Fable - Ask A Crown Fit For... [Medja | Empire]

[Elspeth Sirl]

Ragash
Midday

While spectacle and celebration were hardly uncommon in the great cities of the Empire, no one had expected the arrival of this day's peculiar caravan. It hailed from the trading ports of Annuakat, having traversed the landscape to arrive at Ragash unannounced. Under the afternoon sun the parade made its way through the streets, holding banners of pitch black bearing the sigil of a red lotus - one that had become known as the signature of the Emperor's Executioner.

A covered carriage pulled by two black horses sat at the center of the caravan, heavily guarded by Abtati warriors and ... beast people.

Sitting astride an ornately tacked desert raladon was a face not soon or easily forgotten. Loxa Visl spied the towers of prestige at the center of the city and motioned to her retinue that their trek would soon come to an end. She glanced aside to a man riding on a horse nearly half the size of her own mount, Roque, who nodded in return to her and rode ahead.

"Make way for the Sha Matri, Loxa Visl! Make way! She arrives bearing exotic gifts from the far east for the Lady Medja!"

Not that her own mount needed any help clearing a path, but now they had all the attention they needed.

Fieravene had ordered a grand display and Loxa was more than happy to oblige her well-paying client.

 

[Medja]

Medja's trips back home to her fair city of Ragash had been becoming ever more infrequent in recent weeks. Duty and responsibility demanded that the near-Empress remained within the Imperial capital as much as possible. These days she practically found herself looking for an excuse to return to Ragash; she missed her tower, her gilded streets...hell, she even missed that damn golden pond.

Leave it to the illustrious Fieravene to provide that exact excuse. Not that Medja would miss any invitation provided by her old drow friend these days, but the promise of something supposedly marvelous and an opportunity to visit home was just too perfect to miss out on.

The Vizier had expected some sort of quaint meeting the likes of their last rendezvous. What she did not expect was a veritable parade bearing a familiar banner marching down the main streets of her city. That was a move she would've chocked up to...well, herself, really.

If Fieravene's goal had been to draw Medja's attention, it certainly worked. Before long the Vizier descended into the street just in front of the Ragashi palace, flanked by a small entourage of Hands and ready to meet whatever it was that was coming her way. A familiar face made itself apparent, the ever intriguing visage of the gnoll Loxa Visl riding atop some massive, armor plated, beast of burden. Palace guard and Ragashi security cleared a path for the gnoll's caravan, giving it free reign to travel unimpeded. Medja waited with bemused curiosity for the reason behind all this fanfare and grandeur.

This was shaping up to be an entertaining afternoon...

 

[Elspeth Sirl]

The caravan moved forward as the street was cleared, the beast people banging on drums in a rumbling, unnerving manner. It felt more befitting of the walk one takes to their execution - aggressive, foreboding - and yet no manner of threat presented itself. Instead, as the parade walkers took their place off to the edges of the open area before the palace stairs, several things began happening at once.

The drummers switched to a different beat - exciting and energizing - as a choreographed display exploded across the open pavers. A dance, a show of skill with sword and dagger and agility, weaving in and out of itself with deft precision. Then, one by one, each performer broke off along the various decorated pack animals of the caravan to take up a crate or a box or a chest of some kind and began a procession anew in two lines up the stairs, flanking Medja on either side.

One by one, each box was opened to reveal the contents within: exotic fruits, jewels, decoration, artwork, woven materials that glinted in the sun, wine, wine wine and more wine, other bottles of curious origin, packs of treats and foreign foodstuffs containing rare ingredients, flowers and herbs, and then finally ...

Two warriors moved to the carriage, whose passenger had been hidden behind closed curtains the entire time, and opened the door to the shadowed interior. The darkness within seemed to shift and mold, melding out into the daylight as the figure of none other than the Emperor's Executioner, the Dark Fiend, Death's Hand: Fieravene.

Wearing a rather simple but lovely dress to boot.

The dark elf struck a casual pose, smirked, "Surprise," and gestured to everything.

 

[Medja]

The city of Ragash was certainly no stranger to extravagance, but this...this was fanfare, pure and positively profligate. The Vizier allowed a small grin to creep across her lips as she watched the show unfold before her, a carnival cavalcade that delighted the senses and brought increasing excitement with each passing moment.

Performance then gave way to presentation. Medja brought a hand to her chest as each container was opened, her smile growing wider and heart beating a little faster with each subsequent reveal. Her own servants began to look both bewildered and overwhelmed as more and more gifts and performers poured forth. The sorceress allowed herself a giggle as the show began to crescendo.

"Gods, someone has really out--" She began before trailing off, her words cut short by the display's utterly unexpected finale. Medja's emerald eyes went wide, her heart skipped a beat, and just briefly her smile melted to a look of utter surprise.

"--outdone herself..." She finished, stunned and in a volume that she herself wasn't really aware of. The occasional gift and odd letter was practically expected by this point, but somehow she truly had not anticipated seeing that starkly striking, pale, and elegant visage of her dearest friend at this exact moment.

Silence and indecision took Medja for a solid ten seconds after the wry mercenary made her big reveal before Medja let thought, reason, and emotion run back into her mind and body. Formality be damned, a warm smile tugged at her lips and tears faintly welled at the edges of her eyes, and the Vizier found herself floating up to where her friend had unveiled her grandest of revelations. An uncharacteristically emotional laugh escaped her as she met Fieravene face to face.

"Color me floored, darling." She chimed back before drawing the dark elf into a hug.

 

[Fieravene]

"What is it they say? Go big or go home?" Fieravene's grin cut like a knife across her expression as she sunk into the embrace fully and firmly hugged the woman back with her head tucked into the crook of her neck.

"My sweet desert bloom," she murmured into the hug, "your presence is the oasis of the dunes," a deep inhale followed before she pulled back from her, "and your scent is the fragrance of the Gods. Truly I deserve neither."

Not that Fieravene had ever lived a life of what she deserved. The elf lived a life of what she wanted - and what she wanted right now was a tall glass of vintage red, a plate full of food, and a very naked Medja right by her side. Of course you don't simply just ask after such things ... you let them come to you.

"I am not yet done doting on you," she offered Medja a sanguine smile and gently cuffed the royal's chin with her fingers, "but these last few presents are better revealed out of public eye. If you would be so kind," and then gestured back up the steps of the entrance, into Medja's royal home.

 

[Medja]

Certainly no one knew how to go bigger than Fieravene; the woman's smugness was incredibly well earned. The lengths to which she'd go apparently just to see Medja pleased as punch were wholly unmatched. If she hadn't already been floating the Vizier would've been swept off her feet.

"Great Sage's grace, I'd wager my life that there isn't a single soul in this world more charming than you, darling." Medja answered Fi's flattery through sniffs as she worked to recover her composure. It had been a very, very long time since she'd let someone see between the cracks of the persona she'd built for herself over the centuries. It was a privilege that uniquely belonged to Fieravene, and somehow Medja felt no shame in that fact.

Much as Medja adored spectacle (and she was certain the good people of Ragash had enjoyed the show as well), there now felt like nothing she wanted more than a bit of privacy. An empress-to-be though she was, Medja was putty in the dark elf's hands as the latter's fingers brushed her chin.
"By all means..." Medja replied before drifting passed Fieravene, pausing only to take her dear companion's hand and lead her up the steps.

Servants and guards guided their keen retreat. Once inside, Medja was eager to come to a rest; there was, after all, a sitting room above a private garden that had the duo's names on it.

 

[Fieravene]

"Great Sage's grace, I'd wage my life that there isn't a single soul in this world more charming than you, darling."

"Do you know that there isn't?" the elf smirked after her, offering her own brand of humor to help dry those teary eyes before the woman's makeup began to run, "I've looked high and low and I haven't found one yet." With a quick and humble glance at her nails, Fieravene's dark form sleekly billowed after the retreating not-Empress, lead at the hand.

Up, up, up the steps they went and into the halls of alabaster and gold. Annuakat she had become quite familiar with, but Ragash was still much a curiosity to the elf. Her time here had been few and short-lived. Seemed as soon as she'd arrived for each visit she'd been sent off on another mission. Such was the popularity of someone good at their job and delivering results.

They were followed by the servants who now carried with them the many, many chests and crates and boxes of gifts that Medja found herself burdened with. As Fi and Medja made their way into the aforementioned sitting room, the elf motioned for two of the servants still following at distance to join them.

"Have you a looking glass in here?" Fi asked after Medja.

 

[Medja]

"I've looked high and low and I haven't found one yet."

Thankfully backed by tears of joy rather than pain, that gesture didn't go unrewarded. Fi's unique brand of swaggering confidence earned a snicker out of Medja, and when paired with a handkerchief offered by a timely servant, Medja's makeup would remain intact for now.

The Palace of Ragash was a different beast from the Imperial capital. Where Annuakat was imposing and majestic with its walls of blue, the Ragashi had placed one quality on a pedestal above all others: luxury. Overly wide halls lined with only the most expensive building materials marked the average corridor within the palace. Sculptures and artifacts hewn from marble and gold marked every corner, and afternoon light poured in through portals designed to give the sense that the beams were sent by the gods themselves. Ragash was the city of affluence, and its palace personified that reputation.

The sitting room was no different in its near-gaudiness. Crystalline structures dangled from the ceiling, some containing candles whose refracted light danced across the walls like stars in the night sky. The tile floor was polished to a state that it reflected like glass, and the furniture appeared as though it had been molded into shape by the greatest artisans to have ever graced Arethil.

The room's balcony overlooked a garden - smaller and less impressive than the great garden in Annuakat, but no less extravagant. Indeed, this garden was exotic, lush beyond the natural limits of the deserts of Liadain. It was like a private oasis within the Ragashi palace, complete with man-made streams and fountains.

As Medja, Fi, and servants alike filed in, the sorceress floated off to a desk which sat near the balcony.
"Let me see, there certainly should be..." Medja replied thoughtfully while filing through drawers. "Ah, there we are."

With a flick of Medja's fingers, a gilded looking glass suspended on nothing floated across the room and into Fi's elegant hands.

 

[Fieravene]

It was met with rounded scarlet eyes, pupils widening to take it in with a hint of curiosity, "Hm," Fi smiled, turning it about from end to end within her palms, "that will do. Now, come sit my dear. My doting is best enjoyed off one's feet-" and a gesture to the cushions amassed on the floor where she suspected Medja did a fair amount of lounging in between her many calls. She smirked, a pointed brow arching upward just slightly as she eyed the woman's dainty feet floating, as ever, several inches off the ground, "well, you know what I mean. Don't dally, I have plans for you after this."

"Come come come," the elf insisted to both the Regent and the performers from the parade still carrying an unopened chest, "bring it here."

Settling herself down on the cushions just to the side, she patted the spot meant for Medja and directed the Pirate to carefully place the chest down before it. Waiting for Medja to join her, the elf extracted a key from a pouch on her hip and leaned forward to unlock the chest, her hands lingering at the corners, "Close your eyes, no peeking now..."

The chest top creaked open.

Inside, nestled securely within a bed of black satin was a crown bejeweled by pristine emeralds and encrusted with diamonds. It glimmered, ethereal, in the golden light of the room.

"Open your eyes love."

 

[Medja]

While she was happy to share anything she had with her dearest companion, Medja couldn't help but wonder where this was all going. Fieravene had said it herself: she had plans. There was some extra icing that was bound to be coming to this cake of extravagance. Medja was all too willing and happy to oblige, however. Fi's personal brew of games were endlessly entertaining to the Vizier.

The dark elf's joke garnered another laugh from Medja as she assented to her requests and demanding patting.
"My, my, all this pomp and circumstance. You're more eager about all this than I am, and that's saying something, darling." Medja teased as she hovered her way across the spotless floor to the familiar cushions. She settled into the space that Fi had indicated, gently alighting and making herself comfortable next to the dark elf.

The regent watched with intrigue and intent as the servants brought the chest and Fi produced the key. She cocked her head slightly at the request to close her eyes, but complied, ever eager to see the game through to its finish. Once she'd received permission, Medja let her emerald eyes slowly slide open, unsure what could possibly await...

And then those same eyes went wide as saucers. A gasp cut the room, then deafening silence as the regent let the sight of Fi's gift sink in. For a moment Medja's hands were cupped over her mouth in surprise, but then she gently cupped then towards the gleaming treasure. At her bidding, it gently floated from its container until it hovered between her hands, then she used her magic to float it just above her palms. She allowed it to rotate as she drank in the sight, in awe of its beauty and unwilling to lay her bare fingers upon it just yet. Perhaps it was good that she hadn't yet relinquished that handkerchief...

"B...by the Hundreds, Fi, this is...it's positively breathtaking..."
Her words came in a hushed tone, the regent still stunned by the sight before her. Even in all of her vast collections, she'd never come across something quite so perfect.

 

[Fieravene]

There was something special about watching a person's face light up and shift through all manner of surprise, awe, and shock when you give them the perfect present. Fieravene drank it in with sound, unadulterated smugness. Oh yes, she'd known from the instant she'd laid her hands on that crown that it belonged atop the regal skull of dear, sweet, savory Medja. Curses and geists be damned, she had moved every heaven and hell known to this wretched overbright world to make it happen.

"Yes," she agreed with a broadening smirk, crimson eyes closely watching the bejeweled masterpiece in the magical clutches of the Regent, "it is. Befitting of a true and proper sovereign of the desert," she leaned in to plant a warm kiss on Medja's cheek, "don't you think?"

Lingering there in her ear, Fiera folded her deviant gaze away from the gift to the current headdress sitting atop Medja's regal skull. Dark hands reached up to ever so gently ply the decoration away - for that is all that it was in comparison to the gift, "May I?" and then gestured to the crown floating between Medja's hands.

 

[Medja]

Sweet words and sweeter lips orbited and blessed Medja's consciousness, her cheek and ears warming automatically at their touch. She couldn't manage any verbal response to Fieravene's electrifying murmurs, only a hard swallow and a hitched breath. Gods, it must've been centuries since last she felt like this.

"May I?"

Vibrant green eyes, practically glowing, turned to lock upon the fiery embers Fi's own. The regent shivered, and she could feel her heart hammering away in a distinctly unfamiliar fashion. Her mind searched for a witty retort, but all she could answer was, quietly:

"...Yes. Yes, of course."

The truth was, Medja had hardly even registered what the request had referred to. In her heart Medja knew, in that moment Fieravene could have asked for quite possibly anything and her answer would have been the same.

 

[Fieravene]

Fiera settled soft, somber eyes on the woman as she gently lifted the crown from her arcane grasp, feeling for the briefest of moments the touch of her magical energy in the exchange. Medja was a fount of power, to be sure, but she didn't think the woman gave herself enough credit. If she had, she'd have already taken the throne for herself.

"I would see you gleam, my dear," the elf murmured low as her hands lifted the crown high and over Medja's head, "the most magnificent gem of the desert sands," and gently settled it down on the bed of ebony hair atop it. Her left hand carefully steadied the weight of the crown while her right delicately plied at Medja's chin, turning her gaze directly upon her so the could center the precipice of the emeralds just above her third eye.

"Her Majesty the Empress," Fi smiled reverently as she splayed her hands to either side of the vision before her and then without any ado picked up the looking glass to present the Regent's royal reflection to her, "who could possibly wear it better than you...

 

[Medja]

Caramel skin blushed deeply as Fiera continued to grace Medja's ears with honeyed words. Her eyes followed as the woman known as Death's Hand retrieved the crown from the sorceress' magic grasp, and watched more intently as she moved to put the adornment in its proper place. A light gasp escaped her lips at Fi's slightest touch. This attention, this doting...there was nothing that Medja had ever enjoyed more.

As the crown descended, the Empress-to-be's eyes fell shut. She felt air rush into her lungs as its weight wreathed her head. This was certainly no official coronation, but gods, this must've been a hundred times better than what was to come.

"Her Majesty the Empress,"

Those words, spoken by that voice, were enough to send a shiver rippling through Medja's form. Her eyes fluttered open once again, and she was greeted by the sight of the looking glass, of herself...and it was right. An excited exhalation escaped her, a smile and a look of wonderment. Nothing she had seen, nothing she had felt, was more right than this...except, perhaps...

Medja's eyes fell once more upon Fieravene, a distinct expression taking her. The servants would know this look, and take it as a cue to leave. Fi would also know this look - it might've reminded her of how Medja once looked upon her so long ago, on a lazy afternoon in Kherkhana. Hunger. Need.

Yet, there was a subtle difference. It was not fueled by that drunken desire that had subsumed her before. There was warmth here, affection, devotion. There were no words that Medja could use to express her thanks, her appreciation of Fiera in this moment, not that her mind would allow her now. Instead, she acted.

The Empress' bronze fingers reached up, dove beneath short, sable hair to cradle Fiera's face. Rising to meet her, Medja slowly, softly drew the woman into a kiss.

 

[Fieravene]

And all mortal things forgotten, looking glass included, the dark elf readily accepted this act of gratefulness. The mirror she might've simply tossed aside, to shatter on the floor haplessly, as if given to no value. It was, instead, carefully set in the empty space of the chest where the crown had once been so that her own hands might be free to reciprocate the affections.

The scent of sand and spice and incense mingled with that of vanilla and floral bouquet and fresh linen. How she had missed the exotic perfume of Mejda and the taste of her lips. How could absence ever make her heart forgetful of such a creature? She looped one black, gloved hand around the woman's waist while the other lifted to clasp her neck. The former reeled the sorceress in closer while the latter gingerly drifted down the elegant line of her neck, across the gilded ornament over her clavicle to rest at her sternum.

"Hmm," Fi smirked as she broke from the kiss, the look of the pleased cat who had uncaged, tormented, and eaten the canary only to be given a bowl of cream as a prize settling into her expression, "it suits you, love. But-" the hand at Medja's sternum pressed into her just enough to stop any further forward advances, "I have one more gift for you before we find the rest of our day together."

 

[Medja]

It was good that Fieravene broke their embrace when she did, if she'd wanted anything else productive to happen for the rest of the day. Medja had already started to lose herself in the moment, to drink in the feeling and presence of the other woman. Hundreds be, even gloved the slightest touch from Fiera was positively electric to Medja, her skin rippling into goosebumps as though night's cold had already fallen.

Medja reluctantly pulled herself back from the lithe form of her lover with a pouty look of longing and a distinctly unsubtle bite of her lower lip. Feeling the pressure of that black fabric on her chest, the regent recalled the lengthy process of getting Fi out of all of her gear during their time in Kherkhana. Thankfully, she was wearing something far more...accessible...this time.
"One more still? I'm not sure how you could possibly top what you've already given, but I'm certain you'll soon spoil me rotten, darling." She quipped, wiggling impatiently on her cushions.

By now, simply the dark elf's attention was all she could have asked for. That alone would've made her the happiest person in Amol-Kalit for the day, but Medja had to admit: it was endlessly impressive how Fiera managed to consistently find perfect gifts for a woman who otherwise had everything.

 

[Fieravene]

The faintest raise of her brow at those words was all the expression the elf needed make to share her skepticism, "Challenge accepted." Somehow her cheshire grin curled deeper. If anyone could outdo Fieravene, it was Fieravene herself. Without breaking eye contact, she snapped her fingers twice to summon forward one of her own footmen from the caravan.

"Is it ready?" she queried gently to the man while snaking her other arm more fully around Medja's waist.

"Yih, they are bringing it into the garden as we speak."

Fi's mirth settled like a low simmer into her red eyes as she looked to the woman who would be her wife, "To the garden, then."


The Courtyard Garden

Within the dreamy glow of golden sun filtering through a myriad colors of various plants, there sat at the center one very large, ugly, gnarled tree. Though its roots were bound in a large burlap wrapping, the rest of the tree appeared devoid of life. Its bark seemed windburnt and worn away. Its branches twisted and leafless. Every swooping line ended in a jagged, vacant point.

It almost appeared to be in pain.

Fiera stood back, releasing Medja from her hold as she let the woman take it all in.

 

[Medja]

Difficult as it was to let Fiera pry herself away from Medja and the pile of cushions, the regent was all too willing to allow her lover to indulge her penchant for pomp and circumstance. Arm in arm and cheek to cheek, Medja joined Fiera in their descent to the garden, anticipation building in her belly anew. How could Fi top what she'd already delivered thus far?

The answer came in the form of a...tree. And not a particularly pretty tree, either. It was a twisted, warped thing, and looked to be almost entirely dead. It was not unlike a cactus skeleton, though the latter at least had some value as an artistic display. This thing almost evoked a sense of pity from Medja.

The regent gave Fieravene a confused glance, but floated over to inspect the thing more thoroughly. Mmm...yep. It was a big, dead-looking tree. Part of Medja wanted to ask if this was a joke or perhaps some sort of cultural misunderstanding, but she knew better; this was Fiera, after all. The dark elf was perhaps the single most well-traveled and worldly person she knew, as well as a known prankster. There was more to this than what met the eye.

"Alright, you've got me," She conceded as she hovered back to rejoin Fi. She gestured back to the gnarled mass of wood clogging up the center of the garden. "What is it I'm looking at here?"

 

[Fieravene]

Hanging in an air of smug mystery, Fieravene made no effort to downplay her utter delight at watching the various stages of curiosity, confusion, and faintly veiled distasted on Medja's face. The fact that the not-Empress couldn't puzzle it out brought her no shortage of pleasure and she forcefully demured her twisted smirk by coughing, delicately, into her coiled fist.

"A tree, of course darling," the dark elf quipped back gently before leaning into a sly sideglance, "a very special tree."

"I have become privy to a peculiar ... blight upon the lands of the Empire, one not easily cured with careful words and good intentions." She peeled herself away from the Regent's side to step toward the gift in question, hands lightly clasped at her back, "Someone to help you with your varying challenges en route to your regal aspirations."

She lifted a gloved hand and tipped a single fingertip against the smoothed and weathered wood, drawing it slowly down the curve of a great, blanched twist of the trunk. From her lips uttered gentle assurances of safety and sanctuary. The stillness of the tree broke, its branches shivering at the touch, their tune a dried rattle like a venomous snake's warning before a strike. Then from the twisted knotwork a slow, hushed breath as a face folded out from between the hardened ripples.

Two eyes opened, pale green and filled with the quiet, slumbering energy of countless ages past.

"Lady Vashe, I present to you your new Mistress, Regent of the Amol Kalit Empire, Lady Medja. Come now, don't be shy, the Regent is most keen to learn about all that you can do for her..."

 

[Medja]

A tree is a tree, after all. Outwitted and outmaneuvered. That was a rare thing to happen to the great Unseen Hand of Ragash, but if anyone was both capable and worthy of doing so, it was Fieravene.

The tree certainly did not appear special at first, second, and third glance.
"A...blight?" Medja prodded. Was that why this thing was here? To show Medja some unseen threat to her kingdom? Perhaps Fi was referring to the disease that Drakormir had unleashed as he rose from beneath the earth. This was all quite cryptic, still.

Then the dark elven savant touched the tree in apparently just the right manner, and it came to life...quite literally. Medja's brow furrowed as it exhaled and a face popped forward from its trunk.
"'Lady Vashe,' a living tree..." Medja hovered closer, a finger raised thoughtfully to her lower lip as she scoured her memory for any such creature or name. Her gaze snapped up towards her drow companion. Her next words were measured carefully, apprehensively. "Fieravene...have you brought me a fae?"

If that guess was truth, then this was quite a special gift indeed. But what was the nature of it?

 

[Fieravene]

"No," Fiera replied wryly, "I have brought you a High Fae." Red lips stretched from pointed ear to pointed ear, the expression pressing upwards into her eyes with devilish delight. There came next a bridled, pitched keening of pleasure from the elf as she turned her attention from the not-Empress to the not-tree, "Don't be shy now, Lady, you are safe here. Show yourself."

The next moments all happened rather quickly. A swirl of power overtook the weathered tree, twisting its ancient branches in an hapless burst of wind that shook them free to fall back. The coil of its elder bark and trunk seemed to take a breath, relaxing from the rigidity of time to coil in rippling lengths that formed the shape of a gown. As it untwisted itself, the opening between the bark emitted a somber glow. A pair of arms formed next, long and wispy. A human-like face stretched upwards upon an elegant neck then peered out at the pair. Glowing eyes looked down upon the elf and Regent from above.

"I fear I have not the energy to take a more pleasing form," said Vashe in a wilted voice.

"You have had a long journey," Fiera offered gently, "no doubt the Regent can empathize. Perhaps she would be pleased instead to learn about you."

Vashe considered this, clasped her hands at her front to the sound of creaking branches, and nodded, "I am a Heradryad ... what mortals refer to as a Forest God. I am ... was, a Queen of the Dusk Court within the realm of fae."

 

[Medja]

Medja gawked at what transpired before her. The crown as a gift was deeply personal, something that touched the regent's heart and endeared her to Fieravene. This, however...this...this went beyond trinkets and baubles and even mystical artifacts. This was not something that Medja had even realized was within the realm of possibility. Certainly she had known that Fiera was resourceful and talented, but...Hundreds be, a fucking Forest God?

Where once a bright smile had shown keenly upon Medja's visage, now there was stern engrossment. At the core of things, in the crown Fiera had given Medja a symbol. In Vashe, Fiera had given Medja power. There were many questions to be asked, later of Fi (so many of Fi), but for now of Vashe.
"...Lady Vashe, it is...a pleasure, to be sure. I am certain that whatever you need to regain that energy, the Empire can provide." Formalities of diplomacy were practically instinctual to Medja. The regent had no idea the nature of Fiera's apparent binding of this creature, and so Medja chose to treat this like an interaction with an influential foreign dignitary. "You will have to forgive me; for one steeped in knowledge such as myself, I know little of the fae, and even less of you. Am I to understand that you are to aid me in my endeavors in healing the land here?"

 

[Fieravene]

Vashe bowed her head in thanks to Medja's offering of provisions and necessities, though the action was a lethargic one - as if she moved in time slowed. Then at the Regent's question she seemed to quiet for a moment, giving a glance to Fieravene with some semblance of wariness.

"That is ... the way of things," Vashe replied thoughtfully, "fae are a secret people. Ours is not for others to know, but I understand that some know more than they should..."

Fiera's dark brows gave a subtle, sly dance over mischievous red eyes, "Lady Vashe's status here will depend entirely upon how you wish to proceed with this," the dark elf produced a small scroll, sealed by black wax and handed it to Medja. She closed her black, gloved hand around that of bronze and leaned up to whisper into the Regent's ear. Vashe watched the exchange with tethered concern.

"So," Fi settled her feet flat upon the ground again and delicately adjusted her dress, "the choice is yours, dearest Medja."

 

[Medja]

More chills and prickles crept over Medja's skin at Fiera's suggestions, and accepted the scroll graciously. The bigger picture was beginning to come into view now. Medja had already gained much thanks to Fi, but she had so much more potential right at her fingertips. It would be easy to abuse this...if this same offer had been on her plate prior to the Battle of Ninagal, the world would likely be a very different landscape by now.

However, that was then. Medja had grown so much in such a short expanse of time since then. Her fingers tightened around the scroll and she exhaled, her convictions holding strong. She smiled at Fi, silently thanking her for this truly unique opportunity.
"It is very much my business to know things, Lady Vashe, and what better source than first hand, from one such as yourself?" Like flipping a switch, the regent assumed her usual grace and air of nobility, her eyes focused intently on the ancient being before her. "In turn, I might share my own machinations with you. Perhaps you could call it something of a cultural exchange, one queen to another, hmm?"

Not all cards were on the table just yet, by any means, but Medja certainly wanted to play this a very particular way. A fae goddess as a worn and tired slave, unwilling to proceed and struggling against her bonds was useful but not reliable, not sustainable. A fae goddess as a trusting and loyal ally? That was a prize worth winning.

 

[Fieravene]

Vashe gave Medja a careworn look of consideration. It was quite apparent how little this woman actually knew of fae - relying on a fae for information was not likely her wisest option. Then again, relying on fae for much of anything was never a sure bet.

"The secrets of the fae are kept for good reasons," the heradryad replied gently, "as much for us as for you. I am willing to speak on only that which will not put my kin and kind under threat of harm or danger - and only if I myself am not under threat." Her green eyes, faded like wilting leaves during a dry spell, landed pointedly upon the scroll in Medja's hand.

Fiera remained silent during the exchange, her expression having gone neutral. If Medja at all spared her a glance, she would be met with a look that gently hinted at the weight of what lie within her hands. Burn the scroll, don't burn the scroll. Either decision would send a very strong message that would ultimately change both their lives for the foreseeable future.