(2021-11-25) To Paint a Picture: The Showing

Details

Author:	Alli
Summary:	Anareline stops by the house of her daughter, Larawen. After 500 years. There is an unusual portrait to view.
Rating:	T for Teen

Chain: To Paint a Picture

Anareline slides off of her nightsaber and looks at the small house for a long moment. Almost hesitantly, she approaches the door to give a gentle knock.

Larawen comes to the door with an air of expectation, her expression bright and curious. When she sees who it is, her face goes abruptly blank. "Is something wrong?"

Anareline shifts as if to step back, but stills herself. She keeps her own face blank, and answers, "No, should there be?"

"Why are you here?" Like her mother, Larawen is not one to waste words.

"Is it not ordinary, for a mother to stop by to see a daughter, when she happens to be nearby?" Ana asks.

"It has not happened once in the half millennium I have lived here."

"Well." Ana takes a breath, something like regret flickering across her face for only a moment. "Well, I had not spent much time in Ashenvale. And I thought… Perhaps half a millennium is long enough."

"If that is truly all, then come in." Larawen steps aside to let her mother enter, though she doesn't embrace her or even take her hand. Her walls are covered with paintings, including one clearly done by Celaven, of her.

Anareline enters the house, her eyes flickering over the various paintings. Her blank face softens slightly when she sees Celaven's.

"I am not accustomed to entertaining guests, but there is… a chair. If you wish."

Many of the paintings are of the same white-haired woman, or of landscapes. All express great tenderness and appreciation for the beauty of their subject.

Ana returns her attention to her daughter. "I see you have kept up your painting, then?"

"Yes." Larawen adds, "You may take the chair, if you like. I have… water."

Ana opens her mouth, closes it. She seems to have trouble finding what to say. Finally, she says, "Perhaps we could both sit? I do not mind the floor."

Larawen sits, obediently. "I do not keep food. I prefer it fresh."

On the far side of the room is a canvas on an easel, facing away from them both. Lara does not glance toward it at any point, and has seated them almost as far from it as possible in the small one-room cottage.

Ana nods. "I do not stay in one place for long, these days. So I carry some with me. In case you are hungry. I would think your Sentinel friends would visit you here. They knew your address."

"I am not." Despite her words, Larawen's eyes flick curiously over her mother's person at the mention of carrying food. She looks up again at the following comment. "They know I prefer not to be disturbed here. When I feel like being with people, I go to town."

"Then I… apologize, for disturbing you. I will try to meet you in town next time." Ana hesitates again, and glances at the portraits. "These are of Eranna?"

"Yes." Larawen can't help but show a flicker of pain and vulnerability at the sound of the name, though she tries to smooth her face over afterward.

"They are lovely paintings." Ana glances over at the turned-away canvas, and then adds, "I admit I thought, once feelings had cooled, that we would get back in touch. But… time passed."

"Yes."

"It did not feel like much time, until I paused to look back and consider. People may change, in five hundred years. I knew you then, but I would like to know who you are now."

"I am much the same. I do not think you would like me any better. I trust and believe in General Feathermoon, and I follow her orders gladly and without question." Larawen says this in the same tone a daughter might say, 'I am still hawking organs for drug money.'

"It wasn't that…'' Another flicker of regret passes through Ana's features. "Perhaps I have changed, in some ways. Neither you nor Ven took the paths I would have chosen for you. That is true. But it does not mean… it should not have meant… that I did not -like- you."

"I do not know what it is in me, but I feel best when I know the rules, when I have someone to trust and follow. But I do choose carefully, if that soothes you."

Ana nods, and looks briefly as if she might have something to say on that account. Perhaps wisely, she chooses not to.

"I would not follow the likes of Fandral Staghelm, for example. My father — I have forgotten his name — does he follow him?"

Ana blinks. "You have forgotten his -name-?"

"It started with a C, yes? I do not hold onto information that is of no relevance to my life. You and I had our disagreements, but at least you were there to disagree with." Her eyes suddenly fill with tears, but she doesn't comment on this.

"Yes, that I do not regret…" Ana trails off, then continues, "Should you want his name, he was Cerelar Dawnshadow."

"Thank you. It is possible I will forget again." Her voice is a little rough, her eyes still glistening.

"Is, I suppose, though I have not spoken with him in many years." Ana pauses. "I am sorry, that he was not a better father."

"Because of the nature of men in our society until recently, many grew up without fathers. But having a mother would have been nice."

Ana flinches at that, and it's a long moment until the pain in her expression smooths over. "I did the best I knew how, Lara. I know you do not need a mother now, have not, for a long time. But perhaps we could still know one another?"

Larawen thinks for a long moment, obviously trying to find the right words. "When I found Eranna, I decided I no longer required a mother's love. She and I were sufficient unto ourselves. She, too, was without family. Perhaps we used one another as palliative. All I know is that we were happy. But her loss… …it has reopened that empty space. I do not know if it can be filled, or if it is just… part of the shape of me now. I do not know what you could be to me now, but I—" her eyes fill again. "It means something that you ask."

Ana blinks back tears in her own eyes. "It is good to hear that you have known such happiness, even though…" Ana looks down. "May I visit you more often, then? Or is it better to write in advance, and arrange?"

"I suppose you may come here. If you do not mind that I am ill equipped to receive guests. Perhaps I could paint you sometime. This is mostly just a studio, and a place to sleep."

Ana's face softens with a smile. "I would like that. You were always so skilled. I cannot offer in exchange, as I have not sketched people in years."

"I would feel uncomfortable as a subject, most likely. I am used to observing, rather than being observed." Larawen smiles a little with one side of her mouth.

"What is it you've been working on now?" Ana gestures with her head at the turned-away canvas.

Larawen tenses slightly. "I have been trying to get back into painting. I had not since the war. I saw a woman in Stormwind and felt the urge for the first time in years. It is — I do not know. It is not like my other paintings. It came out very… cold. Sharp. I do not know yet if I like it." She rises, but does not approach the canvas. She almost looks like she's preparing to flee.

Ana furrows her brow. "A human woman?"

"No, a kaldorei woman, very old. It was part of why she caught my eye. A hunter, with a cat."

Ana glances over Lara's posture. "If you do not wish to show the painting, I would not insist."
"Her face is of the sort one cannot look away from. Stories written upon it. But painting her was unsettling. As I said, I do not like being observed."

"You felt… that she was observing you, as you created her likeness?"

Larawen hesitates, and then something almost rebellious comes over her face. Some of that resentment bubbles up again. "Take a look."

Anareline walks over to behind the canvas to see. She freezes in her steps, and stares for a long moment. Her face falls blank as she stares at the picture.

Sidhanei gazes at Anareline from the canvas, with cold amber eyes. Ready to conquer her in a game of chess. The style is, indeed, very different from Lara's other paintings. Sharper, a colder color palette.

"I see what you mean," Ana says stiffly, as if forcing the words out. "A memorable face. I think you have captured her, here."

Larawen studies her mother in silence.

Ana turns away from the painting, back to her daughter, still with her expression blank. One hand creeps towards the handle of her axe, but she stills it. "That woman… was here, then?"

"Yes. And she said something very peculiar." Larawen gazes at her mother warily. "She said perhaps I should not show you the painting. As you can see, I am not one to follow just -any- orders. Perhaps you can tell me what she would not."

Ana's blank mask cracks slightly, showing confusion. "She -knew- me? My name? I would not have…" Ana closes her eyes and takes a breath. "I think your painting is excellent, Lara. If there is any deficiency, it was in the subject."

"She did not know your name. I would not tell a stranger such things. Only that you fought in the War of the Ancients."

Ana unclenches her hands, very deliberately. "I see. I… see. What was it she would not tell you?"

"Her role in it."

Ana hesitates. "Were you… fond of her?"

"I would say that I found her compelling, but also unsettling. She knows Celaven, somehow. I could not tell if she also knew you. She said my penchant for self-sacrifice must make you worry, but that could have just been because she was a mother herself. She lost her daughters."

"I doubt that she knew me." Ana considers. "They did not know -everything-."

"Who is 'they'? Who is she, Minn'do?"

"She is… was… Grand Magistrix Sidhanei Ambersong. Her face is memorable, and Celaven already gave me her name in one of his letters."

"Magistrix…? But… were they not mages? I am sorry, my knowledge of that war is limited."

"Yes, which is why it puzzles me that she is a hunter, now." Ana takes a sharp breath. "But not more than how she is still alive."

"She spoke to the cat as hunters do; their bond was not superficial. I saw her use no magic. But she did know the names of many of the people depicted on the Azshara side of the board. Her chess set. It represented individuals from the war. It was beautiful, but I do not think you would have liked it."

Ana nods. "People whose lives she used, I assume. I… would probably not have, no."

"She did speak a great deal about the utility of sacrifice. And seemed quite contemptuous of the idea of -self- sacrifice. I think she is beautiful, but in the manner of certain venomous snakes who are best admired from a distance."

"Her… people like her… are the reason the world is as it is now. Why we are not immortal. Why you have no grandparents, no aun…" Ana breaks off. "They were more fond of sacrificing others than anything of themselves."

"Yes. I hope you know, that is not who -I- am. Or will ever be. I am no leader, but I know how to choose whom to follow. You need not worry that I will fall mindly under the influence of someone simply because she is beautiful or charismatic. I believe in law and order, but these are concepts that exist above and beyond any individual who claims to -be- the law."

Ana takes another breath. "I am pleased you can see her for what she is, Lara. I regret that I did not show more faith in you."

Lara nods crisply. "I suppose when one knows a person as a small child, it is easy to see them that way after they are grown. I am guilty of the same with Celaven at times."

"It was not only children who believed in them." Ana's eyes are drawn back to the canvas. She forces her gaze back to Larawen, and smiles slightly. "I did see you kept his painting. I do not know if his artistic skill has increased in that area, at least."

Larawen smiles a little. "He has other talents, thankfully."

"Yes."Ana smiles. "I believe I have taken enough of your time, for the moment. Would you… if you would like to try to paint me, as well, I could come back soon?"

"Very well." She looks almost shy for a moment.

"It has been good to speak with you again." Ana inclines her head at Lara.

Lara hesitates, then moves forward to embrace her mother carefully. "Travel safely."

Returns the embrace very cautiously, as if trying not to scare away a wild animal. "And you, take care in your work."

Larawen simply nods, then bows to her in farewell.

Anareline turns to walk out of her daughter's house.