Sielaire stops short when the Queen turns around abruptly, causing the guards behind them to halt with an awkward smatter of boots thudding on polished marble.
“Your Majes-?” Sielaire’s voice trails off when Ayrenn holds out a hand. She stares blankly at the ungloved hand, then at Ayrenn - who cocks a brow, and wiggles her fingers pointedly. Sielaire tilts her head, incredulous. “I...”
“Do I have to spell it out, Sie?”
Sielaire bites back a long-suffering groan, feeling eyes on her back. “It would not be appropriate, Your Majesty.”
“Is it not appropriate to hold your betrothed’s hand when she wants you to?”
Sielaire grimaces, shifting on her feet. Her reddening ears twitch when Earilas clears his throat subtly behind her.
Ayrenn watches her quiet struggle, smirk softening into a fond smile. “Oh, fine. Have it your way, Battlereeve.” She lowers her hand, only to land midway into Sielaire’s gloved palm. Ayrenn glances up in surprise, a grin parting her lips when Sielaire’s fingers curl gently around hers.
“Who am I to deny my heart’s wish?” Sielaire murmurs, the heat that had risen to her ears receding as she follows Ayrenn’s lead through the palace.
"It’s a critical battle that will turn the tide of our campaign-"
"That is why we will send the contingents ahead of you-"
"Our troops need to see their Queen!"
"They'll see you just fine in the middle-"
"This is not up for debate!"
A gauntleted hand slams on the war table, rattling the markers on the map of High Rock. "We can't risk you, Renn!"
Silence to match that of the grave's falls over the tent when Sielaire's shout fades. Green eyes meet blue in a glare where anger quickly fades, leaving a stunned realisation of what Sielaire had let slip from her tongue.
The battlereeve lowers her gaze to the table, careful not to meet the stares upon her, and listens as the Queen dismisses her generals. Only when the tent flap has fallen shut behind the last soldier, does Sielaire move - sinking slowly to her haunches by the table, hands reaching up to cover the pained expression on her face.
Keeping her eyes screwed shut, Sielaire groans as mortification rises and burns across her cheeks. Stupid. Sielaire knocks her forehead against the table's edge. Stupid!
Skull meets wood over and over, gathering strength with each thud, until gloved fingers catch her head, holding her still.
"That's one way to end an argument."
"It's not over yet," Sielaire snaps half-heartedly, slapping Ayrenn's hand away.
"Oh yes, it is. I will lead the charge, and you will be there with me. That is all." Steel overshadows the humour in Ayrenn's voice, and the Queen marches out of the tent.
Taking a deep breath, Sielaire knocks her head against the table one last time, frustration folding into itself in defeat. She growls through gritted teeth, "Yes, Your Majesty."
Tossing her crown onto the desk, Ayrenn stretches, then groans when her spine pops in a hundred places. She passes a wordless lament in her next sigh, and starts unbuckling the straps of her armour. Glancing about the tent, she notices something new sitting on the ground beside her bedroll - a bottle of wine, and a folded note with a single stalk of rose lying across its surface. Head cocked, Ayrenn picks up the rose and note, unfolding it to read Sielaire’s crisp script.
'Beloved, we've left early to scout ahead. My official report is on your desk. Sorry I can't be with you tonight. I've acquired a bottle of Summerset vintage for us to share, but you'll have to enjoy it alone for now. See you when I return.'
Instead of signing off with her own name this time, Sielaire had doodled a cat's head with three hearts beside it. A grin breaks through Ayrenn's exhausted expression at the sight.
"Gods, Sie." Ayrenn sighs, pressing the note to her chest. "Don't make me miss you more while you're gone."
A/N: normal verse meets mirror (evil) verse au excerpt //
// Ayrenn shuts the door behind her; its soft thud attracts a fleeting glance from Sielaire, reclined on a chaise by the hearth, with a book in hand. An innocuous little reaction, marred by the sliver of cool disinterest where warmth should've burgeoned - it sets Ayrenn's heart aflame. A residual side effect of the accident, Ayrenn had thought, willing herself to believe some part of Sielaire's psyche had been knocked askew by wayward magicka. That she would've endured this treatment without Alwinarwe's guiding hand on her back, curls Ayrenn's fingers into half-fists as she stalks towards the mer.
Only when Ayrenn stands at the edge of the rug, in a proximity that demands attention, does Sielaire relent with a flicker of green eyes up at Ayrenn's visage, an empty smile on her lips.
"Something on your mind, beloved?" Sielaire croons, her voice so slick it turns Ayrenn's stomach.
"Who are you," Ayrenn growls.
A brow arches, and the smile grows crooked. "Whatever do you mean?"
"Do not play games with me," she hisses, taking a step forward. "I know you are not my wife."
Sielaire holds Ayrenn's glare, deathly silence broken only by crackling from the hearth. Then her lips part in that insufferable, lopsided grin, teeth bared in a fashion where fangs would be more appropriate.
"But I am." Sielaire drops the book from her hand, sitting up effortlessly with a sinuous twist of her body, motion emphasised by the sheer black nightdress shifting over naked flesh beneath. A deliberate maneuver - and Ayrenn realises her folly too late when Sielaire catches her eye, grin just shy of feral. She stands smoothly, and saunters over with a sway in her hips.
"I am Sielaire of Shimmerene, battlereeve-turned-consort, bearer of the name Aldmeri by virtue of marriage to the woman I love." Quicker than the eye can blink, Sielaire closes the remaining distance between them. Ayrenn finds herself clamped to Sielaire's front by an unyielding arm around her waist, her hand burning with bright blue flame against Sielaire's chest. Green eyes lock with hers, bearing a hint of satisfaction as Sielaire lays a tender hand over Ayrenn's - where charged magicka merely caresses her skin.
"But if you were anything like my Queen…" Sielaire glances at the blue flame. "You would have hurt me by now."
"Do you want me to?"
"If I want you to, can you?"
Sielaire smirks at her hesitation, and panic sears her chest as their lips collide, rough and devoid of affection. Anger drives her teeth together, biting hard on soft flesh as the flame in her hand transforms to blinding light, blowing them apart. Ayrenn digs her heels into the floor to stop from sliding further, while Sielaire grounds herself with a firm stamp of the foot. Ayrenn tastes copper on her tongue, watching as Sielaire licks blood from her torn lip.
"You do have claws after all," Sielaire purrs, hunger stirring to life in her eyes.
clothes shifting to show bandages (obviously right after insisting shes fine/wasnt hurt) sie and renn :>
“I’m fine, Sie. The retreat went…smoother than usual,” Ayrenn says with a hint of bitter laughter.
Sielaire gives no response to the Queen’s claim, merely watching as Ayrenn turns to the desk and stares at the map of Cyrodiil in silence. Lamenting a battle lost, perhaps, but Sielaire doesn’t share her Queen’s preoccupation at the moment. Under the warm glow of sunlight filtered through the canvas of the field tent, she watches as Ayrenn reaches for the gold-trimmed steel markers on the map. And as Ayrenn leans forward to push an eagle marker north, Sielaire catches it - the glimpse of cloth strips beneath the collar. Well-hidden, but Ayrenn should’ve known it wouldn’t be for long.
A hand on her shoulder, and Ayrenn straightens herself under Sielaire’s gentle insistence. She meets the silent gaze, smiles as Sielaire pulls her collar down to peek at the bandages. A frown, which grows deeper as Sielaire lifts the hem of Ayrenn’s shirt, revealing cloth wrapped around her torso.
“I’m fine, Sie. Just an arrow…maybe three. And a sword or two, but I think the healer might’ve lied to convince me to rest.”
Sielaire rolls her eyes. “It failed, obviously.” She rights Ayrenn’s shirt, wraps both arms around her waist, pulling her close. “They don’t know that a sharp chop to the nape will do the trick.”
“Well,” Ayrenn sings, breath teasing Sielaire’s lips. “They don’t know me as well as you do.”
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Ayrenn growls. “You are the thief.”
“Mrow.”
Ayrenn squints at the cat held aloft in her hands, which seems to smile at her, blinking benignly. “Don’t you even dare deny it. I can smell it on your breath, you filthy criminal.”
A purr.
“Sweet talk won’t get you anywhere this time. You ate my tuna pasty! I’ve waited the whole week to treat myself, and you just snatched it from me!”
“Meow.”
“I’ll throw you into the dungeons, understand? Ten years dungeon! No cuddles, no catnip, no fresh fish!”
-
Sielaire stops dead in her tracks behind Ayrenn, where she’d walked in quietly. Her mouth slows in its chewing, as she listens to her wife interrogate the cat.
Oops.
Swallowing the last bite of tuna pasty in her mouth, Sielaire casts an apologetic glance at the purring feline, before sneaking out of the room.
Sielaire stirs the moment Ayrenn touches her cheek, but doesn’t wake immediately. Under Ayrenn’s gaze, her face twitches in pain and discomfort, before her eyes flicker open with difficulty. It takes a while for green eyes to focus on Ayrenn, and even then, they’re clouded over.
“Renn,” Sielaire barely rasps through cracked lips, stained with blood the healers hadn’t time to clean. “Are you...”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Ayrenn supplies quickly, noting how laborious the simple act of breathing is for Sielaire. Even in this state, her first thought is not of her own safety, but of her wife. Her Queen. For a fleeting moment, Ayrenn hates the crowned helm upon her head, but distracts herself by brushing her fingers over Sielaire’s cheek.
“Rest now, beloved. I’ll watch over you.”
Sielaire’s eyes flutter shut before she finishes speaking, exhausted. Anxiety thrums in Ayrenn’s veins, as she looks down at the bedroll’s covers drawn up to Sielaire’s bare shoulders, restraining the urge to check on her bandages. Sielaire had saved her life today - by ramming her aside in the battlefield, and suffering a blade in her gut which was meant for Ayrenn.
That’s not all; Ayrenn had watched in horror as a thrown spear pierced Sielaire's chest, before coming to her senses and rushing for the battlereeve as blood spilled from her lips. It was a blur since then, but they’d reached the camp safely from a battle lost, and it took a team of healers to drag Sielaire back from the jaws of death.
Ayrenn sighs - a note of regret and heartache under her breath. This isn’t the first time Sielaire has courted death for her Queen’s sake, and it won’t be the last. It is her oathsworn duty, and Ayrenn herself is helpless stop it.
Bending down, Ayrenn presses her lips gently to Sielaire’s forehead.
