(2023-05-23) Children's Week Faire

Details

Author:	Mishell
Summary:	Stormwind's elite gather ostensibly to support the Stormwind Orphanage, but really to gossip and maneuver regarding potential marriages and the House of Nobles' open seats.
Rating:	T for Teen

Arc: Ringside Seats

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warlocks, murder

It’s simply a lovely May the 4th in Stormwind, and the vast courtyard of the cathedral is humming with activity around the brightly colored, wooden stalls readied much earlier that morning. There are all manner of offerings, from food and drink, to crafts, to small games suited for children, laid out in the square: lemonade, iced tea, cider are all ready to be poured into fanciful paper cups, while popcorn can be heard popping away in a kettle drum manned by a very tiny gnome man listening to it with a watch out, and there are beans bags simply waiting for the next sweaty hand to grasp them to toss for simple handmade prizes.

Many of the booths are run by children, all of whom have been dressed in what are likely their best clothes, some of whom are solemn faced and serious, while others have already been distracted by something else, wandering a little away from their duty while they pick for gold in their nostrils.

Though she is technically a lady, probably, today it seems that Alwynneria “Winnie” Demasco has tried to seem much more the lawyer: she’s dressed in a sharp lined navy and gold suit that, despite its obvious formality and grave design, still cannot make her look any older. She might pass for one of the other children, at least until getting closer. She circulates regularly through the square, touching base with the children and adults alike in a way that seems perpetually nervous.

There are dozens of children already assembling on the cathedral steps, the makings of a choir, although they are not quite there yet, as the matron guiding them continues to herd them together with all the success so far of someone herding cats while someone darts a light around on the floor. They want to see what is happening. Who is coming?

Ekorenine Spellbond steps out of her house into the Cathedral District, immediately taken into the world of activities around the place. She's wearing a long purple dress with silver details and poofy sleeves, with a design a bit on the simpler side. The Children's Week is not the place to be too fancy. Holding a purple fan in one hand, she goes for the nearest stalls, looking for some fresh iced tea.

A man and a woman enter the courtyard via the northwestern gate and pause a moment to survey the scene. Sintha Fallon rises a little and turns her face up to murmur something to her brother, who bends his head agreeably sidelong toward her; neither takes their eyes off the activity in the plaza.

Siamus is dressed in a simple frock coat of navy blue wool with brass buttons, a matching navy blue waistcoat, and a white cravat, with spotless loose riding trousers and gleaming boots. The simplicity of coat and waistcoat might not impress a casual observer, but to a knowledgeable one, the quality of the material and the impeccable tailoring suggests these are in fact Money Clothes. Humble Money Clothes. He wears a tricorne hat, and his moustache is neatly waxed and curled.

Sintha, on her brother's arm, is a smaller, sleeker shade of him, brighter-eyed. She is also wearing navy blue, her ensemble an elegant lady's riding jacket and skirt, nip-waisted and with a row of neat pearl buttons. The skirts are gathered slightly at the hem to reveal her own laced and polished boots. Her dark hair is gathered in a loose chignon. She is not wearing a tricorne hat.

Siamus glances down and smiles indulgently as a sticky tyke goes pelting past them, but Sintha tugs his arm and his attention away. "There," she says, and gestures gracefully with a gloved hand — one does not point — in Winnie's direction. "Lady Alwynneria. Demasco's daughter? Let's say hello before she's too awfully frazzled."

Winnie is currently wringing her hands slightly as she speaks to a child who is pointing off in the direction of where another one has wandered off. The booth of "magical wands" — that is to say, decorated sticks — is currently not manned by what is likely the child in question, who is trying to sneak under the curtain of the booth with the very lopsided small tarts for sale.

The lawyer makes a very controlled dash to the tart table. Nothing to see here, haha, everything is under control.

"Lady Alwynneria!" sing-songs Sintha, and lets go of her brother's arm to sail toward Winnie. "Everything looks marvelous, what fun!"

Siamus, strolling up after his sister, offers Winnie a white-toothed flash of a smile, and then glances at the tart table. "Little spot of mutiny in the offing? Shall I lend a hand?"

Winnie looks up, a flash of surprise at the name — who? Oh. Yes. Me. is on her face. But, she recovers quickly with a grateful smile as she takes the hand of the tart hopeful child. "Oh! Yes, if you…hello, Lady Sintha. Lord Siamus." Her voice is high pitched, with a sheep-like girlish quality to her.

"BUT I'M HUNGRY," the child protests as she's pulled out from under the curtain. She immediately forgets this as she looks up at Siamus. "ARE YOU A SEA CAPTAIN?" Her volume level is stuck on one setting.

"I am," Siamus tells the child gravely. "An officer and a King's privateer, beside. And you know a good sailor never abandons her watch, aye? Her captain is counting on her. What sort d'you like?" He gestures at the tart table. "I'll get you one if you promise me that once you've had your rations, you'll keep to your post."

Sintha regards her brother patiently. "You are going to end up buying a tart for every child in the square, you know," she informs him.

Siamus shrugs equably at her.

The child's eyes don't actually sparkle, but they get real close. "AYE, AYE, CAPTAIN!" It's uttered with the complete and utter seriousness of a child no older than seven, maybe eight if she's small with it. She salutes with perhaps startling accuracy, and then adds, "I'M ALSO A CAPTAIN MY CREW IS DRAGONS AND ALSO MERMAIDS."

Winnie shoots a look of shy gratitude at Siamus as she lets go of the girl to allow the salute. "That's very kind of you. They've all had breakfast, but, the excitement of the…the selling food," she explains, gesturing a little nervously to the stall. She steps a little step back. Maybe if she just…keeps stepping…no one will notice she's…leaving. While still talking. Shoot. Her stealth game is weak.

When he steps out of the Cathedral itself, Lord Eoan Westbridge can't possibly have known he'd step directly into a sunbeam. Or can he? He certainly comes and goes from the Cathedral enough, priest that he is. Today, though, he is emphasizing his titled self and is wearing a blue jacket and matching soft trousers, a white shirt visible beneath the former. The neck is open enough to glimpse tanned skin, and he seems immune to censure as he pauses in the gilding light to roll up his sleeves. A few athletic steps see him bounding down the stairs, where he stops to tease the children and swing one about. Perhaps most scandalous of all, Lord Westbridge is not escorting a young lady. What can it mean?

Another man and woman wander into the Cathedral district from the southern gate. They're clearly related, though the woman may be a decade younger than the man.

Dara Tennerow is wearing a royal blue dress with white embroidered flowers that seems almost rural if a closer look didn't reveal the fine materials and perfect fit. Her dark hair is pinned up in curls under a delicate white cap. Her older brother, Devon, looks a little uncomfortable in his royal blue suit with its grey vest. He looks over the field of nobles and children as if it is mortal peril into which he is descending.

Sintha swoops in beside Winnie while Siamus solemnly acquires a tart for the child. "Mermaids are the finest of luck," he tells the little girl confidentially. "You've a blessed crew, Captain. Let's see you back to it, aye?"

"How are you?" Sintha asks Winnie. "You look awfully fetching. We all match, isn't that nice?" She surveys the gathering crowd. "Oh! There's darling Dara. And — stars above, Lord Westbridge looks positively… something, doesn't he?"

Winnie has no choice but to be swept. She seems to shrink a little further, but she nods repeatedly, as she darts her eyes around as directed. "Definitely." Quick, an adjective, Winnie! Anything! You can do it. "Shine. Y." Close enough. She seems to be more relieved to see the Tennerows.

The young girl has needed no encouragement whatsoever to launch into how she and her crew have actually saved the entire world multiple times, because her mermaids can fly and so can her ship, and they actually sailed to Elune's house and –

Siamus, bent patiently to listen, shepherds the child back in the direction of the untenanted booth. Sintha casts a narrow-eyed look at his back — don't you dare wander off — and then turns to brighten instantly. "Lady Dara! Lord Tennerow." She steps toward them, holding a hand out to Dara. "You look wonderful, darling. My lord, so good to see you in fine health." She lowers her eyes demurely. Sintha does not do a great demure.

On the steps, Eoan is listening with studied solemnity to a little boy telling him that they're going to sing and he, in particular, will be singing the loudest that he can which is really loud like this. There is then a preview of the song, done in the key of Yikes Major, which Eoan takes with wide-eyed surprise (or horror). He says something quieter to the lad, which necessitates a cessation of hearing-related atrocities. His Lordship suggests that the boy not give everything away, and caps it by saying everyone will want to be surprised. He might be assigning penance to himself for these lies. Hard to say.

Dara's face brightens on seeing Sintha and Winnie, and she gives a graceful wave in their direction. After an oh-so subtle elbow to the torso, Devon follows suit with a smile of his own.

As dense as the crowds are, they thicken all the more as a large entourage moves through them. At the head of it, flanked by honor guard, Countess Morgauna Thenedain glides along in an elegant, royal blue gown with golden threading. Beside her is her mother, Lady Evelaine, in a high-collared dress embroidered with roses and intertwining vines. Apparently they didn't get the memo about not being too fancy. Behind the noblewomen, about a dozen families from their county trail along with their children, each child carrying a basket filled with small, wrapped gifts.

A couple, distracted by the sights, steps in front of the Thenedain party forcing Morgauna to stop for a moment to let them pass. Lady Evelaine tuts and leans toward her daughter, speaking in a low voice only for her, "I told you we should have brought heralds."

Morgauna sighs patiently. "Mother, this is a childrens' faire, not court. You're the one always telling me it is important to balance appearances."

"Yes, but not at the expense of your station."

The couple passes by and Morgauna continues forward into the square, her entourage moving with her. She leaves her mother's final word unanswered; so many of their conversations ended that way. As the party reaches the booths, Morgauna turns to the families behind her. "Parents, if you would help your children to pass out the gifts they made." At their countess's direction, the parents lead their young ones to nearby orphans to awkwardly mumble about how they made them special presents.

Risking the expense to his station, Eoan makes his way through the crowd to bow politely to the Thenedain women. He straightens, teeth flashing white as he grins. "Ladies both," he greets. "How fares our most gracious Lordaeron contingent on this fine day?"

Morgauna brightens with a silken smile as she sinks into a light curtsey before Eoan. "Lord Westbridge. We are very well, thank you. What a glorious day to celebrate the children. The Light has blessed them."

Lady Evelaine, getting on in her years, does not curtsey but offers a polite dip of her head, smiling beatifically to the young lord. "So kind of you to come greet us."

Ekorenine - now with an iced tea! - watches the Thenedains' entrance from a distance and slowly shakes her head disapprovingly. She sips her drink, before moving towards the cathedral steps, awaiting for the choir to be ready. She hides a chuckle behind her fan, seeing the matron trying to get the children ready.

"You must be especially fond of Children's Week, Lord Westbridge," Morgauna continues. "You've done so much for the underprivileged. In your presence I'm almost embarassed by our meager offerings today," she gestures to her people handing out the gifts to the orphans.

"You do them a great kindness, my lady," Eoan assures Morgauna. "On a day when everyone is here to evaluate and judge the children, see their crafts and cast an eye on their workmanship, to decide their very futures, gifts can only be greatly desired. Every child here will feel content at the end of the day, should they find homes or not." He offers his arm to Evelaine. "May I escort you to some refreshments? I promise the children didn't make all of them."

Lady Evelaine chuckles as she accepts Eoan's arm. "I'm sure they made them with love, and…care." Her discerning eyes linger for a moment on a young boy scratching where he ought not.

Morgauna gives Eoan a grateful smile. "Thank you, Lord Westbridge. I'm sure my mother could use the refreshment. Forgive me, I should remain and look after my people for the moment." The tall countess's presence does as much to draw attention to her entourage's activities as their good works do to cast a favorable light on House Thenedain.

"Lady Sintha, your suit is absolutely gorgeous," Dara gushes with obvious sincerity. She cuts a glance at Devon as if to say isn't it?, before taking Sintha's hand in hers and shifting in to kiss the air by her cheek.

Devon gives a polite bow to the two ladies, and if his smile is a little awkward, it at least looks genuine. "It is always a pleasure, Lady Sintha. Lady Alwynneria, it has been too long. How have you been keeping?"

"Lord Tennerow," Winnie says, and there's a little less of the squeak in her voice. She seems genuinely happy to see him. "I've been keeping me. I mean, I've had keeping. There's been keeping on." Someone stop her. She flushes a little and continues, "You look like you've been kept. Well." Oh, Light.

Sintha air-kisses Dara… er, airily, and gives her hand a squeeze. While air-kissing, she whispers in Dara's ear, "Look at Lord Westbridge."

Siamus, meanwhile, having restored the tiny sailor to her watch, is strolling back toward his sister and the new pair with her. He pauses, though, at the Grand Arrival of the Thenedains, and watches with an air of both interest and warm amusement.

Dara makes an 'mmm?' sound, almost catlike, before she pulls back from the air kisses. She sends her gaze toward Eoan, looking him up and down appraisingly.

Devon seems to lose a touch of his nervous tension at Winnie's stammering, and his smile grows a little bit easier. "I haven't been much in the city, in recent years, but I have keeping well out on the estate. I expect I'll be spending more time in Stormwind in the coming weeks, so perhaps we might see more of one another."

Winnie appears to blow out a breath and inhales a solid half inch of height at Devon's easier manner, her face lighting up in a bit of a brighter smile. "That'd be nice. We're probably both old enough now to talk without having to have me also climbing onto your toes. In-in dancing," she adds quickly. Gosh. Just dancing.

Countess Arrish Barfield arrives with no ceremony whatsoever, wearing a sage green dress with Last Year's Sleeves. If you did not know she had a Seat on the House, she would very much seem to be no one worth paying attention to. The dress is doing what it can - which is very little - to compensate for her peculiar proportions: she has always been thicker around the middle than around the bust and hips, and age has only exacerbated this. Her dishwater-blond hair is gathered into a simple knot at the nape of her neck.

At her side is a gangly adolescent boy who has not yet reached adult height. His hair is of a shade darker dishwater than her own, and it badly needs cutting. He has more blemishes than facial features, which his sloppy fall of hair is probably partially meant to hide, but his clear gray eyes are full of intelligence and a hint of wry humor beyond his years. This would be Holden, the future Count Barfield.

The young lady pushing the pram containing two wiggly one-year-old children looks like maybe she does not belong among this particular crowd, but she is making a beeline to one of the food booths nonetheless. She's wearing a short-sleeved blue dress that comes down to her knees, and there are what might be alchemical stains or grass stains along the hem. The knee-high rainbow-striped socks do not match anything else she's wearing at all, and then she has a very practical set of brown boots on top of those. Her black hair is a bit of a mess around her face. Estel does not fit in at all, but she also doesn't seem to care.

"Nana," says the little boy, who is dressed in clothes that were probably clean earlier this morning. He's drooled a bit on his collar. He tries to make a break for it, which in this case means climbing.

"Micah, stay. Stay. No you don't. Nope." Estel gently but firmly pushes the boy back into the basket of the pram to sit with his sister.

Sintha draws back from Dara to survey the Thenedain procession, and then catches sight of her brother, also watching. "Bless his stars," she sighs, as though her 32-year-old naval commander brother is in fact one of the fete's wayward tots. "He is going to — Dara, you know my brother, of course? Lord Tennerow? You and Siamus are both of a military bent, and I know you were both in Kalimdor for a time, hm?" She is regarding Siamus pleasantly but there is something in her eyes that suggests if she had a tractor beam it would be hard at work right now.

"Hm? Yes, he was with the navy then, wasn't he?" Devon glances briefly in Siamus's direction. "I do try to keep track of… what is he going to do?"

Sintha turns a look on Devon that suggests, behind her brittle smile, that someone is about to Catch Hands. "Is," she clarifies kindly. "He is with the navy." Her tone suggests that the "with" is superfluous. "He's just back from Northrend, in fact, where he's been clearing the coastal routes for the Alliance Vanguard. He's home for a time now, is all." She pauses. "He's terribly interested in the House situation. The various contenders, their special interests, so on. One must naturally see the future of the Kingdom secure in these times." The Circumstances.

"Of course, he still is, yes," Devon says to Sintha with a more strained smile. "I'm afraid having left the military myself, my mind keeps projecting the same to others. However, I also am very interested in the House situation, as it were. I do hope that these seats will be filled by stable, reliable people."

Winnie starts inching away. Maybe…maybe no one will see her. Maybe she's just another kid. Shh. Step. Step. Step. If she just gets…to the booth…maybe they won't…notice she's gone.

Devon turns back to answer Winnie and sees her inching away. "And Winnie, yes, of course. I'm… not as skilled at dancing these days myself. Perhaps you might come by for tea? Dara is an excellent hostess."

Dara beams at Winnie, but doesn't move to stop her leaving. She's kind like that.

Oh, shoot. Winnie’s been caught. She straightens up, moving her hands into an awkward attempt at being behind her, seems to think how that makes her look like she's hiding something, and rapidly swaps to in front of her. Now she looks like she's in service waiting for a command.

"Oh, I would like that, Lord Tennerow." She turns a nervous sort of smile onto Dara. "I'm sorry, I keep forgetting you're not so little anymore. I keep forgetting how much time's passed since. Er. You were little." She's doing great.

"Oh yes, I'm all grown up," Dara says cheerily, touching one hand to her curls. "I haven't seen you around much, in my circles. Would you like to be?"

"I'm…well, I'm not really, um." Come on, Winnie, you can do it. "I'm a lawyer. That's, uh, why I'm here today."

Her voice gets a little stronger, a little clearer. Her shoulders square off and she looks directly at Dara with a measure of pride in her bearing.

"I work as a child advocate and adoption lawyer for the Stormwind Orphanage. Unfortunately, we see a large amount of work in these troubling times, and while I would be glad to spend the time to get better reacquainted, I am often not able to get much time off from work. Still, I would be happy to try to attend a tea, if." Oh, she's deflating again. "If there's an. An invitation."

Estel, in the middle of trying to buy two shaved ices in paper cups, looks over at Winnie and goes, "Huh." Interesting.

Sintha has, perhaps oddly for her earlier manner, gently receded from the conversation — not a physical retreat, as attempted by Winnie, but a sort of calm sense of withdrawal in her manner — and is now watching the bustle around her with drowsy-eyed attention, smiling faintly.

"A lawyer," Dara says, as if this is the most delightful thing she's ever heard. "A lawyer for children, that's wonderful. I simply must have you over for tea. You must have the most interesting stories."

"I would not be at liberty to discuss my clients," Winnie says immediately, in a firm, no-nonsense voice. "But, I." The voice fades immediately. "I have, well, if you want to hear about how the orphanage works here. We have a lot of, of things that the children do. Volunteers are always welcome, especially any who have trades they can pass on, but also crafts. Sewing, for example."

"Oh, that sounds…" Dara blinks, trying to settle on the right adjective, and finally finishes with, "…like a very kind thing to do. I am sure there's… something… I could teach an orphan."

Devon steps back to let the two women talk, quietly moving toward Sintha and surveying the crowd as well. He may be trying to follow her gaze, to see who exactly she finds interesting in this crowd.

Eoan meanders slowly in the direction of some drinks over thataway somewhere. "I see your daughter is as dutiful as ever in conducting the business of her house," he says to Lady Evelaine. Lowering his head, he confides, "This will give us time for a good gossip. Whom do you suppose is most here to be seen today? Note young Lady Sintha has managed to drag her privateering brother back to the fold just in time."

Lady Evelaine laughs, patting Eoan's arm. "I knew you weren't just trying to charm me." She gives him a wink. "Let's be honest, young man. Everyone is here to be seen. But yes, some more than others. It mustn't be overlooked that our talented lawyer, Miss Demasco, has a father vying for a seat at your table." She gestures subtly toward Devon, "I'm sure I need not even mention Lord Tennerow."

"I'm both catching up on the gossip and trying to charm you," Eoan says, mock-affronted. "Do let me know how I'm getting on with that, by the way. As for seats at my table, one imagines that's what they're all here to be seen for, I suppose." He follows her gesture with his eyes. "Lord Tennerow is a serious man, is he not? It would be easy to mistake such seriousness for slow wit, but that would be an underestimation of his Lordship, surely."

"Tennerow is no fool," Lady Evelaine nods in agreement with Eoan. "The man went from a soldier's life to managing his house's business, and cuts the figure of his station as well as anyone here. You're quite right. The fool would be the one who takes their eye off him."

Eoan laughs, a rich and rolling sound. "A chastisement to those of us not dressing to their station, I suppose. As for Miss Demasco's family, she has the right amount of wit to inherit such a position, a brilliant mind for the law." There's a suggestion, just a touch of a drawl, that's not quite a trailing-off of his voice. Nonetheless, there's enough of it to give any listener a moment to consider what's unsaid. There's no but. But there kinda is. If one is listening with the correct scheming ear.

As Eoan and Evelaine move away from the Thenedain Situation, Siamus moves in, smiling. "Countess," he greets Morgauna, and sweeps off his hat to cut a gallant, Respectful bow. "A privilege to see you, as always."

Morgauna turns in a slow, graceful spin to face Siamus, as if already expecting to find him there. Her smile is always warm, but for him there is a sparkle of delight in her eye. "Lord Fallon," she coos his name endearingly. "I was beginning to think you had forgotten all about me out at sea."

"My lady." Siamus looks Wounded, though his eyes gleam merrily. "As if our friendship is ever far from my thoughts. I vow you are more radiant each time I return home." He surveys the little mob of gift-dispensing children and his expression softens, a little more sincere. "And good as ever, aye?"

Morgauna glows under Siamus's praise, but still teases back, "Yet your mind is never far from your ocean either," she gestures her hand back and forth, casting a small cantrip to conjure a swirl of water that gently swishes with her hand like waves. As she banishes her conjuration, she follows his gaze to her people's children. "I believe in investing in the future. Stormwind was kind to me and my people when we needed a home. The very least we can do is try to bring a smile to the children of Stormwind who have no home of their own."

Siamus's expression sobers at Morgauna's last words, and he nods to her, his black-eyed gaze grave. A moment later, though, the dry, sunlit amusement slides back into place. "And the Kingdom must count itself fortunate to be so enriched by your presence."

Meanwhile, Lady Evelaine hangs on Eoan's arm, and his words. "Miss Demasco is quite remarkable, isn't she? Intelligent, a good heart…quite lovely, as well." The cunning woman peers subtly up at the man's leonine features, studying him.

"All other beauty fades before the ladies of Thenedain," Eoan assures Lady Evelaine. He pauses by the refreshment table. "Lemonade? Cool cider?" His eyes flicker over the gathering. Nice to be on the tall side of things. "Ah, I see Lady Morgauna has attracted the attention of the privateer. They are acquainted, then?"

Evelaine smirks at Eoan's deft evasion, agreeing to a refreshing cider. Turning her attention to her daughter and Siamus, she nods to her companion. "Oh yes, since they were children. We used to do a lively trade with Kul Tiras, you know. Our port was the destination for Kul Tiran ships trading in northern Lordaeron. Then, of course, when the Fallons received land in Hillsbrad, we were already on friendly terms. So, naturally, our children have been peers all their lives."

"Naturally," Eoan agrees. "The bonds of childhood can be so strong, even when one is an adult."

Siamus cuts a glance to sweep the crowd, still smiling. "And now we've caught looks from my sister and your mother. Pained as I ever am to leave ye, I ought to step aside and let your hundred other suitors ply their flattery. May I ha'e the honor of calling on ye, now that I'm home?" He turns a solemnly imploring face back toward her, clasping his hat to his chest; there's still an imp-light in his eyes.

Consonants, Siamus, Sintha hisses telepathically. Probably. Put your accent back.

Morgauna flicks a fan open and lightly wafts herself, giving Siamus a slow blink of her dark lashes. "If I said no, I would half expect to find you swashbuckling up to a balcony anyhow. So I had better grant you the honor." She gives him a hint of a playful grin behind her controlled smile.

"Ye see right through my wiles, my lady, and direct to my heart," Siamus tells Morgauna mournfully. "I can hide nothing from ye." He takes a genteel step back to sweep her another cavalier's bow. "Tides speed our next meeting, I pray." When he straightens, he's grinning again.

As Siamus parts from Morgauna, she cannot help a light laught of amusement. "Perhaps I'll use more than a cantrip and speed the tides myself. Or…slow them if you don't write me often enough." She leaves him with a sly glance as she turns away to attend to her entourage, facilitating a greeting between some orphans and some of the children she brought.

Siamus pauses a moment to grin at Morgauna's back, and claps his hat back on.

Eoan holds a finger aloft and accepts a delicate er… no, not here, not on Children's Week. It's a paper cup, soz, but they don't break and the kids can run off with them if they really want. He unentangles their arms so he may hold it out to Lady Evelaine carefully. Your pulp, m'lady.

Count Elohad Ference of Duskwood — clearly dressed by his wife since his clothing matches — discreetly surveys the crowd from under the shadow of an oak, eyes doing Complicated Math as they drift over the conversing pairs and knots of ambitious young nobles. And then the Math Becomes Easy as he sees the only Seated noble (besides the one who dragged him into this) standing alone unnoticed. He immediately makes a beeline…toward her son.

"Lord Holden," he says, in the same tone he would address a man his own age, putting out a hand for a firm shake which the boy returns in kind. "It's been some time. Excellent to see you as well, Countess." His eyes crinkle as he smiles at her.

Countess Barfield surveys Elo with a hesitant expression, clearly groping for recognition. "It's… lovely to see you," she says, without appending any sort of title.

"Mother," says Holden a bit chidingly. "It's Sir Elohad, the one whose mercenary company trounced the Defias?"

"Of course, of course," says the Countess, looking slightly apologetic. "Count Ference. Forgive me, I'm terrible with faces."

"Lively event, isn't it?" Elohad says, turning to survey the others. "It's nice to see so many turning out to help the children."

"Yes," says the Countess dryly. "To help the children, I'm sure."

"I used to come and play with them," says Holden, "but I suppose most of the ones I played with are slaving away for coppers in some cobbler's shop or cleaning up the sewers now."

"Holden," says the Countess direly. She glances at Elohad. "I apologize on my son's behalf. He is going through… a phase."

"It's not fair," Holden insists earnestly, his large gray eyes full of Adolescent Rage under his shaggy fringe.

"You're right," Elohad says gently, putting a hand on Holden's shoulder not as he would a child, but in much the way he would Dane's or Ben's. "It isn't fair."

Holden looks at him warily, as though waiting for the but…, the lecture. But Elo just gives his shoulder a squeeze, shares a knowing look with him, and then turns his warm eyes back to the Countess.

"Is your son keeping you sufficiently amused, or should I regale you with wild stories of my days in the theatre? Er, appropriate stories. But wild nonetheless."

"I have never been much of a theatre patron," says the Countess. Whoop. Strike One. Elo takes a moment to regroup.

"Ah,” Eoan remarks to Lady Evelaine, “there is Lord Ference with Countess Barfield. Are you acquainted? He is the Captain of the Cobalt Company, you know."

"I do know of the man, but I've not yet had the opportunity to make his acquaintance." Evelaine gives Elohad an appraising look from afar. "Let us see if the man lives up to the legend."

"His wife is quite accomplished as well," Eoan assures her. "A remarkable healer and apothecary." Offering his arm again, and assuming it's taken, he nudges through the crowd toward Elohad. He does, at least, refrain from bellowing 'Ference!' across the throng. Rather, he waits until he is acceptably close and bows instead to Countess Barfield.

"Countess, the moment the sun came out from the clouds I knew you were among us. Please allow me to present Countess Evelaine Thenedain, wife of the late Count, Light rest his soul. Lady Evelaine, here are Countess Arrish Barfield and her son, the most estimable Lord Holden Barfield. With them, Count Sir Elohad Ference, the Enduring, Knight of the Realm and Paladin of the Argent Crusade."

"An honor to meet you, my lady," says Elohad with a very correct bow. Most of Cobalt Company wouldn't recognize the accent he's speaking in today.

Countess Barfield gives Eoan a look of flat incredulity at the sun comment, but then manages a socially appropriate curtsey. All in all she has a strong vibe of wishing she were Elsewhere. Holden, on the other hand, puts out his hand to each of the new arrivals, greeting them with impeccable courtesy.

Sintha, meanwhile, drifts vaguely away from the Tennerows, her head turned as if to peruse an assortment of… painted rocks? Are those painted rocks? Never mind, she's obviously not actually perusing those; she does manage to be gliding in the general, distant wake of Woodbridge and Lady Evelaine, toward Lord Ference and Lady Barfield.

Siamus scans the crowd, idly twirling one side of his moustache, until he sees Sintha doing her tiny-lioness-stalk. He regards her skeptically from the distance.

Evelaine bows her head respectfully to the Countess. "Lady Barfield, so lovely to see you again. And at last I get to meet Lord Holden." She allows the young man to take her hand in a proper greeting. Then she turns to Elohad with sudden hawklike focus. "And the notable Lord Ference. You, Sir, have been the talk of the town for some time. Your Cobalt Company has quite the list of accomplishments, it seems."

Elo ducks his head slightly at Evelaine's comment. Aw, shucks, he's so humble. It's extraordinary how ordinary he is!

"I have been very lucky," he says gallantly, "in the people that have been drawn to Cobalt Company. I accompanied some of them myself in Outland, but there comes a time when a man must leave the front-line fighting to younger men and women whose joints do not painfully herald every rainstorm, and must find ways to fight the good fight that do not involve bracing for constant physical impact."

"There are many opportunities," Winnie says to Dara meanwhile, and there's that confidence again as she gets into familiar territory. "Children have many needs, and those who have lost their parents or guardians don't cease to have interests that others do. There are those that would love to know how to conduct a real tea party, or make floral arrangements, and of course, we always have those interested in learning sword play and more about how to conduct a naval ship."

Winnie aims a brighter smile at Siamus, wherever he is. Oh, gosh, she caught sight of Lady Morgauna. Winnie, for whatever reason, blushes a hot pink, as her eyes dart around the dress. The woman in the dress. The-the dressed…woman. Someone help her she's gotten stuck.

Siamus hears the words "naval ship." Sold. He strolls back toward Winnie.

"Oh, goodness gracious, I couldn't teach swordplay," Dara gives a light trilling laugh. "But tea parties, or flowers, or fashion? I could teach fashion." She trails one hand along the embroidery of her gown.

"It's a dress," Winnie says and clamps a hand over her mouth. "I-I-I yes. Fashion. Children are fashion."

Dara giggles again. "They're certainly fashionable today. May they remain so, for the orphanage's sake."

Siamus spies Dara and pauses to offer her a roguish bow. "Ladies. May I assist?" He catches Winnie's glance, follows it, and looks back to Winnie, arching a dark brow.

Dara looks up as Siamus arrives. "Lord Fallon! Lady Alwynneria here was just proposing we teach orphans how to conduct a naval ship!"

Winnie is still staring at Morgauna like she's gotten stuck for a moment longer until she hears her name and there's again that moment of Who? Oh. Me. at the proper title. "Oh, uh, yes. There are always, um, children who have interests in the navy. We have had some do demonstrations of how to tie proper sailing knots. Although, we do now ask that if you do, to, um, teach how to untie them as well."

Siamus laughs, genuinely and warmly, at Winnie's last. "Oh, aye, I expect."

Winnie aims a sheepish little smile up at Siamus at the laugh and seems to once again relax a little and grow half an inch in height all at once. Whew. Socializing. She's doing it.

"And I'd be remiss in my duties, not to encourage our fine young fighters," Siamus tells Winnie and Dara, his eyes agleam with humor. "I'd hate for that fierce little tart-rogue from before to fall into a life o' piracy. Shocking loss to the Crown. I can teach knots, and " He pauses. What are other child-safe nautical activities? " songs?" No, Siamus, not all the songs. "Parts o' a ship," he amends thoughtfully.

"Or swimming?" Dara suggests. "But oh goodness, not in the canals here, can you imagine the gossip. Lady Dara Tennerow fallen into a canal. No one would assume it was on purpose."

Siamus is now staring at Dara with a warm but quizzical smile. This is clearly a Sintha Friend. She clearly knows him. Help. Sintha's Friends mostly have names, don't they?

"Parts of a ship," Winnie agrees quickly. Safer. Probably. She doesn't really know what ship parts are named. She glances from Dara to Siamus and back. "Oh, um. Lord Siamus do you…you might not, uh. This is Lady Dara Tennerow. Lady Dara, this is Lord Siamus Fallon." There's an old formality in her voice, like she's remembering some sort of social grace she used to do and hasn't in a long time.

"Lady Dara," Siamus says smoothly, and smiles at her. "Of course I remember ye. Friend of my lady sister's, aye? And Tenn— how's your brother, then? Your… brothers? Well, I hope?" He looks her up and down. Politely. Still smiling. "And are ye a strong swimmer?" The question sounds… Suggestive. How? Why? IDK. Siamus did it.

"Maybe someday you could find out," Dara says, with a hint of a mischievous smile. "My brothers are well. Devon's around here somewhere, and Leric's up in Northrend, missing all the fun."

Devon seems at a loss in the crowd. He spends some time watching the children in their chaotic… whatever it is they're doing now. Then he reconsiders where he is and what he's doing, and heads over towards Countess Barfield to give greetings.

"I'd be delighted to," Siamus assures Dara, as if imparting a secret. "And — Leric, aye, I recollect him well. Where in Northrend is he stationed?" He glances at Winnie with a warm eye-crinkle, as if to say, You are totally in this conversation too, I haven't forgotten.

Winnie's attention gets pulled from the Woman In The Dress of the Most Woman In A Dress Winnie's seen in [redacted] years, at the mention of Leric's name. "Oh, Ler — er, Lord Leric is in Northrend?"

"Yes, with the army. I'm not sure where, at this point," Dara shrugs. "Last letter I had from him was Westguard, but you know how troops move."

"Westguard," says Siamus, and some of his Smooth evaporates in the face of his genuine interest in this subject. "We must've passed one another at some point or other, then — I've been sailing round the coast of the Fjord there, in the main. D'ye know what unit he's with?"

"Oh goodness, numbers," Dara raises her hands helplessly. "I do know he came in the continent by a place called Valgarde, now is in Westguard, and said they'd be moving north soon, partly on account of some cursed rocks? Anyway, if there's a Northguard, I expect he'll be there soon."

"Aye, moving north is all the rage at present," Siamus says very, very dryly.

Evelaine is agreeing with Elohad as Devon approaches the group. "Very lucky, indeed. Quite the cast of characters, and such extraordinary adventures. Their exploits almost seem like something out of one of your plays!" She laughs. "Your acting troupe…that was Cobalt something as well, wasn't it?"

"That's right!" he says delightedly. "I founded the theater company with the proceeds from a cobalt mine in Northrend — of all places! — with the aim of giving war orphans and widows some work that wouldn't be too strenuous and might help them express some of their pent-up grief in a safe way, as well as learn once again how to laugh. My late wife suggested the name Cobalt Players since it was cobalt that funded them, and then I named the mercenary company similarly out of pure sentiment and superstition. It does seem to be a blessed name."

With a faint smile and a quick wink at Elohad, Eoan fades slowly into the background and goes back into the Cathedral itself.

Having made a show of her charity, Morgauna finally leaves her people to themselves…or rather, under the supervision of house servants. Scanning the crowd, she spots her mother again and glides toward her.

Winnie watches Morgauna moving through the crowd like there's an actual literal celestial being just walking around and for some reason no one is talking about it? Is Winnie the only one seeing this? Is she having some sort of vision? Unclear.

Lady Evelaine lifts her sharp eyebrows at Elohad. "I suspect you're a very capable man with no need of supersition and luck to create your success, Lord Ference." She turns her smiling gaze to Lady Barfield, "Keep an eye on this one. His stories are far from over, that much I am sure of."

Lady Barfield gazes once again at Elo at Lady Evelaine's comment, seeming to reassess him. She then looks at her son, who is looking up at Elo like he wants to be him when he grows up. Looks back at Elo.

Two women come into the district, one with an eager and light step, one like she's being led to the gallows. The latter is Lady Caliette Glenarvan, the former her younger sister, Aubrienna. Aside from their white hair and blue eyes, they couldn't be more opposite. Aubri's in a white day dress of layers of filmy fabric, embroidered here and there with gold flower stems that nest tiny sapphire chips. Cali's in blue that's the same shape as Aubri's but lacking any of the embroidery. Where Aubri's white hair is half up, half hanging down in one heavy curl over her shoulder, Cali's hair is up. Just up.

Aubri is present. Cali is here.

"We're late," Aubri says through smiling lips.

"We can't be late," Cali says. "It goes on all day." Doom. "Besides, what e're came of 'fashionably late'?"

"If we can't be late, then we certainly can't be fashionably late." Aubri regards her sister critically.

Elo spots Caliette and gives her a hearty wave, but it isn't exactly a summons. Just a spontaneous, sincere HEY! I KNOW YOU! kind of wave. And matching grin.

Caliette glances at the wave and brightens. Look! Someone non-odious. She starts to take a step in that direction, but is prevented by Aubri. There's a whispered conversation, fierce and lilting because Lordaeron accents, then a stare-off. Finally, Aubri rolls her eyes and the pair makes for the Clump of Nobility.

Morgauna seems oblivious to Winnie's eyes upon her. For the moment she is focused on her mother…and what she might be saying to the competition. She nears just in time to overhear her mother's words to Elohad and Lady Barfield. Her brow lifts ever-so-slightly at Lady Evelaine, but the older woman is facing away from her. She gives the lightest clearing of her throat to announce her presence as she joins them.

"Ah, allow me to present my daughter, the Countess Thenedain." Evelaine makes a sweeping gesture from Morgauna to the others. "Morgauna, let me introduce Lady Barfield of Westfall, her son, Lord Holden Barfield, and this is Lord Ference of Duskwood."

"The founder of Cobalt Company," Morgauna adds. "I am familiar. I thank you for your service to Azeroth, my lord."

Elo does another Humble Bow.

Countess Barfield looks at the gathering number of people in her vicinity and her Wish I Were Elsewhere expression intensifies. Holden, on the other hand, studies each new face with bright interest, his expression suggesting that he's dying to say something in response to every comment.

Count Lester Amerith arrives from the western entrance, wearing his usual grey and black suit and a black hat. It’s the same suit he always wears. Always. Maybe he sleeps in a suit as well. There is a woman on his arm, her ruffled red dress the most eye catching thing about her, until one sees the decorative mask that covers the top half of her face, hiding all but her delicately painted pink lips and her chin. The edges of the mask are tucked behind her black hair, which falls in a slight wave about her shoulders.

The two make their way through the crowds to examine the various booths, and greet some of the children.

Countess Barfield spots Amerith immediately. "Ah, another fellow House member!" she says. One could almost swear that there is a heavily implied, Why don't some of you go bother him for a while?

"That's Count Amerith, right?" says Holden. She nods crisply, and he says, "Should I go talk to him? No, that would be stupid. I'm thirteen. Should you go talk to him?"

The Countess just smiles fondly at Holden. "I may retire; I feel a bit of a headache coming on and I think you're old enough now to be here on your own. Just be home in time for supper, hm?"

Cali does, in fact, have manners. She pauses just outside of the ring of conversation that contains Elohad and waits. At her side, Aubrienna waits as well, head lowered, big blue eyes glancing up and around at everyone. She looks like she should be blushing, but she can't figure out how to do that on command yet. So she isn't.

Elo Senses Cali's presence and steps aside to make room for her, smiling over at her with Crinkly Dad Eyes. "Hey," he says, forgetting to do his Proper Noble Accent. "How've you been?"

Cali almost ruins everything by laughing out loud. Instead, she clamps her lips together for a moment, then curtseys. "I've been quite well, Lord Ference, thank you." Ok, a little laugh peeked out there at the end. She turns to the scandalized young woman at her side. "May I present my sister, Lady Aubrienna Glenarvan? She is new to society this season. Aubri, this is Count Ference, my commanding officer."

Elo seems to remember that he is Count Ference. Code-switching is hard, y'all. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Aubrienna." He bows over her hand in a genteel manner.

Lady Barfield takes the opportunity of diverted attention to do a very socially inappropriate Homer-Simpson-into-the-bushes type exit. Her son, however, stays.

Aubri curtseys. "The pleasure is mine, Lord Ference." She looks up at her sister. "Caliette, weren't you just saying you'd like some punch? Shall we go and get some?"

Cali looks the inch or so down required to give her sister a blank look. "No," she says. She lets that hang for a moment, then says, "but if you 'd like some, you may go. I'll watch from here."

There's an almost audible 'tsk' — but not quite — and Aubri curtseys again to excuse herself, then makes for the refreshments table. The sun glitters off the gem chips sewn into her dress.

"Sorry," Cali says. "My father… You know."

Elo gives Cali's shoulder a brief pat, as he might one of his soldiers. Boy, he is really having trouble sorting out which Elo he is right now.

An older gentleman, thicker around the middle than he must have been in his youth but still carrying strength in the line of his shoulders, enters the square at a slow, stiff gait, walking with the aid of a polished wooden cane. He is dressed in a somber gray suit, a silver watch-chain and a pair of pince-nez spectacles on a second chain looped from his pocket, and his blond hair seems to be fading to gray rather than streaking with it, in the way blond hair does. Lord Darvis Ellerian, father of the late Queen, surveys the festivities with blue eyes still sharp and shrewd.

After a few moments he begins to move again, the cane tapping its slow counterpoint to his sedate pace as he approaches the popcorn-seller.

Elohad doesn't leave the group of people that has formed around him, but his eyes catch on the older man as he enters and take on a look both sad and reverent. As much as possible without being outright rude to his current conversational partners, he keeps his eye on the old man.

Devon casually ambles over toward the popcorn seller, and then glances with feigned surprise at the other man doing the same. "Lord Ellerian, what a pleasure to see you again."

Lord Ellerian stops, folding his hands together atop his cane, and surveys Devon. "Tennerow, likewise. You're looking hale and well. Decided to leave the home patch for the city for a time?" He lifts a hand from the cane to offer it out.

Devon reaches out to take his hand and give him a firm handshake. "Yes, I daresay I will be here for some time, given the situation. You look well, yourself." He pauses, and gestures for Ellerian to get his popcorn first. "This was an excellent idea, with the orphanage. An important reminder for many not to forget those who may be often out of sight, in their daily life."

"Excellent idea, yes, excellent." Ellerian looks around again. "The state of things right now. It's a shame on the kingdom, is what it is, the number of children now rootless."

He shakes his head grimly, and then turns to absently offer the popcorn-vendor a coin and take a paper cone of popcorn in exchange. Rather than eat it himself, he looks around and then bends to offer it to a passing urchin. The child accepts it in both hands, greedy-eyed, and then glances up at him to shout, "FANKEW!" before scampering off.

"But it wasn't the House's idea, nor mine, I fear. Should have been, Could always be doing more, if we weren't spread so thin in our numbers at present." He makes a sour face. "There's a young lady — Demasco's girl, I believe?" He looks around vaguely.

"Lady Alwynneria?" Devon says, his gaze flickering to where Winnie's once again inching away from Dara and Siamus. "I have seen little of her, since the… unfortunate business some years back. It's good to see she's doing well. This was her idea, then? It's a credit to her."

"The unfortunate business, yes." Lord Ellerian gives Devon a sharpish look when the other man glances away, and then follows his gaze to Winnie and the pair she is trying to escape. "She does a great deal for the children, I understand. Her expertise. Legally, that is." Now he focuses on the other two. "And that would be your lady sister, then? With Commodore Fallon? She appears to be well."

"My sister Dara, yes," Devon gives a small, reserved smile. "She is well. Well, and likely delighted that recent events will draw more of our peers to the city. She has a good heart, my sister. I do hope that the Lady Alwynneria will help her see how to direct it, with these children."

"Valgarde I don't envy him;” Siamus is saying to Dara, “the place was a disaster. Wretched command for an outpost under that kind of duress. I suppose he might be bound now either into the Dragonblight or the hills, but it's largely Stoutmantle's lads holding the hills. I'd wager the Dragonblight, and Wintergarde Keep. Which will have him brushing elbows wi' the 7th Legion." He scans the crowd again, spies Ellerian, considers him, and then decides not. His gaze drifts absently back toward the Ference group.

"Dragonblight," Dara gives a little shiver. "Now that sounds terrifying. A place that blights dragons or blighted with them? But perhaps he will run into our dear neighbor there."

"Your dear neighbor?" Siamus inquires politely.

"Oh, yes, Count Tyrrell," She pronounces it the way Zath Tyrrell would, likely a pronunciation taken from her older brother. "He's away nearly all the time with the 7th Legion. He must miss the comforts of home so dreadfully."

"Ahhhh, of course." Siamus's expression takes on a sort of cat-satisfied gleam. "Of course, the dear Captain Tyrrell. I just ran into the man, in fact, on my own way back."

"Oh!" Dara exclaims, watching Siamus's expression curiously. "How was he? Not blighted by dragons I hope? Perhaps I should contrive to send him some kind of neighborly care package. He has no one of his own to do so, in that lonely estate of his."

"Not blighted in the least," Siamus assures Dara. "He looked rather excellent, in fact." A distinct and highly specific warmth in that; the Young Lady may or may not be familiar. He glances down at her. "And what would ye propose to send him, then? In a… care package?"

"What would you say a Lord at war needs from a Lady, to feel cared for?" Dara looks up at him, nothing but innocence in her eyes. Then she continues, "I suppose something that might remind him of home? Or some sort of supplies they've run short on at the front. Maybe a bottle of decent wine or spirits, if the shipping can be arranged properly."

"Sadly, I fear, what a lord at war would most like from a caring lady cannot be so easily boxed," Siamus observes gravely. Gosh, it sounds awfully romantic. "Whiskey, otherwise, I should think. The man does seem to enjoy a fine bottle."

It does sound awfully romantic, because clearly he's talking about love. Dara smiles and clasps her hands briefly in front of her chest. If it draws attention to her bust-line, it's certainly unintentional. "The best Whiskey then, and may he find his own heart's desire one day."

Siamus smiles down at Dara and her bust. "Charming," he murmurs. He lifts his gaze and glances over at the Sidling Winnie. He arches a brow at her but, after a moment, rather than addressing her or calling attention to her attempted escape, he tilts his head in the slightest nod of acknowledgement, offers a wry face.

"The place does seem to be rather choking on sudden nobility," Lord Ellerian says to Devon. Perhaps he is not agreeing in quite the spirit Devon intended. "I don't suppose they all intend to throw their hats in." He considers a few of the circulating gentry with disapproval.

"Hm," Devon's smile fades out as he follows Lord Ellerian's gaze. "Surely not all. Have you formed your thoughts already, of who would be ideal for the open seats?"

"In these times, I should think we'd want a military man or two," Ellerian says, and his gaze moves speculatively. "Of course, I can't be certain who means to thrust himself forward until he does. Young Commodore Fallon is an officer, and I suppose it's telling that he's returned to the city now, of all moments. I had heard that —" He pauses, peers. "Is that Lord Ference, over there?"

It is Lord Ference, over there.

Devon glances at Lord Ference, who is indeed over there. "Why yes, I believe so. The one with the mercenary group? Cobalt Company? I had meant to speak with him, while I was in the city."

"Let's, then, shall we?" Lord Ellerian suggests, and begins cane-clicking his way slowly in that direction.

Devon nods and follows Lord Ellerian, reaching one hand up to rub his own shoulder for a moment as they walk.

As Lord Ellerian approaches, Elo glances up and smiles, faintly but with genuine warmth. The smile is mostly in his eyes, and again there's that faint hint of sadness (perhaps compassion?) in it.

"Do please excuse me for just a moment," he says to his current interlocutors. "I will be back directly." He crosses the distance between the gathered group and the approaching pair of lords, perhaps having seen their intent and trying to save the old man with the cane having to walk the entire way. That's the vibe, anyway, as he approaches with a gently solicitous air.

Devon smiles again, nodding a greeting. "Lord Ference."

"Lord Tennerow," he says, stopping to bow to them both. "Lord Ellerian. Quite the turnout today, hm?" His olive-green eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, and the balmy spring sunlight bounces gently off of the exposed crown of his head.

"I do hope it results in lasting assistance to the Stormwind Orphanage," Devon smiles back. "Though it is heartening to see such interest."

Ellerian nods to Elohad and extends a hand. "Quite," he agrees, again perhaps not enthusiasically. "Fine day for it," he adds belatedly, as if not wanting to seem a full-time Grumpy Gus. He looks Elohad over. "I hear some of your people have been back in our province again lately."

"That's right," Elo says, smiling even more. "Our Cobalt Blade initiative. They've been trying to mop up some middling-to-large sized problems a little closer to home, and of course when the Defias hornets' nest started buzzing again we got dozens of letters requesting help, given our history. I understand they were able to clean out their Deadmines hideout quite thoroughly, though there is at least one would-be leader still at large. I assure you we're in pursuit, however."

He swipes a hand somewhat self-consciously over his bare head, but then glances toward a little boy of around eight or nine who is running around wearing an overlarge hat that happens to match Elo's suit. His smile returns immediately.

"And some of our greener members have been just helping out generally, making sure people can eat, or safely get about their work. My wife and son are particularly passionate about Westfall, and so it is as dear to me as they are."

Siamus turns back to Dara and offers his arm gallantly. "They look to be ganging up on Sir Elohad Ference over there," he observes. "Your brother included. Shall we join the scrum?"

Dara gives a little wave to her new dear friend Alwynneria. Then she gracefully rests her hand on Siamus's arm and smiles up at him with a hint of mischief. "Certainly, Commodore Fallon. I would hate to leave my brother so unguarded and unchaperoned."

Aubri turns away from the refreshments table with a tiny plate of petit fours that are more like petit three and five-eighths, given the wobbly edges. She looks around, sees her sister quite content to make no conversation, then sees Lord Elohad and his company. She immediately hands off the treats to anyone short enough not to object to having pastry shoved at them, and hurries to her sister's side, drawing her away with a smile and an apology. There follows a brief screaming match in smiles and whispers.

"I am alarmed to think," Siamus tells Dara in solemn conspiracy, "what might come of a poor, unchaperoned man here, amid the connivances of so many ladies." He escorts her in the direction of Lord Ference et al., only briefly distracted by the Whisper War happening to one side.

"Oh yes, dreadfully dangerous. Happily, you're safe with me," Dara tilts her head toward him subtly. "It's been said that I've not a conniving bone in my body."

And so it is with smiles in place, one more feigned than the other, that the Glenarvans sail into— Wait, wrong pair for the metaphor. That the Glenarvans march into the fray once more.

"Forgive the intrusion, Count Ference," Caliette says, "but my sister wanted to convey her congratulations on the success of Cobalt Company."

"Yes, of course," Aubri says, tilting her head to make the curl of hair over one shoulder sweep across her pretty dress's decently high neckline. "I'm a great admirer, you know."

Caliette gives Elohad a look of amused tolerance. Kids, man. To him, she properly leaves the introductions.

Lord Ellerian holds his own reply to Elohad to regard the two young ladies with benevolent tolerance.

"Ah, you must be so proud of your sister, then," Elo says with a Dadly smile to Aubri. He looks to the others. "Lord Ellerian, Lord Tennerow, these are the ladies Caliette and Aubrienna Glenarvan. Lady Caliette is a skilled warrior who has recently joined Cobalt Company. Ladies, may I present Baron Darvis Ellerian of [Westfall], of the House of Nobles, and Count Devon Tennerow of [Redridge]?"

"I am delighted to make your acquaintance," Devon smiles respectfully at the two ladies, admiring Aubrienna's beautiful and modest dress. Then he turns to Caliette. "And an admirable profession indeed, Lady Caliette, fighting alongside Cobalt Company. I was in the Stormwind Army, myself, until recently."

Lord Ellerian bows his head to the pair of young women. "We were just discussing some of the deeds of Cobalt Company, in fact."

The girls both curtsey, matched bobs. "Thank you, Count Tennerow," Caliette says. "My fiance is a military man, as is my brother. And of course my father is well-known for his deeds on the battlefield." Everyone take a moment to admire the subtlety, and wonder that her weapon of choice is a giant hammer.

Aubri says to Lord Ellerian, "It's difficult to choose their most important contribution, isn't it?"

Elohad looks very humble at Aubri's comment. So humble. Just the humblest.

"Indeed," says Lord Ellerian, perhaps contemplating Elohad's expression a touch dryly.

Elo is so unpretentious, for a genius.

With a touch of impish humor, Cali asks, "Lord Ference, which of the Company's exploits are you most proud of?"

Ellerian raises his eyebrows slightly at the question, perhaps with a glimmer of amusement. He looks to Elohad again.

Elo smiles warmly at Cali. "I feel I should say that I am most proud of Blue and White squad's current valiant efforts in Northrend - in fact it is to Blue Squad you owe any letters you've managed to receive from there via the arcane post. But I'm a sentimental old fool, and to me, nothing will ever quite measure up to listening in via a gnomish buzzbox as both squads destroyed Edwin Van Cleef."

It may be noted by those familiar with Cobalt's record that he has mentioned only efforts in which he himself personally did not take part. So humble.

Meanwhile, Siamus and Dara arrive at the edge of the group. Siamus lifts Dara's hand from his arm and stoops to brush a gallant only-semi-air-kiss over her knuckles, then offers her back to her brother's custody. There are Other young ladies here now.

"Commodore!" says Elo, with such a sudden real sparkle in his eyes and such a lack of Formal Introduction that it cannot be a performance. He looks like he might actually want an Autograph.

Siamus actually for an instant is sufficiently startled that he loses a touch of his sly Smooth. And then he recovers and sweeps his hat off again to offer Elohad a modest, genteel half-bow. "Sir Ference, an honor and a pleasure. I was hoping for a chance to meet ye this leave, in fact; we've connections in common, and I cannot speak enough about the men and women o' Cobalt in the north." He shifts his attention to the two Glenarven young ladies, who receive his whitest smile and a deeper, more gallant version of the bow, and then turns to nod to the other two men present. "Tennerow. Lord Ellerian." He leaves the hat tucked under his arm.

Elo continues to look just absolutely delighted. "The pleasure is all mine, Commodore Fallon."

"I'm loath t'argue wi' a man o' your stature, Sir Ference," Siamus says with a gleam. He is losing consonants again in his sincere enthusiasm, alas. "But ye must call me Siamus, if ye will. And I must borrow ye for a drink sometime."

Elo looks Boyishly Enthusiastic at the idea of a Drink With the Swashbuckling Commodore! He is perhaps too busy planning exactly what to serve to notice the Shameful Flirtation happening right under his nose. Siamful.

Dara blushes daintily at Siamus and steps back to her brother's side, surveying the crowd with a faint smile.

Anyone watching Aubri would note her gauging the relative importance of Siamus and Dara by their greetings, their stances, and who they stand near. Until Siamus speaks. The Accent has its way with her pulse rate, and she looks away in confusion. Hey, there's the king's dad-in-law. She smiles at him instead. She understands him. With a (very soft) sigh, Cali flings herself on the social landmine. "Commodore Fallon, is it? My father, Lord Glenarvan, admires the sailors and naval officers. He never did develop 'sea legs', as a cavalry man. I'm Caliette Glenarvan. May I present my sister, Aubrienna? She's new to society this season."

Siamus swivels his attention back to The Ladies. "An honor to meet ye both, my ladies. I'd no' be much of a cavalry man — fine, fierce lot though they are — so your father and I are even." He eyes Aubrienna like a man at a dessert buffet who has just discovered His Favorite Thing tucked discreetly behind the centerpiece. "Congratulations on your season, Lady Aubrienna. I imagine you're half-weary o' the attention already, as much of it as ye must have."

Elo gives the Commodore a subtly sympathetic look. It would appear he genuinely thinks it must be trying and stressful to have dozens of young pretty girls trying to marry you.

Lord Ellerian is regarding all of this with the sort of wearily benevolent air of a man who knows it is inevitable but at least he doesn't have to deal personally with it.

"It's difficult to disclaim attention when that is, after all, the purpose of a season at all," Aubri says, angling her blue eyes Just So at Siamus. "I confess to being enough of a silly creature to quite adore it."

Siamus's smile widens a little, and he inclines his head to Aubrienna. "Then I hope ye shall have all of it ye desire, my lady."

"I understand several of the Cobalt Company also spend their spare time at orphanages, offering free health care," Caliette says. "That is surely admirable as well as topical to the day."

"I can take no credit for most of the benevolent actions of Cobalt members," Elo says. "I have a part in choosing who joins us, but once a part of our ranks, each member has a great deal of freedom to analyze their own neighborhoods and the places they travel and decide for themselves how they might assist. I find this a more efficient way than trying to manage things in a top-heavy style that misses the finer details of local concerns."

Lord Ellerian nods gravely. "Local concerns, indeed. More important to the kingdom's welfare than some might realize, in troubled times. We are all bound together as countrymen and allies. You recruit your people well, it seems."

"If I do have a talent, my lord, yes, I would say it is the ability to recognize talent and character in others. "

Siamus tears his attention away from Lady Blue Eyes Something-Or-Other, and back to the Serious Man talk. He nods at Elohad.

With a quirk of her lips, Cali says, "Then I suppose I must thank you both for the compliment, and strive to live up to your regard." She inclines her head to Lords Ellerian and Ference.

Dara looks faintly disappointed for a brief moment at the attention the younger woman is receiving, and glances around to see if there are any other eligible bachelors present. Finding none, she turns her own friendly smile to Aubrienna.

Devon nods at Ellerian and addresses Elohad. "I've heard of a number of your operatives from citizens of Lakeshire, as well. It is truly remarkable, the breadth of the work your people have done."

Elohad nods enthusiastically at Devon. "I am amazed and proud every day. They've come to feel like a large extended family. They support one another, share techniques and strategies, pass along assignments to one another if they feel someone else is better suited, and so on. We've had our troubles from time to time, but nothing that couldn't be swiftly nipped in the bud. I suppose it's no different from - any sort of command situation." Something in the slight hitch in that sentence suggests he may have been about to say something else.

"Aye, they're Fleet," Siamus suggests kindly. A less-fraught f-word. "Ye can't ask for better. Speaks well o' the man at the helm, as Lord Ellerian says."

Elo once again casts his gaze Humbly downward, inclining his head in gratitude.

"Indeed, but many are less successful," Devon nods at Siamus. "The man at the helm makes a great deal of difference."

Oh gosh you guys, stop it, Elo's bashful smile says.

Dara subtly shifts away from her brother towards Cali and Aubri. The conversation is all boring military metaphors. Save her, ladies.

Aubri smiles at Dara. "You must be Lady Tennerow, yes? I'm Aubrienna Glenarvan, but you must call me Aubri. I'm sure we can be great friends."

"Goodness, Lady Tennerow sounds like my mother, rest her soul. You must call me Dara, and yes, great friends." Dara beams, the earlier jealousy forgotten. "That first season is always terribly exciting."

"Yes!" Aubri says, edging closer to Dara. "And of course my father is absorbed by his concerns, my sister would rather be fighting, my elder brother is off in Northrend and I'm having to manage it all myself." This is punctuated by a little puff of annoyance. "And if one more person in my family denigrates the effort, I shall take one of my father's weapons off the wall and whack them in the shins."

Siamus casts an amused tsk-tsk look at the ladies' conversation.

Aubri smiles prettily at Siamus. "I'm sorry. In such company I should say I'll pick a weapon more suited to my frame and whack them in the head. I didn't mean to seem ill acquainted with weaponry and tactics."

Siamus actually laughs, startled again.

"Oh, you poor dear," Dara says with genuine sympathy. "Should you need a lieutenant to your captain in this very worthwihle effort, I should be happy to maneuver parties and get-togethers for establishing acquaintances."

"I understand," says Lord Ellerian to Elo, his brows drawn gruffly together, "that you are offering yourself up to the pyre that is our House. Westbridge gave you the shove?"

"Well, he gave me a nudge," Elo says with a smile, "and I thanked him but suggested others might be more recently accustomed to moving in such refined circles. But when I told my son of what I thought to be an amusing conversation he tackled me straight off the edge of the cliff. Metaphorically. By letter. Also my wife gave me the Eyebrow, and when the Eyebrow is deployed, there is little a man can do."

Lord Ellerian nods, impassive at the jest, looking mild. "I wonder what other contenders we might consider, who would have you for competition." He doesn't look at either of the other two dudes standing right there.

"Hate to be such a man," Siamus agrees with casual cheer. Sintha, some distance away, just had a sudden vision of strangling him and isn't sure why.

"Not necessarily competition," says Elohad cheerily. "There are three open seats, and surely there can't be that many men and women who are not otherwise committed. I happened to be at a place in life where my tour of Outland had demonstrated that the front lines were for younger men than I, and I was feeling a bit adrift in sorting out what I ought to do next."

There, he has, albeit humbly, admitted to recent personal feats of derring-do. Outland is a dangerous place!

"You certainly present a formidable opponent to anyone who would try," Devon says agreeably. "Of course, as you say, our 'contenders' need not be opponents. All of Stormwind nobility, I assume, are in fact striving toward the same goal."

"Aye. Expect there's more than one man in the kingdom wi' common interests in service o' the Crown," Siamus observes thoughtfully. Gosh, now that you mention it. He twirls an end of his moustache.

"Oh if only that were so," says Elo with sudden fierceness. "Surely I don't need to speak certain names aloud that demonstrate just how fractured the House has been in the very recent past."

Especially since one of those Names is still on the House. Ahem.

"One would hope this is an opportunity to lessen the problem," Devon says, with a faint nod of understanding. "By bringing in three people who alike feel a responsibility to the people of the Kingdom of Stormwind."

"That was my son's argument, in his letter," says Elohad. "Though I have acquired some rough edges since the First War that I thought made me unsuitable, he argued that everything I've done since achieving my majority — including those activities some might consider unseemly — has been in service to Stormwind and the Alliance military."

"Your son," Lord Ellerian recalls aloud, "is a… Westfall commoner? Was?" His tone is entirely opaque on what he thinks of that.

"Bit of a war hero in his own right," Siamus observes. "One hears tales. And married onto a patch of Fallon land, as it were, my sister tells me."

Elohad smiles, untroubled. "There is a story behind my new family that would take more time than we have here today to do proper justice. But the short version is that I fought beside his mother in the First War, and when we reunited after our own respective losses it became clear that we were well matched, and that young Ben possessed all of her best qualities as well as a few of his own. I am fortunate in my opportunity to choose my heir with a full understanding of his adult character. Light see him safely back from Northrend."

"Indeed." Lord Ellerian nods somberly. "Light see all of our young men and women safe, or as many as can be."

"Light see them all safely back," Devon agrees gravely. "I regret that my first war, and the battle at Hyjal, left me unable to fight further on the battlefield. But my brother is fighting in Northrend, alongside your son. And I search for other ways to serve."

Elo exhales audibly with genuine, solemn fellow-feeling at the mention of Hyjal, but makes no comment.

Siamus nods respectfully at the pair.

Elsewhere, Lester and his mysterious lady continue to examine the various booths, pausing at the booth of “magic wands.” The woman looks on in fascination as Lester picks one up, gives it an experimental wave, then conjures a cinnamon bun into the waiting hands of the booth’s tender, who squeals in delight. With a dramatic bow, he drops some coins onto the table and sticks the “wand” through his belt for safekeeping.

An impeccably dressed lanky thirteen-year-old boy — possibly recognizable as the heir of his fellow Seat-holder Countess Arrish Barfield of [Westfall], possibly not — approaches Lester with a grin, his acne-spotted face bright with curiosity as he looks up at the older man through his unkempt dishwater-brown fringe. "You're a mage, milord?" he says in surprise.

"Not of any renown, I'm afraid, but, I dabble." Lester tips his hat to the child, and the woman at his side offers a smile and a curtsy. "Are you alright to be wandering alone?"

The boy smiles wryly. "Mother seemed to think so," he says. "She was getting one of her headaches and had to go." Another clue as to his identity, if Lester hasn't sussed it out yet; Countess Barfield is notorious for her "sick headaches" and frequently uses them as reasons for skipping social gatherings, but never for skipping votes.

(Once several years ago, she showed up to vote and promptly afterward lost her lunch on the House floor, so there may be at least some truth to the chronic headache claims.)

"I'm thirteen now," he explains. So, basically grown up, his tone implies.

Lester's brow wrinkles in concern. "I'm forty-five, and I don't attend these events alone."

The woman smiles comfortingly. "Do you have any friends here?"

"I used to play with the orphans when I came," he says with no sign of embarrassment. "But the orphans my age have mostly — moved on to other things." His expression turns slightly sour, and there's a sense that he is Restraining His Thoughts. But then he brightens again. "So I'm just looking around for interesting people, now. How did you first know you had magic talent, Lord Amerith? My little sister thinks she's going to be a mage, but I think it might just be a flight of fancy."

Lester smiles, remembering. "It was at a faire. We were there for…oh, I don't know, some political reason, but I had never seen any place so magical. There were fire-breathers, exotic animals, minor wizards making things float, and disappear, and turn into critters…it was exciting in a way nothing had ever been before. So when I got home that night, I resolved to practice, and, sure enough, it seems I have some talent with it." His eyes clear and he regards the little lord. "I do wish your sister luck. Magic is a wonderous thing."

"She'll be insufferable if she's right," the young man says wryly. "I'm fairly sure that I myself have no talent in that direction whatsoever. But I'm good with numbers and people, and I suppose that's more important if you're going to be sitting on the House, wouldn't you say, Lord Amerith?"

"It…helps." Lester smiles thinly. "But do try not to lose your sense of wonder. It makes the world a bearable place."

"Do you like to read?" the woman at his side asks suddenly.

"I do," the boy responds. "All sorts of things, especially fiction series. I get so obsessed with some of the characters that I don't ever want to stop reading about them, so that's why I prefer a series."

The woman gently nudges Lester, as if to say, see? He spares her a glance, then nods in acknowledgement to Holden. "I do hope that you never lose your interest in fiction."

"Books are wonderful things," the woman says with a soft smile. "I myself prefer fantasy tales."

"My father doesn't really approve," the boy admits, "but my mother is also a great fan of fiction and sneaks me books all the time. Sometimes we'll sit for hours just talking about our favorite parts. She's a great mum." He smiles fondly, then frowns a little. "Excuse me for just a bit, I might go check to see if she's really sick or —" He stops himself, reconsiders what to say. " — just a little bit sick."

Yeah. Saved it!

"But I shall be back soon. Enjoy the festivities!" he says to the people old enough to be his parents, as though they were just jolly friends of his. And then he sets off toward the residential area of the district at an energetic pace.

Lester tips his hat again, and the woman sees him off with a smile and a wave. "Take care, now!" she calls after him.

In a discreet section of the venue stands a rather indiscreet man, dressed per usual in a casual vest and hat. Snap. Snap. The man grins through the lens of his Super Snapper. What an interesting year this is shaping up to be.

Sintha materializes at the elbow of the photographer. "Gosh, hello," she says, and smiles wide-eyed at him. "Are you a journalist? I adore journalism. I wanted to be a reporter, you know, for ages and ages. Which paper are you with? What are you taking pictures of? Where did you get your Snapper? I would love one of them myself. Does it do the — you know, with the light, the flashy thing?" She makes an open-and-close flash gesture with her fingers and mouths a soft, "Pop!" and then laughs merrily.

Siamus, scanning the crowd absently now that the conversation has briefly snagged on The Circumstances at Hyjal, spots his sister. "Ah," he says. "The press is here, I see."

Lord Ellerian lifts a hand to his mouth to cough, a thinly-veiled hrmph of annoyance.

The press IS here. Even more here as an adolescent boy (perhaps one of the "graduated" orphans young Lord Barfield was snarking about) jogs into the gathering with a stack of papers and a cry of "BREAKING NEWS FROM THE HOUSE!" He offers up free news sheets to anyone interested.

Elo is over there almost before he finishes his sentence. His expression goes very grim as he scans the page. "Make that four open seats," he says quietly.

"Sorry? What's that?" Siamus steps over as if to lean beside Elohad and then perhaps decides not to Crowd the illustrious gentleman; he turns to find the youth himself and snag a paper. He scans it briefly and says an extremely ungentlemanly thing under his breath.

Sorry, Ladies Present.

Dara and Devon both wander over to check the breaking news. Devon reads it stoically, but the blood runs out of Dara's face.

"What is it? What now?" Lord Ellerian's gaze has sharpened on Elohad and Siamus. He has both hands folded atop his cane again and does not bother seeking a news-sheet for himself. The Press. Ugh.

"Count Wishock has passed," Elo says grimly. "Looks like foul play." He hands a gold coin to the news boy, who gawps at it. "Tell your masters that Count Ference is grateful for their integrity in printing only facts and not malicious gossip."

"Yes milord," says the boy.

"Wishock?" says Lord Ellerian. "Ghastly." He shakes his head. Is he… is he referring to the murder? He is probably referring to the murder.

"Devon," Dara says, looking up to her brother and speaking quietly. "I didn't realize it was so dangerous."

"Bloody awful," Siamus says grimly. He is referring to the murder. He did not know Wishock personally.

He folds the news-sheet under his arm and scans the crowd again, narrowly this time, as if assessing which of them and how many might be murderers. "Sintha!" he calls above the shocked murmuring of the crowd (and the continued chaos of the children, who do not read news-sheets and do not care, they are full of sugar and festivity).

Sintha materializes again (how does she do that?) to take her brother's elbow. She is tight-lipped and does not look at all merry, suddenly.

Young Lord Holden takes a sheet from the news boy. "Hey Ollie," he says. "You got time for a br—" He stops dead as he sees the headline. "Oh. Oh bloody hell." His voice cracks in an unfortunate thirteen year old sort of way. "This is what Mother wouldn't say earlier. I… should go check on her."

He bolts off.

Siamus laughs abruptly and without a trace of humor. He glances down at his sister. "Ironic," he observes dryly.

Sintha hugs his arm tighter and looks deeply unamused.

"It'll be alright," Devon says absently to his sister, as he pores over the article. "Not for poor Wishock, naturally, but…"

Cali, on the other hand, has no problem peeking over Elohad's shoulder to read, at least the headline and a few words after.

Aubri is unsettled, shifting closer to her sister. "Ought… Ought we to go?" she asks, once-pert voice now a shy whisper.

Elohad instinctively lays a comforting Dadly hand on Aubri's arm.

"The Auld Man will want details and 'tis sure rumor will run fast through the streets," Cali says absently, not bothering to control her Lordaeron accent in her distraction. "We'll stay a bit, see if we learn aught else, aye?"

Aubri looks up at Elohad, blue eyes large and sad. She musters up a smile for him. See? Smiling. It's fine. Then her expression does a sharp reverse and she scowls. "Anything else, Caliette. And stop saying aye."

Siamus glances at Aubri and arches an amused brow. Is aye Not Done?

"I should go," Lord Ellerian observes, with overt satisfaction. "… To… confer with my colleagues." He glances around at the group and nods severely. "Good day, all."

"My lord," Sintha says, gathering some of her courtier's composure back to herself. She dips a little curtsey but doesn't let go of Siamus.

Both sisters curtsey to Lord Ellerian, though Cali rises faster than is seemly to keep peeking at the paper.

"Take care, sir," Devon says politely to Ellerian by way of farewell.

Siamus turns his attention back. "Aye, Ellerian," he says blandly. "Be well."

After reading it over twice more, Elo folds the paper up so forcefully it's more of a scrunch. "I know exactly who did this and how," he announces dramatically.

Dara's gaze locks on Elo like he's a magician at a children's party, and she is an awestruck child. "Who was it?"

Sintha leans around Siamus to stare at Elohad with… something in her wide-eyed gaze. It is perhaps not the Awed Curiosity she is going for. It may have a touch of How Dare U Know A Thing I Do Not.

Siamus looks at Elohad too, brows raised. There's no trace of the sardonic in his manner now.

"I probably shouldn't name names just yet, but I think the suspicions about the Slaughtered Lamb are dead on. My wife recently saw a patient that was poisoned by one of theirs in a very similar way. Without her intervention would have been another sudden death like this."

"Oh my goodness," Dara's eyes are wide. "The warlocks are turning on us after all?"

Ellerian, who had turned on his cane to tap his way away, turns back again, hawklike and narrow-eyed.

"I believe," he says, "that my wife's patient was targeted because they knew a certain warlock was gathering ingredients for a rare poison. I think that warlock used the poison on the patient to silence them, and then carried on with the plan."

Siamus is beginning to look a little sardonic once more. He may be thinking thoughts about facts vs gossip.

Sintha, meanwhile, is looking speculative, narrow-eyed in unconscious reflection of Lord Ellerian's look.

"I don't suppose an autopsy would reveal anything?" Ellerian says gruffly. One probably should solve a murder, even if it was Wishock's. "Perhaps your lady wife would be willing."

Elo nods. "This answers the one question Niris and I couldn't figure out — why bother killing that poor innocent we treated. Someone needs to check the late Count for traces of musquash root and coldstar blossom. They find that, and I will happily testify and bring his killer to justice."

"If your lady wife has the skill to find those traces," Ellerian says, "you ought to have her sent for. The House will want this information."

Sintha casts a Look up at Siamus that has a touch of impatient why-couldn't-you-solve-a-murder-first? in it. Sintha, please do not arrange a murder for your brother to solve. She turns back to the group. "Wishock was awfully loud about his anti-warlock views," she observes — sadly, because the man is dead, and one must be sad about dead people. "Do you suppose there's someone among the contenders for seats that they prefer?" She looks around wide-eyed. Is one of you a secret warlock-lover?

"Ta," Siamus murmurs. "Hardly the time."

Sintha gives him another look; this one says the next murder to be solved will be Siamus's.

"I don't know all the contenders yet," says Elohad. "But possibly. I do hope that we haven't eliminated everyone on the House who is concerned about rampant unregulated demonology."

"Of course not," Lord Ellerian says, stern again.

Elohad nods at Lord Ellerian with Concerned Old Man Solidarity.

"Then the next victim could be any one of us," Dara says, her awe shifting back to fear again.

Elo turns a gentle gaze on Dara. "I don't think so, sweetheart," he says, the term of endearment sounding sincerely tender rather than condescending. "Count Wishock went up against the Slaughtered Lamb contingent directly and aggressively. Steer clear of that viper's nest and you'll be just fine."

Dara looks somewhat comforted by Elo's words.

Devon, though, looks at him with quiet concern. "Some will have to do the same, though, when we follow this trail. I don't think the Slaughtered Lamb will give up their own willingly."

Elo gives a sudden, fierce grin. "Leave it to me and mine," he says. "My past two years have been all about cleaning up infestations of cultists and thugs and worse."

"I ought to—" Sintha murmurs, sounding a little faint. "I ought to get some air." She is standing in a public plaza. But then again, it is a crowded one?

Siamus, immediately attentive, turns with her to usher her away. Sintha stops, pats his arm, and shakes her head meekly.

"I'll be… quite all right, Shay. I promise I won't go far. Just out to the street a moment."

He regards her evenly and some silent communication passes between them. He nods and steps back. "Carefully, Ta. Come directly back."

She nods up at him, the wide-eyed picture of a dutiful little sister, then lets go of his arm and slips away. Siamus watches her thread her way through the crowd and toward the exit from the square.

"Ought to close the whole place bloody down," Siamus says, now that Sintha is not present to smack him telepathically. He nods grimly at Elohad.

Elo gives Siamus an approving shoulder-squeeze without actually SAYING he agrees. You can't condemn a man for squeezing a shoulder.

Siamus takes a moment to stop being sardonic and/or grim and look distinctly warmly at Elohad.

Devon considers that one and frowns more deeply. "There are some among the warlocks I would count as reliable. I have never had cause to question Count Tyrrell's dedication to the Alliance."

"Do you mean Captain Tyrrell of the 7th?" Elohad looks taken off guard. "He's a Count?" Elo's spiral toward smugness has been abruptly interrupted as he realizes he has revealed a damning ignorance of Local Noble Stuff.

Good thing Sintha isn't here to gosh you, buddy.

"There's a good distance between a man o' the 7th Legion and that lot skulking under the Lamb," Siamus observes.

Lord Ellerian narrows his eyes speculatively.

"Yes, and yes of course, Commodore Fallon," Devon nods, with no sign of noticing Elo's mis-step of noble knowledge. Maybe he's just being polite. "Count Tyrrell's estate is in Redridge, not terribly far from mine."

"Are you suggesting the 7th Legion wouldn't poison someone, if the need were great enough?" Cali asks, much to Aubri's mortification.

"Not a member of the Alliance," Elohad answers decisively.

Devon looks startled. "Yes, I rather think the 7th Legion would have better options than poisoning a sitting member of the House of Nobles."

"Aye, no. Certainly no' a member o' the House. The 7th are as honorable as comes." Siamus eyes Cali.

Caliette shrugs the shrug of someone who isn't after a seat. "Lady Prestor," she says, and nothing more.

"She was uncovered, you will note, not quietly poisoned," Devon looks at Caliette with some concern.

Aubri glances around surreptitiously, as if to find someone else to stand next to.

"She was not a member of the Alliance," says Elohad in a sudden fierce growl. "She was a gods-damned black dragon."

"Aye, when Prestor was exposed, the King and Alliance went to war wi' her, no one sneak-handed her in the night. Tha's more —" Siamus decides actually not to make observations about his sister's boss's methods, just in case.

Devon nods agreement with Siamus. "That's the way I recall us handling such threats."

"And poison would've been singularly ineffective against her," Cali says. Then she holds up one hand. "I mean only to say that there may be a deeper game afoot than just 'evil warlocks poisoned a nice man'. Not to suggest there is, only that there may be."

"I don't think anyone here is claiming that Count Wishock was a nice man," Elo says dryly. He does not rebut the warlock thing.

Lord Ellerian certainly is not.

Cali grins at Elo. "I admit, your wife's experience does seem to point to not-nice people poisoning someone for a personal agenda, or they'd have chosen a better test subject. Still. I thought it best to keep all options — and minds — open until all facts are known." She doesn't wince when her sister steps on her foot. "Um. Though perhaps I don't know any better."

Aubri is bad at hiding it when she rolls her eyes, for the record.

"I do not think that anyone who would simply execute a member of the House of Nobles can be an ally," Devon is still frowning deeply. "Regardless of their reasons."

Somewhere, in the distance, Ivrianna is laughing.

Elohad is very very very neutral about this comment. He has been taking Aspenwood Lessons, it seems. "Certainly. That's why I haven't mentioned the name of the person who was collecting those ingredients… I don't want them strung up for the crows to peck out their eyes until we have hard evidence in hand."

Dara is taking in all the information, her eyes wide.

Aubri sidles closer to Dara. Hi Dara. U r sane.

Dara shoots Aubri a nervous sort of smile.

Caliette keeps the rest of her opinions to herself. She smiles, a nice society lady smile.

She also doesn't move away from Elo's side. In case anyone wonders where she stands in all this, figuratively or literally.

Aubri pats Dara's arm. "I need a bit of refreshment after all this," she says. "Would you like to come with me and get a cool drink?"

Elo absently and briefly puts a hand on Cali's shoulder in the same soldierly fashion as before, as his gaze wanders the crowd speculatively.

Cali flashes Elo a more normal smile, tacking on a little shrug of 'sorry what can I say, I'm sort of opinionated, no hard feelings, I didn't mean you'. Lordaeranians have very expressive shrugs.

"Oh, that would be perfect, let's," Dara says, moving over toward the refreshments gratefully.

Aubri goes with, whispering to the other girl, "I apologize for my sister. She can't get her head out of a battlefield for one minute, and she picks the most awful battles. I thought your brother handled it wonderfully."

"I know how that goes - I do have two older brothers," Dara's lips quirk into a smile. "Though I do appreciate Devon's level-headedness. Leric probably would have joined the speculation."

Aubri giggles. "My brother wouldn't have been any different. Leithan's with the cavalry in Northrend, and not likely to come home, thankfully." Uh, what? "Oh! I mean, because of all the uproar. He'd be in the middle of it, louder than my sister. Not… not that I don't want him home, of course. Even if he is a pest."

"Oh, goodness, I understand," Dara giggles and pats her hand affectionately. "Let's keep the hot-heads off where their fire is beneficial. Let them be safe, of course, but perhaps not bring them into a highly flammable situation."

"I'm so glad you understand! Cider or lemonade? They have wine but I don't think I should have that on an empty stomach." Aubri beams at Dara. New best friend.

"How about lemonade? It's a lovely day for it," Dara says with a hesitant smile. "Aside from all…. from all that… of course. I do hope the orphans aren't too terribly upset by the news."

Aubri looks around. Two of the orphans are sword fighting with magic wands, while the girl manning (girling?) the booth yells at them about magic spells. Another one is being hustled inside so he doesn't barf in public from eating too many tarts. Still more are skittering from booth to booth, dragging chaperones to see this or that, or this AND that, plus that other thing. A few are practicing their best Noble Walks and Conversation.

"I say, Lady Kristania, is that your nicest blue dress?"
"Yes it is, Lady Parrie, do you like it?"
"No, it is ugly but mine is beautiful you should get yours made where I get mine."

"I don't think they noticed," Aubri says, taking a glass of lemonade.

"I suppose I should be pleased that their innocence shields them," Dara giggles, taking her own glass of lemonade. "May it last for as long as it can, poor dears."

Elo gives those around him a slight bow. "I should talk with my wife about this news and see what our next steps are," he says. "Do excuse me, friends."

On his way out, he buys one of everything the various children are selling.

Though the Thenedain retinue has been a constant, highly visible presence, the Countess and her mother have been conspicuously absent for a while. When they finally emerge from the Cathedral, there is a stiffness to Lady Evelaine beyond the arthritis in her joints.

As the Thenedain ladies reach the bottom of the steps, quickly sensing the tension in the air, a quick inquiry leads them to the leaflets about the news. Morgauna gasps lightly, her hand going to her bosom in shock.

Lady Thenedain frowns deeply. "Such a tragedy." As the women continue through the crowd, the tension in her movements seems to have passed, while her daughter's steps are haunted and distracted by the paper in her hand.

Siamus’s attention is caught immediately by the reappearance of the Thenedain ladies — well, a Thenedain lady, at least. "Excuse me," he murmurs politely to those still gathered around him, and moves by some absent reflex on a course to intercept.

Aubri watches Siamus's beeline and whispers to Dara, "Do you suppose Lord Fallon is going to declare for Lady Thenedain?" Her blue eyes continue to watch as she sips her lemonade.

Morgauna is so lost in the leaflet that, for once, she is unaware of Siamus as he approaches. Lady Evelaine, however, never seems to miss a beat. She lights up in greeting at the younger man when he comes into their orbit. "Lord Fallon, wonderful to see you on land again. Morgauna does miss you so when you're at sea."

The younger Thenedain quickly gathers her composure, folding the leaflet and putting on her social face. A small sigh of what might be relief escapes her at the sight of Siamus. "Hello again, Lord Fallon."

Dara watches Siamus with the Thenedain ladies and tilts her head in curiosity. "He may… she certainly has an important name, among other attributes to her credit. It is difficult to tell, with him, what might signify especial interest."

Siamus bows respectfully to Lady Evelaine with a smile. "My lady, I assure you the sentiment is mutual. And I'm glad as ever to see you also looking so well."

He turns to Morgauna and his own automatic smile fades a degree, his gaze searching Morgauna's expression. "Countess. A terrible business," he says quietly.

"Pity," Aubri says with an impish grin. "A husband who's handsome, elegant, titled, rich, and gone for long periods of time? Ideal, don't you think?"

"But with all the other things, would you really want him gone most of time?" Dara watches Siamus and the Thenedains with a vaguely wistful expression for a moment. Then she smiles and turns back to Aubri. "I mean, perhaps, if one could not get him to leave off the military talk from time to time."

Aubri laughs, light and clear. "Well, maybe not all the time. But I don't suppose I'll be fortunate enough to marry for love, so who's to say how well we'll even like each other?" She sighs, wistful. "And of course I have my own interests and hobbies, and what if he doesn't like them? I'll want time to be able to pursue those. What about you? What do you want in a husband?"

Lady Evelaine just smiles to Siamus and graciously steps aside to let the younger generation speak, a twinkle in her eye.

Morgauna's eyes, however, are darkened with concern. She nods solemnly to Siamus. "I worry that they are quick to blame the warlocks. But…what if it is true? The implications are very worrying. I don't even want to think about the effect this will have on the public consciousness regarding warlocks, whether or not it's true."

Siamus steps closer and lifts a hand, not quite touching Morgauna's elbow, not close enough to cause a Stir — well, probably not — but hovering almost protectively beside it, and lowers his voice confidentially. "Ference thinks he has an idea who did it. His lady wife saw a case only a few days ago that he thinks is connected. Wi' luck it will all be sorted and settled soon."

He glances toward Evelaine. She probably heard that. She probably knew it like two hours ago.

Morgauna's posture shifts subtly, just ever so slightly in Siamus's direction when he comes near. "Even if they find the culprit, this sort of thing can easily get out of hand very quickly. Public sentiment has never particularly favored the warlocks."

Lady Evelaine only went far enough to chat idly with another noblewoman, but well within eavesdropping business. Whether she overheard Siamus's words or is responding to her conversation companion isn't entirely clear when she speaks a little louder. "Yes, isn't it interesting that as soon as this information became public, Lord Ference claimed to have the solution? It's all quite dramatic. One might even say theatrical. Why…I imagine it would make for excellent material for one of his wonderful plays."

Morgauna gives her mother a Very Neutral Look.

Siamus is leveling an extremely similar look at the Lady Evelaine. He turns back to Morgauna. "That lot under the Lamb has ever been a viper's nest, to my understanding. The city might do well to be without them. I expect most warlocks of more honorable bent are engaged in lending their knowledge to the kingdom and Alliance elsewhere. The 7th Legion has at least one such."

"If this does turn ugly, even those honorable warlocks will suffer the wrath of public rage." Morgauna turns and begins to walk away from her mother, subtly beckoning Siamus to move with her. "This kind of incitement always leads to innocent people getting hurt…or worse. We need to try to calm the public's fears before there is an incident."

Peril Farrens would have responded to the multitude of questions, if not for the sudden announcement by a rival press company. Taking one of the leaflets for himself and tucking away the Super Snapper, he scribbles furiously in his notebook. They may have heard it first, but he would write it best.

Lester Amerith scans over the news himself, offering only a small, mild look of surprise. The woman at his side looks more amused than anything. "The Count let himself be murdered?" Lester folds up the paper. "He lost the game, that's all."

Left to her own devices, Cali looks wistfully at the nearest exit from the square, but reluctantly makes her way over to her sister. She pauses nearby, listening and within chaperone distance without being required to participate in the conversation.

Siamus moves obligingly with Morgauna, head inclined toward her slightly to listen, though now he is also scanning the crowd as they go. "Aye. I'm no'— we could prevail on Ellerian, perhaps, to see the House doesn't let it whip up. He doesn't seem to have much regard for warlocks himself, but if ever there was a man in Stormwind who knew the peril of a mob…." He trails off grimly, and then glances at her again. "And what were ye thinking of? I know ye're already two steps ahead on it, or ye'd no' be your lady mother's daughter."

Morgauna gives Siamus a wry smirk. "I'm not sure whether to take that as a compliment or not." She chuckles dryly. "Firstly, we must help Lord Ference to determine if his suspicions are correct. Swift justice will prevent fears from rising to unreasoning anger. But, meanwhile, people need somewhere to direct their emotions. Forgive my use of the word 'fortunately' in this context, but fortunately there is a war on. What we need is something else to distract them. Sadly, bad news gets more attention than good, unless it is extraordinary good news."

Siamus raises a sardonic brow. "And are we finding or fomenting bad news for the purpose?"

Morgauna sighs, turning to face Siamus, her hand extending a little, hovering just over his. "Either. Both. I know it isn't ideal. But better to turn the public's ire toward an enemy they cannot reach than one that they can that will just get them hurt or killed. An incident at the Slaughtered Lamb will mean blood in the streets. It is our duty to stop that. Will you help me? You have better contacts in the navy. Surely they'll know something we can use."

Dara, oblivious to the discussion of warlock reputations, smiles a touch wryly. "I don't seem to be in any position to choose, myself. I suppose it will be chosen for me, or not at all. I would like someone I find attractive, though. And an interest in music or the theater would be a benefit."

"Nonsense," Aubri insists with a sharp nod. "You simply tell your brother, "Your choice is odious in the extreme, and you would do well to consider Lord Thus-and-So instead." But of course one must come equipped with facts and figures such as acreage and yearly income and so forth." She sighs. "My father's shown no interest, as I mentioned, but I'm sure he'd care if I chose someone completely unsuitable. I just would very much like someone I can be friends with," she says, somewhat wistful. "And yes, attractive." That makes her giggle again.

Dara giggles. "I confess that I have not thought overmuch on his eyes, but I suppose they are rather nice. About the color of mine." She lifts a hand to her own blue eyes. "He's also unlikely to run off fighting, since he can't properly lift his sword-arm anymore." Dara's eyes widen as she hears her own words. "Oh goodness, I likely was not meant to say it like that, please don't tell anyone? It was a terribly heroic injury at Hyjal, trust me."

Aubri rests a hand on Dara's arm. "Oh, but that's very heroic! Of course he can't be off fighting, he's done a lifetime of it, I'm sure. Is… is that why he's so serious all the time? He always seems so melancholy." Aubri looks around to spot the marriage prosp— Uh, the man they're discussing. There's a hint in her tone that melancholy war heroes are very romantic.

"Oh, yes. He's really not tediously mopey, I swear, just a bit quiet and serious," Dara nods, turning to spot her brother in the crowd. "Very responsible and I daresay he would not begrudge his lady her hobbies. He hasn't begrudged his sister hers, at least."

"Well that's an excellent recommendation," Aubri says, laughing. "You know, Lord Westbridge isn't married and he's away often. Landed, though not very important lands these days, but his home here in Stormwind is quite lovely. And he seems quite kind, and likely to be working often. We must contrive to introduce you." Y'know, Now that they've settled that Aubri is going to marry Dara's brother and all.

"Oh my goodness, Lord Westbridge, yes," Dara's smile brightens. "Lady Sintha pointed him out to me earlier, I believe, but he left before I had a chance to say greetings. And of course, my family has lands… Stormwind is honestly far more interesting."

"I suppose he left to deal with this warlock business," Aubri says, looking around at the thinning crowd. "Though they all act like there's no guard in the city. We do have a municipal force to handle such things, but there they go." She shakes her head. "I would confine my meddling to things no one else was doing anything about." She grins at Dara. "Or at least to things no one could see me meddling with."

"There are plenty of things within our reach for meddling, without begging trouble elsewhere," Dara says, darting her own eyes around the dispersing crowd. "My brother is staying in Stormwind, for the moment. If you should like to come for tea, I could make certain he is in attendance."

That makes Aubri laugh again. "How shocking you are! I shall be there the moment I receive your invitation. And we'll work on ideas to bring you to Lord Westbridge's attention, too." From behind and beside, Cali seizes her chance and steps toward the two girls. "Your pardon, Lady Dara," she says, "but I must take my sister home to make sure my father's heard the news. You'll forgive us, I hope?"

"Oh, of course, Lady Caliette," Dara says, her cheer dropping back into a face of sobriety and concern. "Terrible news, we must all take care."

"May we escort you back to your brother?" Caliette offers. "I'd not like to leave you standing in the middle of the square."

Three children at maximum speed run straight through the small gap between Dara and the Glenarvan sisters. Whee! Tunnel! There are more giggles as one of the children's lollipops sticks onto Dara's dress like a fly-by-tagging. Won't someone, please, remember the children? "Oh, SHOOT. Shoot." That would be Winnie, just a few too many adult steps behind the three children moving too fast for a description. She's trying too hard to be polite in how she shoves through the crowd, and she's not going to win this game.

Dara looks discomfited for a moment, then smiles as she de-sticks the lollipop. "Oh, the little dears. I'm so delighted they're having a good time. Yes, please, I will accompany you to my brother."

"Sorry! Sorry. Excuse me. Pardon…me," Winnie says as she goes around the adult noble trio, losing more time as the children trio dash off, the lawyer in awkward, social-navigating polite jog-running after them.

Caliette leads the other two toward Devon Tennerow, quite adept at sidestepping children. It's battlefield footwork on a teeny-tiny gnomeish scale. And if she's gripping Aubri's arm a little too tightly, well, it's just to help her, you see. Not at all intended to keep her moving or prevent her from blithering on. She keeps an eye on Dara in case younger Tennerow finds dodging the two-legged cannonballs to be a problematic. Aubri gets yanked hither and thither in her attempts to avoid Winnie. "Sorry… sorry… Oh, sorry!"

Siamus regards Morgauna for a long moment. At length he says, reluctantly, "You know I'll no' refuse you. But — it will have to be done wi' precision. It canno' be a thing to shake the morale o' the fighting forces, either. To turn a southern mob, aye, I'm willing, but wi' a weather eye on our northern people." He is silent, his gaze turned inward on some grim calculations. "I'll see what I can."

Morgauna nods solemnly. "Of course. If we're very lucky, there will be a great victory we can announce. A grand celebration can overshadow dark thoughts as well. But it would need to be very grand for something like this." She gives Siamus an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry our time ends on this dark turn. I hope to see more of you at the ball. You…are coming, aren't you?" Her lips part just slightly as she takes a hopeful breath.

His expression softens, his focus returned. He steps back just enough that it doesn't look too scandalously Forward when he takes her hand and bows over it for a gentlemanly kiss. "I wouldn't miss it," he assures her, and squeezes her hand very lightly, just the gentlest press of fingers, as he lets go. He turns to find Lady Evelaine so that he can offer her a gallant bow as well, in case she is side-eyeing the hand thing over here.

Morgauna stands regally, 'offering' her hand as it is kissed, just to make the whole ritual as proper as it should be. But if anyone could hear her heart, they would be temporarily defeaned. She gives Siamus a curtsey as he departs, smiling fondly after him.

Lady Evelaine's eyes are already on Siamus when his gaze finds her. She returns his bow with nod of her head. Her smile is…unreadable. But at least she's smiling.

Siamus is well aware that Lady Evelaine's smiles are not necessarily endorsements, and makes his gracious exit swiftly.

Dara follows the Glenarvans, glancing at the half-eaten lollipop in her hand as if she really has no idea what to do with the thing. She gives a delicate shrug and hands it to the nearest child, who seems not terribly bothered by the status of the candy.

Hey, it's free candy from a stranger! That's the best kind of candy.

As they approach, Dara lifts a hand to greet her brother. "Brother, dearest, I do think it is about time we headed back home, don't you agree?" She glances over at the Glenarvans and adds, "I do hope we'll see more of you in the future, Lady Aubrienna and Lady Caliette."

Both Glenarvans bob curtseys to Lord Tennerow. "Thank you for your company today," Aubrienna says, smiling at Dara. She'd say more but Cali's still got hold of her arm and is dragging her away. Almost literally.

Several children shriek in terror in the background. WHAT IS IT?! ANOTHER INVASION?! DANGER TO THE CHILDREN?!

Oh. No. A cursory inspection reveals the truth: it's some sort of game involving more lollipops and sticking them on dresses on purpose now. Uh-oh.

Dara waves after her new best friend and turns to her brother. "I think I'm going to need to get this dress to a cleaner. We should go, before they decide you need a lollipop corsage." Devon looks bemused, but allows his sister to take him by the arm as they make the rest of their goodbyes.