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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | In his quest to secure evidence for the Trial of Samson, Colson encounters the Lady Zeldanna Ambergris, and strikes an accord. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
The address Colson was directed to is an older but well maintained townhouse in a quiet corner of Old Town. The windows are all curtained with dim lights behind them casting a warm glow across the cobblestones in front. The front door is solid dark wood and directly next to it is a polished ornate gnomish doorbell.
An older man with neat silver hair answers the door, giving a slight bow and stepping back, “Ah Lord Colson, it is a pleasure to welcome you to the Commorancy. Please follow me, Lady Ambergris is expecting you”
Inside the townhome is not only larger than expected, but significantly fancier than expected. Colson is led up a heavily carved staircase and then down a hall lined with plush carpeting and oil paintings. The butler stops at a door at the end of the hall where he knocks twice before opening the door and waving for Colson to enter.
Within, the room continues the understated luxury of the rest of the house with brocade wallpaper, more thick rugs, tasteful art and hand carved furniture. Including a paired set of wingback chairs. Sitting in one, perfectly poised, is an incredibly pale woman with long red hair who stands as she sees Colson enter. She is slightly taller than average and is wearing a deep blue dress, conservatively cut, but it clings. As she steps forward and extends her hand the faint presence of wrinkles around the corners of her eyes become clear, “Lord Colson Aspenwood, thank you so much for joining me.” She looks behind him to the doorway, “Thank you Shawn, if we need anything we will ring, otherwise we are not to be disturbed please” Her voice is lower than one would expect with an almost smokey quality.
Colson cuts a swift, perfectly executed bow of the exact correct length and depth for their respective ranks, and moves forward in a smooth, graceful motion to take her hand. “Lady Ambergris,” he says in his mild, mid-range baritone, with no particular inflection. Colson makes a certain impression, in his beautifully crafted blue mail armor. It would look primarily decorative, except for the signs of wear and well done repair work – this armor has seen combat, and withstood it – and the gloves that would seem to fit the set are missing, revealing Colson’s well kept nails, and an elegant, finely wrought gold and white gold ring on his left hand on his ring finger. His hands are soft except for very well kept sword calluses on the hand he takes hers in. He wears the sword he clearly wields often at his waist, but no shield. His hair is in its gentle, wheat-blonde wave, perfectly styled, and his expression is an unreadable bland neutral. “Thank you for meeting me on such short notice.”
“Please, you may address me as Zeldanna, unfortunately there isn’t anything proper about what we need to discuss this evening hmm?” A smile seems to ghost across her face, though it never quite lands. As she pulls her hand back she takes a quarter turn to gesture behind her at the seating where it is now clear there is also a small table set with two empty wine glasses, a freestanding silver wine bucket next to it with an unopened bottle inside. “Come sit. If you would be so kind as to do the honors with the wine I would appreciate it.”
She sinks gracefully into the chair she had previously vacated and looks up at Colson. Her expression remains the perfect amount of politeness as she continues, “I know a red may have been more appropriate at this time, but it would need to breathe. And given your experiences in recent weeks I thought you might appreciate an unopened bottle. Hence the white.”
Colson has moved to sit as Zeldanna speaks, his hand already reaching for the wine to open and pour, and his hand freezes mid-motion at the mention of recent experiences. He blinks slowly, and turns to face Zeldanna, his eyes going cold, even though the rest of his expression is unreadable, a mask of polite neutrality. “I see,” Colson says. “That is an interesting consideration, one that I would not expect, given that my experiences are not widely known.” Colson picks up the bottle and pulls out a very expensive, very finely made bottle opener, his hands moving gracefully with practiced ease as he opens it. He pours the wine exactly correctly, his face relentlessly neutral as he does, serving Zeldanna first, then himself, sitting easily in the indicated chair. He does not drink the wine, although he holds it in one hand, as he regards Zeldanna.
She reaches forward to pick up her glass from the table before sitting back in her own chair. Once settled she holds Colson’s gaze and makes a low sound in the back of her throat, “No, not widely known, but people always talk, and after I received your letter I sent out a few inquiries to some acquaintances who are very, very good listeners.” She actually allows a wry smile to settle on her lips before continuing, “I assure you Lord Colson, by mentioning it I meant only to inform you that I am somewhat aware of the events of the last few weeks, and I… “ she gives an almost sheepish pause, “invited you here because I believe I have the kind of information you are seeking.” She raises her glass to him, “So I thought a certain level of honesty would allow for a more constructive conversation.”
Colson nods, his face still an unreadable mask. “I see,” he says. “I appreciate you showing your hand, Lady Ambergris. I hope my reason for caution is clear as well.” He looks at his wine. “My husband would not thank me for allowing myself to be poisoned again, to simply prove that I can do so without danger.” He still doesn’t drink, although he still holds it. “The Harbrookes have had many debts come due. I wrote to you in the hopes that you may know more of one in particular, one that is particularly important to me, as it concerns my husband and the debt his father owes him.”
Zeldanna’s gaze hardens, “To be clear Lord Colson, anyone who would attempt to poison a paladin of your caliber would have to be either lazy or stupid. I’ll forgive you for implying I might be either since I doubt that was your intention.” She pauses to take a sip from her own glass before placing it back on the table. Hands now empty she clasps them on top of one knee, she looks down at them briefly breaking eye contact and allows her voice to soften , “I am aware of the debt that is owed to your husband. I was present on some occasions when the price was paid.”
Colson nods slowly, as he takes a sip of his wine, and places it absolutely soundlessly onto the closest surface to him. “As I understand it, your family was known to be friendly with the Harbrookes, your husband in particular. I hope you will forgive my caution as such.” Colson’s eyes are cold as he regards Zeldanna, his expression otherwise mild and polite. “What precisely do you know of what Samson did to Mordecai, and when?”
Zeldanna stiffens briefly at the incredibly direct question before rearranging herself and her expression to a matching level of mild and polite. Unlike Colson, even her eyes seem to convey nothing but the appropriate level of interest in the topic, “My late husband was never supposed to be Lord Ambergris, he was the second son and was in the priesthood when his older brother died. He took to managing the estate quite well, but something of his original calling never left him. He saw Samson as a project of sorts, he knew his vices and thought that by befriending him he could perhaps help him.” She pauses to retrieve her wine glass and take another small sip before settling back. She does not put the wine back down and rests the base on the arm of her chair, her fingers loosely gripping the stem, “He did succeed in befriending him, though I do not believe he ended up being of any help. As a result Samson trusted him quite explicitly.”
She lifts her glass and gives a quick swirl before taking another small sip, “We regularly spent time with them in Lordaeron in oh year nine, maybe ten? It was impossible to not be aware of how Samson treated Mordecai on a regular basis.” Her grip seems to tighten slightly on her glass before she deliberately prolongs eye contact, “But there was one evening, I was late having been delayed by Hope, who was only five at the time, I can’t remember exactly why but I needed to attend to her. When I arrived it was to catch the tail end of, I believe Samson so kindly referred to them as ‘practice sessions’?”
Colson’s eyes had been up until this point cold and mild. At the word ‘practice sessions,’ they warm significantly, although not from emotion – there is a faint golden Light in the paladin’s pupils, and around his iris, before he exhales slowly, and it fades. “Yes. That is what he called them, exactly.” Colson’s voice may be a little difficult to parse, for he still sounds very polite, very mild, but there is a hollow edge to his words. “How much did you see?”
There is something when Colson’s power shines briefly through his eyes, it may have been a reaction of some sort if Zeldanna had not so clearly squashed it immediately. She maintains eye contact, her body relaxed and continues to slowly sip her wine, whatever it was is gone so quickly it’s not clear it was even there to begin with.
“Enough” She says with another low hum. “But, forgive me Lord Colson for my bluntness, I believe I have shared enough for the moment. I would like to ask you something now.” There is finally something in her eyes that is not the polite facade they’ve both been maintaining for the conversation, something sharp and calculated, “How exactly are you planning to exact this debt from Samson Harbrooke? I am aware of what your letter said, but I would like to hear it from you if I may. And I would appreciate the full truth if you could.” She makes a quick gesture that seems to encompass both the room they're in and everything beyond, “I assure you anything said in this Club never leaves it.”
Colson leans back, his posture perfect as ever, and regards Zeldanna with a mild expression. “Samson shall stand trial for his crimes: assault of a child, and assault of Lord of Stormwind. I have enough to convict him for the latter already; it is the former that I seek additional support to uphold, as it comes with a far higher cost of his freedom for the rest of what remains of his life. I have secured the testimony of several, all willing to swear to what they witnessed of Samson’s sins, but I am more than aware how easily a Lord of Stormwind can slither free of consequences.” Colson looks down at his hands, his thumb rubbing gently across his forefinger in a slow, controlled motion.
“Ideally, he shall be convicted, and he shall spend the rest of his days rotting in prison until his soul is released to scream for eternity in the Twisting Nether,” Colson says calmly. “However, even if he is not, despite all evidence to his crimes, he will still fall, as his other debts come to claim him. I have ensured it. And when he has nothing left at all, nothing to use or bargain with, I am certain that someone will come to collect that final debt, one way or another.” Colson’s voice has grown cold, and his hands might seem ever so slightly brighter than they did a moment before, but it fades as he moves one to lift the wineglass to his mouth and takes a small sip. “But, my husband would rather see him condemned by the court, and so I shall see it done.”
Zeldanna sinks a little further into her chair, rests her chin on one fist and tilts her head ever so slightly while observing Colson, “So the choice to go to trial is Mordecai’s? Not yours?” She lifts her head for a moment to gesture with her fingers, vaguely circling them around as though to encompass all of what Colson is. “I had thought it was you. The golden lordling who spends his time off saving the world deciding the proper way to do things.”
Colson’s eyes drop to his hands briefly, and then looks back up at Zeldanna, his face unreadable. “I am nothing more than the hammer of Justice for him to wield, my wealth and power his to command as he wishes, to give power to him that he has never had before. That is all. If he had asked me to kill Samson, I would have, but that is not what Mordecai wants. He wants his voice heard, and recognized,” Colson says, his voice as mild as though he speaks of the weather, oh, it is snowing in Dun Morogh today. “I have come to realize that Mordecai has not been alone in this need, for what the Harbrookes have done to others in their wake.”
There is silence after he speaks, not necessarily an uncomfortable one, but it is clear Zeldanna is letting it sit. She sips her wine and doesn’t remove her gaze from the earnest young man in front of her. Finally she readjusts in her chair, sitting up a bit straighter and placing her glass back on the small table, it is only about a quarter full at this point. “Mordecai is lucky to have a husband like you Lord Colson” Her voice is softer than it’s been at any point in the evening.
Colson’s eyes go soft, and warmer in affection. “I am lucky to be his,” Colson says, his voice low, and there is a depth of sincerity in it that is audible even in the stoic nobleman. He sips his wine, and sets it down perfectly soundlessly on the table. “Mordecai deserves his justice, on his terms. And if you would be willing to lend your voice to his, then you would have my gratitude.” He exhales slowly as he meets Zeldanna’s eyes. “And my protection, should this trial not go as intended. I will not allow Samson to wield his power against those who have come forward, for however long he still has it.”
Zeldanna’s lips part in a small ‘oh’ of shock before she brings a hand up to cover them. Her expression is now most similar to that of someone who has just seen a puppy unexpectedly sneeze. Her hand is barely covering the wide smile on her face and when a soft laugh breaks out she starts to shake her head, “Forgive me Lord Colson, you are refreshingly earnest, I think I have been playing games of power for so long I’ve forgotten men like you exist. Your offer of protection is deeply appreciated.” She drops her hand from her face and her smile shifts to something ever so slightly wicked, “But I am twice your age and quite good at navigating this world. It has been a very long time since I feared anything from a man like Samson Harbrooke.” There is a slightly darker note to her tone of voice as she finishes speaking.
She settles herself, allowing her smile to shift to a simple quirk at the corner of her mouth before continuing, “I will be more than happy to help you mete out whatever level of justice you deem fit. Now, tell me exactly what you need from me and I will provide it.”
Colson’s lips twitch at the laugh, in a way that might be difficult to read, but his eyes seem less cold, and he inclines his head elegantly to Zeldanna. “Thank you. If you are willing to speak truthfully of what you witnessed of Samson and Mordecai, and provide whatever impressions you may recall of that time, with the full weight of your name as a Lady of Stormwind, in an official, public court of law, that is what I am here to obtain. Mordecai shall give a faithful account of his experiences, and anyone who is able to corroborate that, in any way, large or small, will bolster his words. That you might have seen something, anything, that you know of what Samson called it, tells me that you hold enough of a piece of this puzzle to cast significant doubt on Samson’s refutation of the truth.”
He takes a sip of wine, and stares at it for a moment, and the aura of the nobleman seems to shift slightly, some aspect of military bearing filtering into his posture – a level of command hovering on the edges of the way he holds himself – the suggestion of a military officer slightly interposing itself over the fourth son of the House of Aspenwood. “If you are willing to testify in such a way, then I shall contact you when it is time. I am leveraging what little influence I have to expedite this trial, on the grounds that Mordecai and I return to the front line to face The Legion once more in Outland. I have reason to believe it shall be very soon. My mother believes the docket shall fall to Judge Sariah Merriweather.”
Zeldanna raises one eyebrow at the mention of the Judge, “She is harsh but ultimately fair, not the worst luck for a case like this.” She reaches forward to refill her wine glass before settling back into her chair with it. “I am willing to provide testimony in her court against Samson.” She looks down into her glass before reconnecting her gaze with Colson’s, “For the record, I did not see much that evening. They were leaving Samson’s study when I arrived. I could see Mordecai through the door, healing himself of injuries no ten year old could acquire in a closed room.” She takes a significantly more solid sip of her drink than any she has previously, “Samson was making some comment about it being something like ‘standard for a practice session’. I heard the phrase again in the future enough to put two and two together.” She gives a quick shrug, “It was just the once that I personally observed anything like that. But his general demeanor around his youngest was always appalling. If that will be sufficient testimony for your case, you may call on me when it is needed.”
There is a moment where Colson’s face goes blank, a rigid look of Neutral too perfect to be real, but he seems to expect it, and he inclines his head politely. “Thank you. It will be enough, with the others, to form the necessary picture.” He inhales deeply, settling himself back into a mild-mannered nobleman, as he stands gracefully. “Forgive me for my abruptness, but I must beg your leave. I have been careful with how long I am not at Mordecai’s side while here in Stormwind.” Colson touches a hand briefly to his sword before he deliberately places it back to his side. “His elder brother Mordred attempted to have him killed last week. Although Mordred has fled, I am uncertain how many more pieces he may have had time to put into play, and with Mordecai poised to potentially be the downfall of his father, I am not tempted to take any chances.” Colson’s voice is the same inflection as it has been, with no change in his body language or face to give away the slightest hint whether or not Colson is telling the truth. “If you will excuse me, Zeldanna.” He bows, correctly, but holds it an extra beat longer than what would be necessary.
Zeldanna does not rise, but she smiles and inclines her head at him, “Of course Lord Colson, there is nothing to forgive. My best wishes to your husband.” She makes a casual gesture towards the door, “You will see a small pull next to the door, if you ring it someone will be here momentarily to escort you out. They prefer that guests not roam the house unattended.”
Colson does precisely that, waiting with a sense of infinite patience for the escorting butler to arrive, and when he does, Colson follows him out, the nobleman's strides even and confident, as though he has every right to be there and every right to leave as he is doing.