture as Aneril draws close. A warm smile plays over the Queen's face, and Sielaire's heart seizes for a moment, gazing at her graceful countenance lit by the blessed rays of the sun.
She bites her lip and forces her eyes away to look somewhere more appropriate – the waters before the Perfect Pounce, and High Isle in the distance. With the Queen's voice in her ears, she allows her eyes to fall shut, feeling the sun and winds on her face, as a small smile curves her lips.
Captains Kaleen and Tsuzo receive them at the docks in Gonfalon Bay, accompanied by four knights in full armour. They have cleared the docks in anticipation of the Pounce's arrival, and proceed to secret them through secluded back alleys and underground tunnels to reach Mandrake Manor out of sight.
Lady Arabelle and Lord Bacaro rise to their feet, visibly relieved by the royals' safe arrival. While they lead the delegates into the backyard for rest and refreshments, Kaleen brings Aneril and Sielaire up to the visitor's quarters, and gestures at the two wooden dividers set up at each end of the room.
Sielaire steps behind the divider Kaleen points out to her, and finds a thick leather suitcase sitting atop a dresser, beside a washbowl filled with clean water and a towel. She opens the suitcase to find her Dominion uniform folded neatly within, steel armour pieces laid over leather and cloth.
Stripping off her scavenged leathers, she tosses them into an empty washtub on the floor, and dampens the towel to wipe herself down. She relishes the feel of familiar clothes on her skin as she pulls on each part of her uniform, feeling much more comfortable in a battlereeve's ensemble.
After securing her precious adamantium sword to her belt, Sielaire reaches into the suitcase for one last item. Taking the small velvet drawstring pouch, Sielaire retrieves the golden ring within, and slips it back onto her finger. She twists it once, smiling in satisfaction, before pulling on her thick glove to hide it from view.
When she steps out, she finds Aneril already dressed, checking herself over in the mirror. The blonde mer notices her gaze and turns around, then pauses at the hand held out to her.
"You have my deepest gratitude for your aid," Sielaire says. "It has been an honour to work with the hero of Tamriel."
Aneril grimaces at the title, but catches herself. She takes Sielaire's hand, shaking it firmly. "It's my pleasure, battlereeve."
They enter the backyard to find the royal guests conversing amicably with Arabelle and Bacaro. Sielaire and Aneril position themselves by the side, listening to the conversation – which, predictably, grows heated when Lady Arabelle reveals her plan to hide the royal delegates on All Flags Islet.
Ayrenn is the first to push back against the idea, insisting that Dominion forces be allowed to land on High Isle and crush the Ascendant Order. Emeric cuts in immediately, protesting the outrageous notion of landing Dominion forces on Breton territory. Irnskar leaps to his feet along with Eagle and Lion, threatening the Dragon's departure if any alliance's fleet is summoned.
They fall into a heated argument, and Sielaire holds back a sigh. She casts a glance to the side, and notices Aneril scratching at the side of her neck in quiet discomfort. Aneril notices the attention and meets her eyes, returning the subtle smile that Sielaire gives her. Obviously the hero of Tamriel is only accustomed to rescuing politicians, not enduring their endless squabbles.
Thankfully, Lady Arabelle steps in before a diplomatic disaster occurs, and convinces them to leave the arguments for the peace talks. Gesturing for Aneril to stay, Arabelle urges the alliance leaders to follow Lord Bacaro through the back gate, and board a carriage that will carry them to Steadfast Manor, from which they will take a boat to All Flags Islet.
Sielaire nods at Aneril in farewell, before she falls in step with Ayrenn, walking just a hair behind her Queen. Every leader strolls at least an arm's length from one another, and Lord Bacaro is busy ensuring their path ahead is clear while they walk, which gives Ayrenn some privacy to murmur in Altmeris.
"You must be delighted."
Sielaire can think of many reasons to be delighted at this moment – chief of which is having her Queen back by her side, safe and sound. But, judging by the low, restless rumble in Ayrenn's voice, Sielaire guesses she means something else.
"Delighted?"
"That your queen is to be holed up in a secure little cage."
Sielaire lets a small smirk curve her lips. "I shall enjoy watching her bounce off the walls."
"Just the walls?"
She frowns, staring at Ayrenn, lost. Then Ayrenn meets her eyes and cracks into a lopsided smile; heat rushes up Sielaire's neck, burning at the base of her ears. She coughs discreetly as they reach a horse-drawn carriage, and Sielaire distracts herself by taking Ayrenn's hand, helping her Queen up into its plush, cushioned interior. Lord Bacaro, who holds the door open, seems to smile at her in benign approval, and gestures into the carriage. Sielaire shakes her head, and hoists herself up onto the rider's seat in front of the carriage, laying her sheathed sword over her lap.
Casting a glance back at the passengers, who are separated from her by an open window, Sielaire bites down a smile at the obvious distance at which each royal sits from one another. As she turns back to face the road, Lord Bacaro joining her on the seat and taking the reins, she hears Ayrenn ask after Prince Irnskar's father.
The horses take off at a brisk trot while Irnskar relays the hearty health of King Jorunn, and the impressive progress of Windhelm's reconstruction. Emeric joins the conversation as well, recalling the Akaviri Invasion of Skyrim and the heroic tales of Queen Mabjaarn Flame-Hair, which Irnskar corroborates with pride in the grandmother he'd never met.
Lord Bacaro chuckles quietly. "And they are starting to get along. There's some hope for the peace talks now, eh?"
Sielaire tilts her head. "There is always hope for peace, my lord. If we have the will to work for it."
Bacaro regards her thoughtfully, then turns back to the road with a sombre smile.
After weeks of working with the Society of the Steadfast, Sielaire understands that the Steadfast are deeply driven by their cause for peace, yet working more on ingenuity and cooperation than sheer numbers. That troubling fact hits Sielaire harder than ever when they reach All Flags Islet.
The castle is maintained by a host of civilian staff, and guarded by a small contingent of guards spread across every wing. Sielaire is acutely aware that there are barely enough hands to man the entire castle, much less defend the fort in case of an attack. Lord Bacaro is conscious of this as well. He promises hired knights to bolster their ranks, and has hired experienced enchanters from the Mages Guild to set up wards around the castle, bolstering their defence with the arcane.
Though Sielaire appreciates his meticulous effort to compensate for their last-minute change in accommodations, her trained eye still spots a dozen different weaknesses in their defences, while Bacaro gives them a brief tour of the grounds. If nothing else, it will provide her with a job to do in the coming days holed up in this castle.
After escorting Queen Ayrenn to her luxurious quarters, Sielaire subjects the room to a quick security sweep, then fends off Ayrenn's playful advances in favour of combing over the castle on foot. She familiarises herself with the castle's layout – taking note of pathways, hidden corners, and exits to form attack plans and escape routes. She finds Guild Magister Valessea in Memorial Hall, where the mages are laying a strong lattice of wards to fortify the designated emergency shelter. They have a quick chat over the mages' planned ward placements, and part ways with a promise to discuss further precautions once the mages' job is done.
By the time Sielaire returns to Ayrenn's quarters, a full hour has passed. She finds her Queen dozing in the bathtub, head lolling onto her shoulder, chin just tickling the surface of lukewarm water. Crouching by the tub, Sielaire touches her cheek gently, and Ayrenn starts out of her almost-nap with a jerk, feet flailing briefly in the water. She grips onto the edges of the marble tub, white-knuckled, and Sielaire sets a firm hand on her shoulder.
"Renn. It's me," she says, drawing blue eyes to herself. She cups Ayrenn's face, thumb stroking her cheek gently.
"Oh, Sie." Ayrenn heaves a deep sigh and clutches at her, wetting the thick cloth at Sielaire's wrist. "The water… I thought I was sinking again."
Her eyes fall shut as she drags a hand down her face – then jerks back, staring accusingly at her own wet hand. Sielaire fails to hide a snort, but appeases the squint shot at her by picking up a towel to pat Ayrenn's face dry.
"Come now, you'll turn into a prune if you stay any longer."
Ayrenn lets out a throaty grumble, but allows Sielaire to help her to her feet, stepping down onto the woven mat by the tub. She stands still while Sielaire wipes her down, then dresses herself in a thin wool tunic and underwear. Sielaire waits for her to turn around, and pulls over her shoulders a soft cotton robe, tying it together with a simple knot on the sash around her waist.
Ayrenn smiles, kissing her on the cheek, and is waved away by Sielaire when she starts unbuckling her armour. Sielaire holds fast under the pout directed at her, knowing they will not leave the bathroom until an hour later if Ayrenn gets her way – and her aching bones are not in any condition for that particular nature of punishment.
Not yet, anyway.
She manages to push Ayrenn out of the bathroom with playful pokes from the tips of her fingers, and gives her wife a placating peck on the lips, before closing the door on her.
Sielaire lets the used water drain from the tub while she sheds her uniform, setting them on a dresser nearby. She pauses a moment by the half-misted mirror, taking stock of the bruises and cuts on her body, and the raw pinkish-red claw marks on her shoulder and jaw. Experience tells her that no scar will be left behind, but she prays for the sake of her own vanity nonetheless; the Daedra claw marks on her abdomen make it hard enough to look into the mirror on bad days.
Forgoing a bath, Sielaire draws water from the spout, rinsing herself clean. The bar soap's floral fragrance is what finally makes her tense muscles relax, and she finds meditative calm in lathering her skin, grounding herself in the present before washing herself with a final rinse of cold water.
When she is clean and dry, she gives the spare clothing in the dresser a pass, covering herself simply with the extra robe hanging by the door. A satisfied sigh passes her lips as she walks back into the bedroom, where a warm fire dances invitingly in the hearth.
Growing aware of the heavy storm battering against the castle's solid stone walls, she is drawn towards the fire's warmth. Sielaire finds Ayrenn lying on her side by the hearth, surrounded and propped up by pillows she'd liberated from the bed and sofas.
"You survive a shipwreck, get stranded on a wild prison island, fight through an old coin fort full of pirates," Sielaire says, attracting Ayrenn's gaze as she draws close. "All that, and you still choose to sleep on the floor instead of a soft bed. Incredible."
"First of all, I am not sleeping on the floor. I am sleeping on a rug. Second, a rug with the right partner beats the world's softest bed any day. Speaking of which." Ayrenn pats the spot beside her pointedly. "Come here."
"Yes, my Queen," Sielaire replies drily, joining Ayrenn on the admittedly comfortable rug. It is thick enough to cushion them from bare stone, warm from the fire beside them and, more importantly, the Queen of the Aldmeri Dominion lying upon it.
Following the touch on her shoulder, Sielaire lies on her back and lets out a quiet groan, her spine attempting to meld with the rug beneath her. Ayrenn's smile is smug and knowing, but turns downright impish when her eyes travel down the loose fold of Sielaire's robes over her chest.
"Ooh," Ayrenn sings, running her fingertips down the front of her robes, then parts it farther to expose more cleavage.
"Behave," Sielaire deadpans, slapping at Ayrenn's hand. But it doesn't deter her love one bit – Ayrenn lowers her head, laying a kiss between her breasts. "I will fall asleep no matter what you do."
"Bet?"
A rumble in Sielaire's throat makes Ayrenn laugh softly, and she relents – but not completely. Ayrenn trails kisses up the length of her chest, then strays to the side, where the claw marks sit on her shoulder. Her lips caress the half-healed wounds, warm and soft against Sielaire's flesh, making her tingle pleasantly where it had once stung. Ayrenn turns her head, showering attention on the gash over Sielaire's jaw, before closing over her lips in a slow, deep kiss.
"My champion," she breathes against Sielaire, fingers grazing over the wounds with featherlight caress, as she presses their chests together.
"Beloved," Sielaire murmurs. "It's still not working."
Ayrenn draws back to burst out in a laugh, and tweaks her nose. "Oh, alright."
She sets a hand between Sielaire's jaw and shoulder, coming alight with the warm golden glow of a healing spell. When the light fades away, Ayrenn eyes the once-wounds with satisfaction, and gives her another kiss on the lips.
Ayrenn tries and fails to hide a yawn as she nestles her head in the curve of Sielaire's neck, lying on top of her partner. Reaching aside, Sielaire grabs the comforter and spreads it over Ayrenn, who tucks the sides under Sielaire, cocooning them both.
Keeping an arm around Ayrenn's waist, Sielaire twines their fingers together under the comforter, and closes her eyes. The crackling fire creates a delightful contrast to the heavy storm outside, and she is ever more grateful to be safe from the elements, with her love safe in her arms.
In this dream made reality, Sielaire drifts off to sleep with a soft smile on her lips.