(2023-05-27) Floating Politics - Weekend at the Fallons Part 4

Details

Author:	Athena
Summary:	Avrenne and Sintha take to the beach to discuss Siamus' ghosts and bones in the ocean, the political manuevering they'll do for the House of Nobles, and Avrenne's feelings for her husband-to-be. Isla find things on the beach. 16,600-ish words.
Rating:	T for Teen

Arc: Ringside Seats

Chain: Siarenne

+ Show additional content warnings

mentions of children experiencing traumatic situations, discussion of romance, discussion of unrequited love, flirting

Breakfast the following morning is the same buffet affair Avrenne remembers from her last visit to Fallon House; the table this time is laid for the full complement of the Fallons-plus-Esprit-household.

Conspicuously absent, however, is the master of the house. Siamus's place is empty, though a folded newspaper lies abandoned there. Sintha is present, of course, but there is a slightly more brittle note to her airy, italicized chatter this morning, and her eyes are smudged with sleepless shadows.

As soon as breakfast is finished, however, she bounces brightly to her feet and declares that it is swimming time — well, in forty-five minutes when everyone has digested their breakfasts and the ladies have had time to change into their swimsuits — and so she will see Avrenne and perhaps Isla and whomever else on the beach then!

Avrenne's eyes flick more than once to Siamus' place, but there's little else in her calm, collected manner to suggest any of her thoughts on the matter. If there's disappointment, it's well covered. Except, perhaps, for a slight movement of her hand by her waist before she goes to collect a plate for herself.

Neither Finley or Otto are down for the breakfast before everyone else is already finished. Sir Somer and Isla though are bright and cheery.

In the end, it's only Sir Somer and Isla who are waiting with Avrenne at the foot of the stairs for the beach. Sir Somer is dressed clearly more for wading at most, standing. Isla is in a cute short sleeved, short dress of a bathing suit, bright yellow. She seems completely unselfconscious about her bare legs and arms, holding onto a sunhat in a hand, chatting enthusiastically with Sir Somer. Avrenne is dressed in a loose, dark pink dress that might conceal some sort of bathing suit underneath it, a wide brimmed sun hat over her hair.

Sintha breezes down the stairs in a short, flutter-sleeved navy-blue bathing dress, wearing (again) her sunhat hanging at her shoulders, its navy blue ribbon around her neck. She's wearing sandals and seems as unselfconscious as Isla about her bare, tanned expanse of arms and legs.

"Gosh," she beams at everyone when she hops down the last step to the floor of the hall. "We are a party! Shall we, then?" She immediately links arms with Avrenne and moves toward the door.

Avrenne moves smoothly with Sintha, accustomed to this form of travel. Isla and Sir Somer trail behind. There's a moment's trip from Isla by the door threshold, an unfamiliarity with her own sandals likely, but Sir Somer is already there. Possibly why he is there. She's fine.

"Isla?" Avrenne asks anyway, turning her head slightly over her shoulder.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Isla doesn't sound embarrassed. It happens too often. This is just her life.

"Careful!" laughs Sintha over her shoulder. "We will get there no matter what, and it will be ever-so-much easier to swim if you have knees!"

She leads her little procession merrily out across the drive and along one of the gravel garden paths toward the slope of sand that leads down to the beach. It is a fine summer morning, the salt air warm and heady with flower-perfume and the buzz of the cicadas in the cliff-grass. Fat and drowsy bumblebees bumble along; to the west above the sea, gulls squall and wheel.

"It is a perfect day for a swim," declares Sintha, starting down the sand slope. "Did you have a lovely time last night with Shay, darling? I never even heard you come in, it must have been awfully late!" Is she merrily insinuating things? She is Sintha, so: Probably.

Isla's knees would thank Sintha, if they could. They can't, and not the least because Isla manages to bang and/or skin them nearly constantly.

Avrenne smiles at the mention of Siamus, and she flicks her eyes to Sintha before looking at the direction they're going. "Of course I had a lovely time. It was wonderful to spend so much time in the company of a gentleman of his nature, and to have an opportunity to get to know him better in a less formal setting, even though that did mean for reduced precision of the exact hour without the benefit of a mechanical timepiece to track it." There's a gentle, playful sort of tease to the words, an acknowledgment that there were other obvious signs of the late hour.

"'A gentleman of his nature,' gosh aren't you charming, I'm so pleased! I hope he didn't bore you dreadfully. Did he show you the jellyfish? He'd mentioned that he wanted to show you — oh! What a gorgeous day for it!" Sintha pauses at the foot of the path to gaze rapturously on the wind-ruffled sea. She lets go of Avrenne's arm to kick her sandals off and then bend to collect them.

"He has never bored me, not for a single moment," Avrenne answers, tilting her head up the sky before she bends down to slip off her shoes. "He did show me the jellyfish. The water was so calm." Sintha knows why. "It was…one of the most extraordinary things I have ever seen." There's a depth of feeling in the words, and something in her expression, soft and wondering for a moment.

"What jellyfish?" Isla asks behind the two women. "Are there jellyfish in the water?" She sounds unsure if she should be excited or terrified about this fact, and is prepared to go either way.

"Oh, not to worry, darling," Sintha assures her. "There may be little ones but they're just soft bubbles really — they don't sting a bit. It's at night when they collect along the shore and you must see them, they glow! Right now you're more likely to be nibbled by a minnow than stung by a jellyfish!"

This may or may not be reassuring to Isla, who can say?

Sintha traipses merrily down the beach to deposit her sandals at a midway point, and looks back for the rest to catch up with her.

Avrenne follows behind, poised if not traipsing.

Isla attempts a traipse and trips instead, landing hard on the sand with an oof.

"Isla?"

"I'm fine!" Isla calls back as Sir Somer helps her back up to her feet. He lends his arm as a formal escort, to forestall future traipsing attempts on the sand. He's wearing shoes still, which suggests he very well might be a heathen. Or he's just worried more about Isla than the sand at the moment. Hard to say.

Avrenne moves to place her shoes next to Sintha's, and with no real fanfare, as though it's entirely normal and expected, lifts her dress up and off, folding it neatly in her hands. Beneath the dress is a wetsuit bathing suit of maroon, long sleeved fully to her wrists, and stretching down to just above her knees. It shows just the base of her throat, the suggestion of her collar bones, with a little fold and buttons as decoration. It's clearly a very modest bathing suit, but there's no denying that it's been tailored to be virtually skin tight. If Zath had been there to see it, he would no longer have any doubt as to the precise shape and length of her thighs.

"Come on!" says Sintha gaily, and takes Avrenne's hand to tow her toward the water. It is a decidedly different hand-clasp from Siamus's. Over her shoulder, she calls to Isla, "It won't be deeper than your waist until about halfway along!" She points at the stacked stone of the breakwater at the beach's southern end, where Avrenne and Siamus climbed the night before. "It's a very gentle beach."

Avrenne lets herself be towed along, as Sir Somer and Isla organize a strategy for the water given that Sir Somer is definitely not swimming and Isla is definitely not allowed to climb that stacked stone that she's already clearly considering climbing and maybe jumping from. Wheee. That wouldn't be potentially a disaster or anything.

As they get closer to the water though, there's a clear reduction in how much towing is happening, as Avrenne begins to walk faster towards the water, with a light eagerness.

Sintha splashes out happily, apparently determined to make for the place where the water deepens. She glances over at Avrenne when she detects the change in pace. "A fond swimmer, then? The water's just lovely for it today, even if there aren't proper waves because of the breakwaters and the calm. There are more waves down at the harborside beach! Shay's taking you there later today? This afternoon? For the lighthouse?"

"Unless plans have changed," Avrenne says and there's that same slight drift of her hand to her waist for some reason before she deliberately moves it back to her side. "That was the intent though, yes."

"Changed? Oh, I shouldn't think they've changed." Sintha pauses mid-splash to blink at Avrenne. "Oh, are you — oh. Because of… breakfast?"

Avrenne wades deeper into the water, her hands moving out to her sides in preparation to touch it, unconcerned with the temperature of the water. "I assume something came up? I do understand that he has things to attend to. I would not want him to think it an obligation if he's needed elsewhere."

Sintha keeps pace silently for a few steps, and then says with artificial lightness, "He didn't sleep very well, is all. Sometimes he doesn't."

She glances sidelong at Avrenne to gauge the response to this information.

There's a look of gentle sympathy on Avrenne's face, but no surprise. She is not unfamiliar with those who don't sleep well from the things they carry. "I'm sorry to hear so. Would he prefer to continue on as intended, or would I be doing him a service if I was to request a delay of the lighthouse today, do you think?" The offer has the ring of sincerity, of a willingness to attempt to lighten a burden rather than add to it, with no resentment to it.

"Oh, he will absolutely prefer to carry on as intended. If the man ever breaks his leg, stars forfend you point out he's got a bit of a limp." She rolls her eyes, but her expression is a little too drawn and tired herself to make the exasperation ring true. "It will perhaps be a pleasant distraction for him, hm?"

Avrenne nods seriously, as she skims her hands over the water. "I see." A pause as she considers, and there's again that little reaching of hers for Sintha. "And you Sintha? Is that what you would prefer as well?" Avrenne's eyes come to rest on Sintha's own sleep deprived smudges, an unasked question in the air.

"I would prefer," says Sintha with unwonted, weary gravity, "if he would be happy. If he would be himself again and not this — ah." She exhales and visibly gathers her brightness to her again, an armor piece by piece. "I'm sorry to be… grim, gosh. I'm afraid I didn't sleep very well either, is all. Sitting with him." She swipes a hand playfully across the surface of the water and it's impossible to tell if the salt drops on her cheeks and eyelashes came from the splash.

"I'm glad he has you, that you have each other. I can't yet…" Avrenne sighs, making a vague circle gesture in the air. You know. Propriety. "I don't know that I can make him happy. But I promise you that I will try." She moves closer to reach out to touch Sintha's arm. "And I don't mind grim, if you would like to tell me about it. I'm no stranger to sitting with those who can't sleep from what they carry." Avrenne looks out in the direction of Isla, who is running through the water at the shore, and likely to trip again any minute now. "But I also know what it is to want to just set it aside and think of something else solvable than something that cannot be fixed by thinking more on it. In the absence of flower arrangements to solve, at the moment, what I have are politics, if you would prefer."

"You lost your uncles in the Second War," Sintha says abruptly. "Where? And how? If I may ask."

Avrenne's brows go up in surprise. Her gaze goes a little distant in memory, as she recalls, her hand still on Sintha. "My father's brother, my uncle Edouard, died during the assault on the City, after Alterac's betrayal let them in, from some magic, warlock or shaman, as I understand it from his funeral." There's a touch there, a harsh discordant note at the mention of Alterac, but otherwise her voice has that coolness to it, of old, worn grief.

"Uncle Fredrick and Uncle David, my mother's brothers, followed Sir Turalyon. Uncle David fell during the assault of Quel'Thalas, by orc or troll or by fire. I don't know. Uncle Fredrick died later, at Blackrock, during the battle that claimed Sir Lothar, by orc I would assume. I was a child at the time, and spared the details."

She looks back to meet Sintha's eyes, dark gaze steady on hers, a question already there.

Sintha nods and trails her fingers along the surface, sending eddies spinning. "The Lord Admiral entered the war — and the Alliance — because although the orcs were no threat to Kul Tiras — islands, and half the world away — he knew they might someday be. And more than that, he knew we would win no war for our world if we did not stand as a world, with the rest of humanity. So he brought us into a war that most argued was not properly ours, and stood fast with the Alliance."

She gazes out at the western horizon. "It was brutal for Kul Tiras. The orcs, the Black Tooth Grin, they had no chance in ship to ship warfare. Our fleet devastated theirs. But they weren't bound by ships, either. They had dragons.

"They destroyed more than half the Third Fleet. They killed the Lord Admiral's eldest son — our crown prince, as it were. Jaina's elder brother, Derek.

"With the help of the Wildhammers in the air, we won out in the end, even over dragons. But the cost to Kul Tiras…." She trails off for a moment.

"Ships lost by the hundreds, men by the thousands. Men like Barbour, who came through that war still capable in body, cannot sail any longer." She pauses. "Shay was ten years old. I don't think anyone, least of all our father, expected what it would really be like. What he would be required to see or do."

Avrenne's hand tightens on Sintha for a moment, and there's grief and pain on her face as her eyes go again to Isla — now splashing into the small waves up to her knees and laughing with something Sir Somer has said — holding there for a long beat before she looks back to Sintha's face. "No child should have been there. No child should have had to witness that, or do anything to help survive it, no matter what gifts he had to offer," she says quietly.

Sintha shrugs lightly, trying for blithe again. "Well, I thought you ought to know because the stars know he'll never breathe a word about it, and I know it keeps him up at night. He's had nightmares since — well. Since."

She looks over at Avrenne. "I expect he got up at five, drank half a dozen cups of tea, and is in his office now going over charts and humming 'Bones in the Ocean' again. Do you know why he does it?"

"You said that one was literal," Avrenne says, still in that quiet voice, a frown on her face deep enough to show lines forming there, until she glances again at Isla, and smooths it away. "The souls of the dead that fill his mind, to search without sleeping, and think of the fallen." Her hand touches the ocean water in an unconscious caress, as though trying to touch someone who isn't there.

Sintha nods and trails her fingers through the water again. "Most Kul Tiran sailors expect to end at the bottom of the sea. To rest there at last. But the Proudmoores — in Boralus there's a place called the Lord Admiral's Rest. It's where the Proudmoores go. Their… remains.

"But Derek isn't there. Because of what happened. His ship was sunk, burned by dragonfire, and never recovered. In theory it's… off the coast of Menethil or Arathi somewhere, though whether on the shelf or in the deeps, I couldn't say. No one's been able to say." She drifts out another step or two. "Shay is convinced that he can piece together what he remembers of it, what other survivors recount of it, the information about the tides and currents of the area, and… find Derek. To send him home."

After a moment, she exhales and says dryly, "It would be something of a diplomatic gesture, at this point. To make up for — Theramore. Perhaps to temper sentiment over there. Or maybe he's just mad." She shrugs and feathers her fingers over the water, shivering patterns in it.

There's almost the sound of whirring audible as Avrenne considers it. There's a distracted, almost mumble like quality to her voice, her eyes looking out towards the lighthouse. "And if one had enough warlocks, perhaps, with Eyes of Kilrogg, they could search in ways no diver could, if one could devise a light bright enough to shine through into the water for them to see by, and if he can narrow the area down sufficiently."

She flicks her eyes to Sintha, her voice calm and steady. "I don't know if it will help him find some peace, or if it is a matter of honor, but if I can get him to speak to me of it, I will do everything I can to help him. It may not be solvable, but I will support him in success or failure."

Sintha regards Avrenne levelly for a time, and then nods and turns away. "So," she says airily. "There's Shay with a headache this morning, busy with his charts. But nothing will make him feel better than a trip through the harbor to Storm Rock. The sea, the open air — you know. What would you like to discuss, meanwhile? Something brighter, I should hope. The election. Or the wedding. Or both."

Avrenne's hand on Sintha is gentle, a warm touch, and then she lowers it back down into the water. She's silent for a long moment, moving deeper into the water. "Mm. I don't know if you've seen it yet, but I expect it is very likely that he will get the seat. I know which ones to sing to, and how for him, and he's doing very well with his strategy. The concrete, specific plans for the navy have helped immensely. He's made it very simple for me. Lady Aspenwood, Lord Marchand, Lord Lysander, Lady Barfield are sure votes, and they will pull several others. I may be able to persuade Lord Amerith on him, not for the right reasons, but that is often the case with him. He, like a few others, will be more likely to vote for Siamus simply because he will have me. It will be seen for the shrewd political move it is, and it will give them confidence in what he can bring to the House.

"And he's well positioned with the other candidates now to carry their approval and support into the House. It's just a matter of which other three would serve best, and are most likely to win. Lord Ference I am sure of. The others though I believe are still movable, depending on what happens over the next week or two." She sets her eyes on Sintha, brows raised.

"Siamus is going to want Morgauna. To back her, I mean. He did promise he would, and they're such old friends. Thenedain and Fallon's interests have historically aligned, and politically right now I think they balance rather well, with her infrastructure platform and his military one. Keeps the House from becoming too lopsided in favor of special interests." She pauses delicately. "Speaking of special interests, of course, there's Captain Tyrrell. The warlock matter."

Avrenne nods, and there's a degree of something like tiredness in her expression. "I have done everything I can, but it is not going to be enough. I believe I can get his agenda to pass. But he is already a difficult sell for what he is, let alone who he is convincing them he is. I cannot force him to play the political game, and he refused my advice and strategies to strengthen his campaign." There's a sigh and a slight tremble around the edges of her mouth for a moment. "From what I can see, the only way he could take a seat would be if I destroyed Lord Tennerow and Lord Demasco, and to do so to both would be disastrous long term, and frankly, against my nature and conscience. I cannot do anything more for him to take a seat." A pause. "This time, anyway. I have set the groundwork for later, if something should happen in the future for another seat. I will be able to pull more by then. I just don't have enough time for this one."

"Mm. And if Shay and others in favor of Tyrrell's agenda find their way to seats now, then in the future if another seat should open…." Sintha muses. "I don't know how many of the present candidates do favor his agenda. I know Ference was rather dead set against warlocks, but Shay went and had a word with him and persuaded him to give Tyrrell a hearing at the Gala. I believe the man was impressed by the WEB proposal, so if he isn't won yet, he could perhaps be in time, with Shay and others to lean on him. Morgauna… I couldn't say. In the aftermath of Wishock's murder, she was very set on preventing riots and vigilantism in the city, but I don't know whether that makes her a sympathizer, exactly.

"And certainly I wouldn't like to sabotage either of the other two, not if Shay's likely to end up working with them. Demasco's got no charisma but he's obviously sharp as tacks, and his knowledge will serve better than charisma, I imagine. Tennerow is… I will be honest, I find it hard to have feelings about Lord Tennerow one way or the other. He's always seemed to just… be there."

Avrenne skims a hand along the water again. "I can move Lord Tennerow the easiest. I can give his campaign force and weight. His agenda fits well with Siamus and Morgauna both, an equal balance of local infrastructure and restructuralization and recentralization of military expenditure. I can give him what he needs to charm Lord Ference enough to touch the edge of his campaign in a positive way.

"He is a good man, with a good heart. Intelligent and thoughtful. He takes exceptional care of his people, and his grasp of his own business of his land is to be commended. But he is quieter, and he lacks a natural conviction." A soft sigh. "I have significant enough influence with him to hold the connection now and in the future that I do not have with Lord Demasco."

Sintha glances sidelong at Avrenne and arches a brow, amused. "Do you? Mm."

They are just deep enough now that if she lifts her feet and lets herself drop a little she can float, legs bent, so she puts her sun-hat on — lest it get wet still hanging at her shoulders — and does this. Drifting in an idle circle she says, "I'm not sure how Shay will do with a person… lacking natural conviction. He's rather too full of it, himself; I think it makes him impatient. But who can say? Perhaps they'd balance one another well, in a working relationship."

"As long as Siamus can remain cordial enough to work with him, I can handle the rest. And if I can tie Lord Tennerow to another, I may be able to pull more with him over time. I have little influence with the Glenarvan's beyond a gentle touch from my title, and my cordial relationship with Lord Glenarvan. I may encourage the match there, particularly now that Lord Tennerow will know for certain that I am not an option. It would give more support later, with potential military backers to expand into the full plans of a navy."

"Oh, as long as the man is competent and knows what he's about, there's positively no reason Shay wouldn't be cordial. Well, and depending how vocal he is on certain views. But — I've arranged a little date to go dress-shopping with Lady Dara, thinking I might discuss with her the idea of aligning her brother with Siamus's bloc — Ference, Thenedain, Fallon — in lieu of Captain Tyrrell. Hm? I expect the military angle will satisfy Siamus, the infrastructure one will satisfy Ference and Morgauna, and the Redridge one will content Ridgewell. Honestly as much as I find Tennerow rather middle-of-the-road, it does seem as though with a little tarting up — as it were, pardon my saying — it could make him a very easy sell."

"That will be an easy task — Lord Tennerow has already attempted to make overtures of discussion with Lord Ference, and if Lady Dara could make inroads for her brother there, that may be helpful. And I will go to Morgauna, and see if I might gently tip her towards Lord Tennerow. I don't expect it to be a difficult sell, given the others. Likely a thread through their shared interests in the arts to start the conversation, perhaps.

"I don't expect that Siamus will actively support him enough for the campaign, but he doesn't need to. My voice will be enough there for a moderate, and as long as the groundwork is laid for later, I can ensure his support for the navy and for future projects." She slides deeper into the water, letting it close over her shoulders.

"Lord Tennerow and Captain Tyrrell are neighbors. I expect I can work with that fairly well to ensure there's enough of a connection to convince him on supporting the Captain's agenda to satisfy something of Siamus' drive for his friend." His very good friend. His awfully good friend. "I may have to get him to understand that the option is not Lord Tennerow or Captain Tyrrell. It is between Lord Demasco and Lord Tennerow. The only sure loss is the Captain." And there's a note of something in her voice at that, sorrow and regret mixed with frustration.

"Mm," says Sintha, her gaze sharpening. She looks away, perhaps to mask it. "And you're sad about the Captain's loss?"

"Disappointed, more than anything. I had hoped to help him. But, he rejected what I offered him, and I would have been unable to give him the advantage that my marriage presents. He didn't want to marry an asset, and I did not want to marry someone who would not choose me for what I can do and what I have to offer beyond the woman." Avrenne kicks off enough to pull up into a swim. "He would have been an excellent support for Siamus in the House, assuming he was true to his word that Siamus has his full support in all things. He was the only candidate that the Captain was willing to work with without reservation. The endorsement of a 7th Legion captain will still count for something though. And I don't know that it's the wrong choice to have him return to Northrend, rather than the House. We need quality commanders in the north, and unlike Siamus, he will not have the benefit of a wife here to watch the game and play it for him in his absence."

"That is lucky for Shay," says Sintha, and leans into a comfortable, idle sidestroke. "But yes, the Captain was in fact the first allegiance Shay made in this election — even before Morgauna, if you can imagine it. The pair of them just hit it off so absolutely. And then of course there was the… awkwardness with Morgauna, too…." She makes a face. "But I do wonder — Tennerow served at Hyjal. Do you happen to know his views on… orcs?"

"He is careful not to…speak out on it unnecessarily, but the truth of the matter is, if you will be careful with the information, that he would see them burned from the entirety of Azeroth. He is a practical man, and he cooperated as necessary at Mt. Hyjal in accordance with the military order, but his family was killed by them, and what other possible tolerance he may be able to extend to some elements of the Horde will never apply to orcs," Avrenne says in that cool, composed voice of hers.

"Ah," says Sintha and shrugs. "Well, then, you hardly need tell Shay anything else about the man. They'll have enough in common, between that and the military."

"Yes. I expect they'll be natural allies, once it's clear that it is Lord Tennerow he will need to work with on the House, rather than the Captain." Avrenne moves with a lithe ease in the water, clearly enjoying it. "The other benefit is that Lord Tennerow has several resources in Redridge that could be useful for the expansion of a harbor into a shipyard, and his connections to the arts will help later with the actual building of the navy and the recruitment of people interested in becoming marines."

"Mm," says Sintha, "the arts. Like Lady Dara and her music? What sorts of arts is Lord Tennerow a patron of? If he's musical as well I suppose they might be the musical equivalent of the writing Ferences."

"Lord Tennerow is a patron of many. Plays, music, and so on. He has a decent singing voice, if I recall correctly. But his work himself that he does is in sculpture." Avrenne makes a facial expression equivalent of a shrug. She's not particularly interested in the arts except where they serve a use, it would seem. "Lord Ference has used his influence and connection to advertise Cobalt Company to recruit talent to it. There is no reason to not play the same game with the navy."

"The Fallons, I fear, are not an artistic lot. Well, Shay can sing, but not artistically. I do see the value in the arts, of course, for swaying public opinion. How do you suppose it might be done, for a navy? Is there something that might be written, or – " She frowns thoughtfully.

"I expect a few plays, a few songs, things that start telling another story. If they come from House Tennerow and House Amerith rather than House Fallon they will read as dramas rather than propaganda. Particularly if we can use others to report Siamus' stories without it being direct. Just touches on the edges of things, letting glimpses of it become part of the narrative they think of for later, for placing who belongs as Admiral of such a navy.

"I will be having Priscilla add some strategic pieces to her next showing of her Northrend series, Kul Tiran ships with Alliance marines to reframe the narrative of separation, to make people see something different as possible. What else do you think?"

"The Admiral indeed." Sintha offers Avrenne a brilliant smile. "As to plays, perhaps some very swashbuckling things, those that use the actual songs, maybe? They're awfully catchy, and a lot of them quite rousing and fun." She ponders. "Stars if we could get Ference to do a revival of The Cat's Lashes. A musical revival! Oh, and Shay said you'd suggested recruiting among the draenei, which — I don't know if you were thinking of it at the time or not — is doubly clever because not only do they travel in ships of a sort, they have shamans. Shay wouldn't ordinarily go in for any kind of orcish tradition, but it's the elements and I understand some of them — the draenei shamans — can commune with the water? There might be a special way to reach out to them in particular, via their faith or what-have-you."

She's silent for a moment, floating, the now-wet ends of her hair spreading like seaweed around her in the water. "What if," she ventures slowly, "to raise awareness of what they're up against in Northrend, we were to… commission a song or a poem or something about the Nimble? 'The Ballad of Captain Sparce' or something? Shay might require talking into it, but it could be… it could affect people, you know?"

"I think it's a fine idea. You know how I feel about ensuring that the concept of the war is not lost — it's too easy to see it as distant. It would be a good tribute to those who served and were lost, and yes, politically useful because it only touches on Siamus indirectly, but also." Avrenne is quiet a moment, serious and solemn as she looks at the water. "It's the right thing. Every one of them deserves to be remembered."

She moves a little more into the water, going deeper as she watches the waves. "And it's not only the draenei that may help — the Broken as well. More of them have turned to shamanism because, unlike the draenei, they can never access the Light again." Avrenne flicks her gaze to Sintha. "And they cannot do that because the orcs took it away from them. Poisoned them and broke the connection. Their new faith to the elements is often a compromise and they can do many things with water to heal in particular."

Sintha's expression darkens, her mouth tight. "Well. Shay will certainly be willing and interested, in their case." She leans gently backward in the water and stretches her legs out to float. "It's honestly remarkable you've got him taking this so seriously at last. The candidacy, I mean. He was so cross I summoned him home for it, and couldn't wait to be done with it and back in the north as soon as possible. And then — you know. Between… I don't even know which of the things that happened, but by the time you said navy to him on the night of the Gala, well."

Avrenne smiles, a flash of something warm, before she makes a considering sort of sound. "Perhaps it was just that he was waiting for someone else to hear him, in full. I had already told him that I was not interested in the game of flirtation, and that I was more interested in what he had to say on other serious matters. I'd heard the rumors of him potentially bidding for the House, and asked if he was pursuing an angle of technology that we had spoken of. He mentioned that he felt as though no one would hear him, and I offered to listen, and that if I could, to use my voice to aid him. He spoke, and I heard him, and I made it clear that I could see a way forward, and that I would do everything I could to help.

"Perhaps he needed to know that he's right, to hear it said. That his voice and his opinion matters, and from someone who had — at the time — no connection to him, not family or friend or lover who would support the man for that, and who was not looking for anything for her own agenda. I was not offering my support in exchange for anything. I simply believed in his cause, and that he should be heard, and acted accordingly. Maybe that was what he needed to commit to the course, to know that he had an ally, even if all she could be at the moment was a siren singing with no other form of power."

"But a siren's song is her power," observes Sintha. "For all that — yes, perhaps, I think he was simply waiting for someone other than me or one of his lovers to tell him he had the right of it. He's tried to tell people before, you know, military people and so on, but they wouldn't hear him. Theramore was still too fresh on their minds, and the King's disappearance and the confusion sowed by Prestor, and then the campaign to Outland — where ships were quite useless, the very idea of a navy was laughable to everyone it seemed. But now — now." She waves a hand toward the north. "Now perhaps they'll listen. And you will help him with that."

"I know a little of what that feels like," Avrenne says, tilting her head back. Her hat catches in the water, and starts to float away, but she doesn't seem to notice as she leans into the ocean. "When I arrived in Stormwind all those years ago, I had virtually nothing. And it was…so strange. Like being on another world, suddenly, one where my name meant nothing, my family's name meant nothing, to so many. Of course my people felt a certain way, and I knew that they knew. But, wandering through the strange city, feeling suddenly so small, as though no one would listen to me.

"It was Duchess Aspenwood who was my siren at that time. She felt some kinship in my situation, a familiar enough feeling that she offered me the benefit of her voice and expertise. And it opened doors. I still had to walk through them, and it was not easy. But sometimes all you need is just one person willing to hold that door." Avrenne smiles up at the sky.

"And now I can be that for him. As I said to him, the timing is ideal. This is the best opportunity to strike on it. And when my own influence is now growing. I've been limited in what I can do in action for lack of capital. And what he has lacked in social capital I hold. Together, I believe we can begin this. And yes, I love him now, but I would have helped him regardless of the sentiment. I truly believe in what he's doing, and that he is the best person we have to do it."

"Your hat, darling," warns Sintha. And then: "Do you love him, then?" It's hard to tell from her voice whether or not she's smiling.

"Of course. Rather foolish of me, perhaps, given that he doesn't return the sentiment, obviously, and I don't expect it likely that he will, but. I've clearly made worse decisions in the past," Avrenne says in a dry voice as she reaches out a hand behind her, with strangely exact precision to pull her hat back to her. "I told you. I truly enjoy his company and his conversation and those glimpses of who he really is. He's wonderful. I've never known anyone like him before." She drifts in the water. "You won't tell him, will you? I don't think it would help anything for him to know it. And I wouldn't want him to feel as though he will make me unhappy for not returning it. I have everything I truly need to be happy. I just would like to get to know him more and spend time with him, when I can."

"I won't tell him," says Sintha, floating and gazing at the sky. Her voice is soft and almost shy. "I promise I won't. I think it's lovely, you know. It's what I wanted for him. He needs more of it, honestly. And I don't think it's foolish of you, either, just because he doesn't share it in the same way. I think it's very clever of you, in fact, not to balk foolishly at a question of sentiment and simply know that you will have the most loyal husband and partner a woman could dream, and be taken care of in all the important ways. He will be awfully good to you, you know. And he does respect and enjoy you ever so much. It's nice to see that, how much he enjoys your company."

"I'm glad to know it. Truly, I am. He's already so good to me. I've never felt so seen for all that I've tried to be, all that I've done. Safe in harbor, at last, after so long that I'd forgotten what it even feels like. I don't know if I can make him happy. I'm not really…that kind of person, who makes people feel that sort of…" She sighs. "But I really will try, Sintha." A pause, a stretch of her fingers along the surface of the water as though reaching for something. "I really will try," Avrenne repeats quietly, looking up at the sky, floating gently on the waves.

"Whyever wouldn't you make him happy? If he enjoys your company and conversation, finds a meeting of the minds with you and admiration for one another's ideas, mutual respect — dear Avrenne, what do you think you will fail to give him of happiness?"

Avrenne moves her arms a little in the water. "I've never inspired that sort of… brightness in anyone. Contentment, perhaps. An enjoyable company for some. But that sort of joy that lights you from within, that flame of happiness that you can hold with you through anything, a beacon so bright to shine into someone? No. I've never possessed those qualities." It's uttered without any particular feeling attached to it, a sort of sense of just stating a mathematical proof. "I hope to at least have that meeting of minds though. That he will ever be content and pleased with his choice, to not ever dread a return to his home on land, to feel wanted and known, to know he returns to mutual respect and admiration. Will that be happiness to him, do you think?" There's a note of hope to it.

"I am confident it will be," says Sintha paddling idly closer. "I think it's exactly as he's been hoping to find." She pauses and then notes, "And besides, you'll give him children, won't you? I expect that will go a very long way."

"Yes." Avrenne sets a hand on her waist, sinking a little into the water briefly. "One way or another. I don't know if I'm capable, personally, yet. For obvious reasons. But I will not allow stubbornness to end my line." A pause and she idly moves her hat along the water. "My brother and his wife were married for ten years. He had no interest in women, and she refused to consider an alternative. If I had not survived, there would have been no one left of House Esprit. Children are children. He will have them. And I will take care of them." At that, Avrenne twists in place to be able to tread the water, looking back at Isla.

The young girl has abandoned the ocean to spread out on the sand, talking avidly with Sir Somer, her hands describing something in the air with great enthusiasm. It might be her on going fanfiction about the Commodore and the Duchess' previous night, now with 60% more jellyfish.

"Isla was 8, when Lordaeron fell. Daisy 10. Otto 12. Finley 17. It was a horrible thing, for them. For any child. They all had nightmares of it. Isla, for the first three years after, would come into my room at night, weeping silently, because she had learned that crying too loudly could bring the Scourge, and would wake me patting at my arms to be sure I wasn't on fire again. I'd hold onto her the rest of the night, so she would know it was alright. We were both alright. I think she still has the dreams about it. She just stopped coming to me to help."

"The poor child," says Sintha with soft, sincere feeling. "If you'd… like me to talk with her? Sometimes it… helps to hear from someone who knows… something like it." She gazes at Isla. "She's a very sweet girl."

She tips upright again and drifts toward Avrenne. "Are you worried, sincerely? About not having children?" She peers at Avrenne anxiously. "What would you do?"

Avrenne moves her head a little side to side. "Whatever it would take. There are potential solutions to explore. But, no, I have no particular reason to be concerned. Only aware of the possibility. My mother caught with child on single occasions with my father. She might have had a dozen children had they been able to stand the other's company a little better," Avrenne says, a touch of grief in her voice. She turns to Sintha and offers a small smile. "I'd appreciate it, if you would talk with Isla. She's a bright girl, but some of the brightness is what she learned how to be. They say children are resilient, but really, in my experience, they just are better at learning how to shine around something broken inside them faster. It doesn't mean they don't carry that broken piece."

Sintha's expression fades, goes distant; she is briefly somewhere else. "Yes," she says. "And yes, of course, I will talk to her." She summons a smile. "And I'm sure you'll have a dozen babies. You and Shay can certainly stand one another well enough, and he'll be… very well motivated. Hm?"

She pauses and paddles slightly back again. "He's going to be a marvelous father, you know. He really will be."

"I'm sure he will be. And, with the House of Nobles, a reason to be at home more, between bloody wars, that speaks of duty as well as domestic things," Avrenne says, pulling her hat along as she moves in the water. "Can you pull on Lord Westbridge, that is, do you have him well enough? Him, Lord Lescovar, Lord Ridgewell, and a few others are those I cannot move well or easily in the House. I can't move Lord Ellerian or Lord Amerith much either, but I do know them well enough to know what they need to hear to go as we'd like them. Lord Amerith will, as usual, not vote for things for the right reason, but I know what will make him vote for Siamus, if he won't vote for the man properly. It will play the hand I've been saving for awhile, because once I've played it, I won't be able to use it again, but this is the right time for it."

"Lord Lescovar isn't worth trying to move. He's an enemy of Ference, and Shay will stand by Lord Ference, and loathes the man himself besides; he said at least once that if Lescovar came out on his favor, he'd pull his own bid rather than take the endorsement. I can talk to Westbridge, I'm certain."

"Lord Lescovar we don't need to move in favor, just away. Shove him onto the rocks," Avrenne says, and there's a too long pause. And her voice is a little too serious to be dry enough for humor. "Metaphorically. It's difficult for me to keep him out of things, because it tips my hand too far to get close enough to him. I don't have enough direct lines to any of his people around him that he listens to. That entire… network is…" There's a curl of her lips of open disgust before she covers it back up. "Well. We just need to get him out of our way enough to not give him time to poison the others I don't have as well in hand, and that will be all that's necessary."

"Did you know he pulled strings to have Lord Ference arrested in the wake of Wishock's murder? He was behind that whole slander attempt."

Avrenne's expression grows black and cold, a dangerous look in those dark eyes. "Yes, I heard. Later. I wasn't here at the time; I was in Northrend. Despicable man. Takes after his father." There's enough venom in the words that Avrenne almost hisses them. There's a few beats, a pushing back, until there's nothing left but that icy stillness to her. "I expect he'll abstain from several of the votes. I don't know if Lady Evelaine will interfere with him for Morgauna, but the only one I expect he might vote for on his own is Lord Demasco, foolishly believing in that amiable, fair minded mask of the baron's. Lord Demasco will work any of the House for the law, but it should never be mistaken for agreement. He would eviscerate Lord Lescovar in a heartbeat. Probably hand the guard an ironclad writ for arrest if he could have. But that's neither here nor there.

"I will maintain the cordial relationship I have with Lord Demasco. He will be very helpful I think for Siamus, after. He bid for one of the seats to Northrend, and he took note of what you did for Lady Alwynneria. I expect I will be able to use it to encourage him to invest in the navy."

Sintha smiles like a cat. "Oh, I'm so pleased. I do love Lady Alwynneria, she's just the sweetest little rabbit. I do wish someone other than Shay had danced with her afterward, I mean he will oblige to be kind, he is always like that with a lady, but still, having one's friend's brother step forward for one is perhaps not the ego-brightener it might have been. And I do rather suspect she'd have liked even better if Shay had been a lady. If only Morgauna – " She pauses, frowns at the sky.

"Oh, Morgauna," Avrenne says with a very affectionate gentle exasperation. "She's brilliant, really, always has been, with a certain sort of cultivation of a relationship of emotional connection with people. But she has often had a glaring blind spot for detecting romance — true feeling especially — and for herself in particular, for where that line of flirtation ends. At the least, Lady Alwynneria did make it rather, ah. Obvious.

"Lady Alwynneria's story is a bit…" Avrenne trails off for a moment, contemplating her hat in the water. "She's older than she seems. People often mistake her for very young. She's nearly 40. And twenty years ago she made a rather…unexpected match, of one of Stormwind's finest families that would have never married into a barony that new, if I recall the situation correctly. I know only the sketch of it, but I understand the lady Kerra Von Sartenth was a shining jewel, much like Morgauna, and her family disowned her for eloping with Lady Alwynneria, and Lord Demasco let his daughter go. I don't think they've really spoken since, until recently."

"Oh, gosh." Sintha's eyes round. "I had heard something of the like, mm, about a wife and a scandal — it's so hard to imagine Lady Alwynneria at the heart of a scandal! — the poor creature. And her father — gosh. Well now I think I am obliged to like him a little less." Sintha pouts.

"I don't think he thought she would stay away," Avrenne says softly, a note of something in the undertone. "He always spoke of her, when we would talk, he and I. Always so proud of her, following her trials, but I think he was waiting for her to go to him. And she was waiting for him to come to her. Although, that is a guess on my part — she didn't speak of him, when she and I worked on the legal work of my wards.

"I really am grateful to her. I brought some rather…difficult to manage things to her: four different wards from four different family situations, my own claim complicated by the fact that I could not be officially considered the head of my House until after a period of time for the rest to be declared legally dead, and yet I needed at least temporary legal guardianship of children who needed care, and then doing it all again for when I was officially the head, and yet again when Finley and Otto came of age. And she did it all, expertly. She was very kind, and…well, I'll be honest, a little terrifyingly thorough," she says, a note of fondness in it.

"She is, awfully. Talking to her about anything but the law she's — well, rather a rabbit. But once you have a question about the law, gosh. I adore a competent lady, I just wish the poor creature were competent all the time. Recognized her own skill enough to be, you know? If I were half so brainy, I would never shut up," says Sintha, who never shuts up. You do the math.

Avrenne laughs, her real one, a splash of a playful sound. She's good at math. "I had no idea she was any different for the longest time. I only met her in a business context. I thought she and I were rather alike, and then I met her once in a bakery and I genuinely wondered if I had somehow encountered a mage in disguise of her, or if there'd been some sort of very bizarre mix up of a twin who had for some reason answered to her sister's name." Avrenne picks her hat up out of the water; it drips, but it seems to have been enchanted against water, or waterproofed in some way. She frowns slightly. "I don't know that Morgauna wouldn't like her, if she knew Lady Alwynneria better. Neither the shyness nor the competence, as far as I can tell, are an act. They're just situational. Morgauna is drawn to competence, but I don't know that I've ever seen her show a preference for a wallflower."

"Mmm, well," says Sintha. "I've certainly never understood Morgauna's preferences."

This may have come out slightly more waspish than intended, because she immediately looks penitent. She glances back at the other two. "Isla!" she calls, singsong, and waves. "It's lovely out here, you ought to come!"

Avrenne's eyes flick to Sintha, and there's a beat before she looks back at Isla.

Isla, for her part, stands up and waves enthusiastically back, something clenched in a fist. She shouts something, but her voice isn't loud enough to carry the words well enough to be heard fully. Or at least maybe not by most.

Avrenne frowns. "She found a what?" She mutters, as though mostly to herself. She looks at Sintha. "I better go see what that is. Let's hope it's nothing still alive that she's assumed is just a shell and isn't about to move in her hand. Sir Somer's not much of a man of the ocean. I don't think he'd be able to tell the difference between a crab and a lobster on a quick guess." She starts swimming for the shore. "His family was pastureland folk, before he became a knight. He could tell you at a glance if a cow was meant for dairy or steak, but not whether it's an empty shell or if there's a hermit crab within waiting to peek out."

"A tri— I think she said a triangle rock?" Sintha puts her feet down on the sandy bottom to stand, her shoulders just clear of the water when she does so. "I've no idea what that might mean. Does she like… rocks?"

"Oh." Avrenne smiles suddenly, quite soft. "No, that's…that'd be for me. I used to do math on rocks. As a child. Triangles or rectangles in particular I always liked, for the angles rather than the circumference of round shapes." So, you know. She's always been cool. "I used to try to teach Isla the math of it, when she was younger, but she's never had an interest in numbers. Stories and words were her first and, so far, only loves. But she does still like to find things for me." There's a thoughtful pause. "Perhaps I can put it at the shrine some time," she says softly. "'Return to the sea what's hers.'"

Sintha flicks a startled sidelong look at Avrenne. "Oh," she says. "Well. He's got you quite swept away by it all, hm?" Her gaze this time is a little harder, shrewder, and she studies Avrenne.

Avrenne's expression grows solemn. "A goddess of the sea, the wind, the waters that looks at one's actions, rather than some strange force that somehow is influenced by how hard one thinks a thought or how self-righteous one can be, who will be holding him in her hand is one I will show the respect she deserves, and I will show her my gratitude for the gifts she's offering for the family of that sailor. He told me of the White Lady moon, and the sea stalk." Her voice is still quiet as she moves towards the shore, although they're still well out of range of Isla and Sir Somer's hearing.

"I have never been one to piety of belief, of holding something in my quiet. It's one of the reasons that the Church of the Light and I have nothing but a necessary acquaintance. But I believe in what I can see and hear, and I heard him call to her and watched as she answered." Avrenne does that same hand motion on the top of the water, a touch sliding across it. "It's not because of how I feel about him. What he said simply made more sense to me than anything I've heard any priest ever try to explain to me about the Light."

Some of the hardness in Sintha's gaze eases. She studies Avrenne a moment longer and then nods. "Just — so long as it's the right reasons. You know? If some… silly girl or smitten lady had gotten enamored with how — exotic it all is, or some such, or attempting to coax his favor, I think he'd be — I mean, it's terribly important to him. You know? I think it would be almost worse for him to have a lady who pretends or is interested for the wrong reasons than just to have a Light-loving wife." She eyes Avrenne. "He told you about the sea stalk? I suppose he might give you one, then, if you'd like it."

"I would, very much," Avrenne says and there is such depth of feeling in the words, a flash of something between fear and relief in her face before she wipes it off, aware of them closing in on Isla and Sir Somer. "It was… some of the worst of it. Not knowing at all. I made it to Stormwind after the Fall of Lordaeron. My father died in The City. I knew that. But there was a chance my mother, my brother, his wife, or my sister might have made it. I waited. And waited. It will hurt, to watch the bloom die, but I'll know if he doesn't come back what happened at least." She flicks her gaze to Sintha. "I would appreciate it if you would help me find a jeweler for something like a…locket or pocket watch, for the bloom. I'd rather have it on me, just in case."

Avrenne waves a hand at Isla as they get closer, putting a small smile on her face.

"I can do that," Sintha says, and then beams at the other two as they approach. "What have you found, darling? Did the sea give you a gift?"

"It's a triangle rock!" Isla holds it out proudly as she speed walks — doesn't count as running! — forward with her eyes on Avrenne and Sintha and not on her feet. The fact that she doesn't trip over her own sandals seems to be more luck than anything. She holds up a smoothed piece of greenish sea glass, in the vague shape of a slightly rounded triangle. "I found it with my feet!"

"Oh, look at that," Avrenne says as she moves forward with a hand for it. Isla deposits it there and Avrenne picks it up delicately with her fingers. "I don't think this is a rock though. Oh, I've seen this before. What did Uncle David call it. Sea stone or…" Her voice has that distracted, talking-to-herself quality before she asks, "Sintha?" She holds it up to show it better, and phones a friend for the answer.

"Sea glass," Sintha says, delightedly. "Oh, gosh, isn't it gorgeous? Pieces of old bottles or what have you that find their way into the sea, and she polishes and polishes and polishes them until they're just the most soft and lovely-looking things, like little works of art. Like bits of herself, all misty blue and green. The sea can take a broken thing and make it into something lovely, can't she?"

Avrenne smiles at the sea glass in her hand, something softer and quieter in her as she looks at it, stroking a finger along the angles of something once sharp and dangerous smoothed down, the razor-edge worn away into something beautiful.

Sintha moves closer in the water to peer happily at it in Avrenne's hand. "You know," she confides, smiling, "you can return it to her, of course. Or you can take it as a gift or token from her instead. It makes the most beautiful jewelry. Or — Shay just had a… what do you call it? The thing you hang above a baby's cradle, all the pieces that move to… distract or amuse it? A mobile! Shay just had a mobile made of sea glass, and sent it to a friend expecting a baby. You should see how prettily it caught the light."

"That's a lovely idea," Avrenne agrees, closing her hand over it. "Thank you, Isla."

Isla looks back and forth between Avrenne and Sintha, and blinks a little. "Oh, aren't you… you're not going to calculate it?" There's a dejected note in her voice, as though she's made an error somehow, and the fact that a tiny raincloud doesn't appear over her head is just because she has no magical ability.

"Oh, no, I did." Avrenne, without pause, rattles off a series of numbers of the rough angles of the corner edges, and the approximate area of it. "If I have done my estimates correctly," she says as she finishes it, that blend of genuine humility — she is, the tone suggests, estimating based off her fingers and eyes — and awareness of her skill.

At that, Isla brightens back up into a tiny sun, clapping her hands together, and then declares to Sintha in a touch of breathlessness, "Do you think you could make the mobile move? Like a little mechanical thing? Avrenne said you made birds and rabbits that sing. Could you make the mobile sing lullabies?" She looks back to Avrenne. "Oh! Avrenne, would you sing the lullabies?"

"Oh, it would be the easiest thing in the world to make it move and sing!" Sintha laughs. "A little wind-up clockwork… choosing the right song, of course, would be the trickiest piece of it, but once you have that, the mechanics are a simple business! And I haven't yet shown you my little animals, have I? Gosh, what an oversight! You shall come and see my menagerie this afternoon when Lord Fallon steals your Lady away to the lighthouse, hm?"

Isla almost manifests the sparkles. "Oh, yes, please." She will add as many italics as needed to see the tiny menagerie.

Avrenne doesn't answer the question about the lullabies, as she sets her hat back on her head, inspecting Isla carefully for sunburn. Isla's sunhat remains by Sir Somer. "And I think it's time to get you out of the sun, Isla. If you don't wear your hat," she says with that distinct motherly scold.

"Then it can't shade me from the sun," Isla says in sync with Avrenne. "I know, I know. But it's only spring!" Yeah, Avrenne, everyone knows that the sun doesn't burn people in other seasons, gosh.

"The sun can still burn in the spring, Isla," Avrenne scolds, moving forward to gently turn her back towards Sir Somer and her discarded and unworn hat. "Go and get it, and put it on, or we'll leave for the house instead."

Isla sighs and morosely, at the speed of a dejected teenager, drags herself back towards her stupid sunhat with its stupid little shade that who even needs anyway in spring, gosh.

Sintha watches her go, fondly. "Gosh, what a dear." She glances at Avrenne. "I don't suppose you want a mobile? If not, and you'd like to keep the glass, I have such a lovely idea for it, hm?" She arches an eyebrow impishly.

"Oh? Well, then." Avrenne holds it out on an open palm to Sintha with a smile. "I'd be happy to see what you would do with it. I have no talent for inventions or art, myself. Not of this sort of thing."

Sintha accepts the sea glass and blithely, uh, tucks it into the cleavage of her swimming dress because she does not have pockets. "No? And what are your arts, then, would you say? Mathematics? Seduction?" She bats her eyelashes at Avrenne, teasing.

Avrenne laughs at it, a warm summer-bright sound that reaches out to Sintha like an invitation to laugh with her. "I think your brother is the only one who has ever found my talent for the former to be any sort of talent of the latter," she says in a playful tease back.

"My brother is an unusual specimen," says Sintha with a little sister's asperity. "I'm just so pleased he's found a lady who appreciates him for something other than his seductions. Oh, we ought to discuss household arrangements, perhaps?"

Isla puts on her sun hat with unnecessary force, holding it onto both sides and dragging them down as she plops down onto the sand next to a placid, drowsy looking Sir Somer.

Avrenne flicks her eyes to the hat with approval, and then looks back at Sintha. "Of course. Did Siamus tell you that my intent is to sell the Esprit house in Stormwind?"

"He did, yes. So — you'll want rooms in the Fallon townhouse for all of your people? Or will some be full-time here? We have a full household staff at the moment — will you want your wards still in service as well — I'm thinking of Finley, for example? — or doing other things? Naturally I assume Miss Mercailles will remain as your secretary, and perhaps Sir Somer as your… knight, but what of the others?"

"I think for a while, they will follow me, where I go from one to the other, with the exception of Daisy, at the townhouse in Stormwind. Sir Somer and Sophie, yes, will likely remain as they are. My tailor as well, I will need a place for. He cannot…" Avrenne sighs quietly. "He doesn't always know what year it is, and sometimes he thinks I am my mother. He needs routine and care, and a place separate enough that it feels like a 'shop' for him, if possible. He has a little extension room off the house currently that helps give the illusion of it. Anything like that would be helpful.

"Isla will likely want to stay on as my 'lady's maid,' for a little longer, I think, but I expect in a year or two, that'll change. Otto…he'll enjoy the garden, but I would like it if he were simply allowed to be something more of a…" Avrenne circles a hand in the air. "He's never really ever recovered from before. He just needs to see the flowers; he doesn't need to plant them, but helping Larabie will make him happy.

"Daisy and Finley are the ones I know will not remain as they are." Avrenne folds her hands together, one over the other. "I've been preparing for Daisy. I am certain that when she hits 18 later this year, she will not ask to remain as my ward. Of all of them, she's the one who has begun to consider other things. I have a bakery in particular that I have spoken to and arranged an apprenticeship for her, to present to her on her birthday. I don't know if she'll remain in the household at all, or leave it to live on her own, after that.

"Finley though. I truly don't know. His family has served mine for a long time, and he will not leave me, I know that. But I think for the first time, he's had to consider other options, and I don't know if even he knows what he wants now."

Sintha considers. "There's a coach house behind the townhouse. We don't stable horses there, naturally, and we hardly use a carriage; I suppose we could have that converted into a sort of shop for your tailor? There's a groom's apartment above where he could stay, if you think that would do? He'd be quite ensconced on the property but it would give him the feeling of independence, privacy.

"Do you think Otto would prefer to stay here full-time rather than at the townhouse? He could have absolute access to the gardens then, and I'm sure Larabie would be pleased to have his company. Isla of course can stay with you wherever you happen to be and we can ensure she has a room near yours in either place. Not in the maids' quarters, but somewhere she can feel like she's attending to you, perhaps? If Daisy wishes to stay on that's very well; I assume she'd want to remain in the townhouse most of the time, for proximity to her work? As to Finley…" Sintha purses her lips and thinks.

"I don't think Shay would simply have him about shiftless, he's too much our father's son for that. But if there's anything Finley would like to try his hand at, as a vocation or career… perhaps Shay could speak with him on it?"

Avrenne nods slowly. "I think, yes. The coach house would be ideal for Mr. Latour. Otto will follow me from place to place as I go, for a while at least, but I think ultimately he'll be happiest here, once he feels comfortable.

"Daisy, yes, the townhouse, for now. She may eventually get her own place, but I don't know yet. It won't change how she feels about us, but I think she wants that sense of her own place. She doesn't speak of it, but I've seen the little things. She thinks about it.

"Isla would be best in a room that isn't too far from mine, particularly with, ah, not too many breakable objects between her and I? I also don't know what she may want if there are children that come sooner.

"Finley… there's so many things he could do," Avrenne says and there's a note of something like grief or frustration in it. "I've been training him in the game of it — politics — and he's going to be brilliant at it, eventually. He reads people well, he has control over himself when he decides he wants to use it, and he has a natural bend towards wanting to know things. But I don't think he lets himself think of a future, and I've never been able to get him to see an alternative from me. If Siamus could turn him towards something…" A soft sigh. "I would be grateful for it. If I suggest it, Finley will double down on remaining as he is instead, and truly, he doesn't belong there. But I were to imply it, that he doesn't belong as a butler. It would hurt him, more than anything else I could ever say to him." For reasons.

Sintha tilts her head, a thoughtful glimmer in her gaze. "Mm," she says. "I may have — some thoughts. But I'll let Shay talk to him, that would be best, I think. And I will try to tell him the man's not to end up a sailor!" She laughs.

"As to yourself — do you like the room you have here now, or would you prefer to move? You're on the same end of the house as Shay, but you're in the south corner and he's in the north; you can be moved closer, of course. In the townhouse, it's possible that if we're to house everyone, you and he may have to… well, share for a time, until I can sort something else out in the upstairs arrangements. Unless, perhaps, if you and Isla were to share…." She narrows her eyes, pondering.

"If there is a… room closer to his that was intended as the one for the Lady of the house, I would like it, for what it says. If they are not already, I would prefer them eventually altered to be connected, after the wedding. For the townhouse though, if it was not disagreeable to him, I would prefer to share his there, only after the wedding, of course," Avrenne does not quite manage to land that without a soft blush to her cheeks, although maybe it's just the spring sun got to her. Under her hat. Suddenly. "If he would prefer his own, Isla and I can share indefinitely."

"Mm, there is a room here that will serve as a Lady's room; it's beside his but not connected at the moment. It wasn't — well. I expect we can see that done before the wedding, even. I'll have Shay move into a guest room for a time while the work's being done." The catlike smile curves Sintha's lips, though her eyes remain brightly innocent. "And of course you shall share with him at the townhouse, if it's what you prefer. We'll have to sort out who is staying where before the wedding, naturally, but if you'd like to move yourself and your household into the townhouse as soon as, I'm sure Shay will be content to stay here so you might have it to yourself."

"I will likely need to remain at least partially at the house while it's being packed away, for Mr. Latour. It will be difficult for him, and I would rather have him need only adjust the once when he's moved here, and I will need to be in Stormwind for the next few weeks. And it would be best, I think, for Siamus as well as most of those he needs to speak to will be in the city, and I would not want to displace him there. But if I might have the use of the townhouse to receive visitors in daylight hours, then it will make it simpler to pack up the house and ready it to be sold immediately after the wedding."

"Oh, of course, you may naturally have the use of any place you like! Will the sitting room in the townhouse suit or would you like an office of your own? There's a smaller library in the downstairs, just past the sitting room around a corner, that we might make over into an office for you if you'd prefer. But naturally you shall have the run of the whole place as needed, and all of the servants to answer to anything, for the receiving of guests or working there or taking your meals. Oh — as to the Lady's room here, do you have preferences as to colors and the like? For decorating? Or would you like to see to all of that yourself?"

"I would like to decorate them myself," Avrenne answers. "Although I don't expect I will attend to it in full until after the business of the House and the wedding are over. It's not as important. The townhouse though I will not alter much, I expect. That one will be used more for the business of the House of Nobles, and the impression I will want given is to present as part of Siamus' agenda, rather than my own."

Isla has forgotten what she was upset about, and has pulled Sir Somer to his feet to leave their sitting because what if she found more sea glass, for a mobile, Sir Somer what if they did that.

"I prefer the use of a sitting room generally, for guests I receive. An office suggests certain things I rarely need to say for most of what I do for social engagements," Avrenne says, watching Isla. "I'm likely to have a corner of my room here as an office for my work."

"Well here you may certainly have a proper office separately from your bedroom if you like, darling. There's loads of room. I suppose if you have a dozen babies then someday we might have to chase you from your office to give one of them a room, but what are the odds of that?" Sintha laughs merrily. "But all right, the sitting room will do at the townhouse. Shall I assume as well that you'd like to take over the flower arrangements?" Her smile is sly, and then she blinks. "Oh! And you'll have to tell me what the flowers for the wedding will be, hm?"

Avrenne smiles at that. "I will. Not that it's not always amusing to see the most bizarre sentences spelled out, but an arrangement that says accurately what I would say to him is more my way." She barely even pauses. "Stephanotis as a focal point with the gentle framing of heliotrope and blue violets, with the line flowers of snowdrops. Wild geranium for the filler flowers, and honey flower to act as the form to direct to the mass flower of the provence rose." She might have thought about it a bit. Just a little. She looks over at Sintha with a bright smile. "'Marital happiness in devoted faithfulness, with hope and steadfast piety, a heart in flames with a sweet and secret love.'"

Sintha widens her eyes. "Oh gosh, oh stars, you've thought of this, darling!" Her laughter doesn't seem quite as glassy-bright, as artificial, as her usual. "Gosh, that's lovely. I suppose — well I suppose we mustn't tell him. Or it wouldn't be secret. But very sweet, yes." She gives Avrenne a conspiratorial smile.

"I don't think he'll notice them beyond that some will be white and blue, like House Fallon colors of silver and blue; there aren't many gray flowers that say what you'd want them to," Avrenne says with a small shrug. "If I were trying to get his attention, I'd just hang out the L and K flags over me, and keep the C and G with me when he got near. 'Come within hail, I want to speak to you; yes, I want a pilot of you,' that sort of thing." A fond sort of smile.

Isla has not found more sea glass, but she has found something in the sand that she's crouched over, poking at with a bit of driftwood.

"A pilot, hm?" says Sintha, with a sly raise of her eyebrows. "I suppose you could drape yourself in signals for your wedding night, but I very much doubt he'll require any of those."

She glances at the shore. "Oh, what's Isla discovered now?"

"A pilot," Avrenne repeats. "At least one of us should know what they're doing that night, and goodness knows it wasn't ever going to me. I'm not concerned about it. I trust Siamus will see us through smoothly." She narrows her eyes as she looks at Isla and Sir Somer. The knight has taken up a stance that gives him the air that he's overseeing something, his hands clasped behind his back, possibly in an effort to not interfere. "Mm. Something alive or something she thinks might be 'icky' as she'd say, or she'd be using her hands."

There's a faint suggestion of a shrug, and then a pause, a thought of a question. She turns, and moves closer in a way that slightly obscures the other woman from view of the other two, as though potentially blocking their view from seeing her clearly. "Sintha? If I might ask a question? I really will understand if you say no to it, of course."

Sintha blinks at Avrenne and then raises her eyebrows. "Naturally you may. Gosh, is it something scandalous? I do rather hope."

That takes Avrenne a second, as she considers it. "I don't think it is, but I suppose it's true that I don't really know," she allows. There's a serious expression on her face that makes her look more severe, traces of the laughing, teasing woman gone for the moment. "I do realize that it can look abrupt, the way I will commit to a course in a short period of time. I love your brother from a brief acquaintance because everything I've seen and heard of him sings to something in me, with every part I learn of him adding to that chorus. I want to know more about him for that, and that includes learning about his relationship with his faith to respect it, and his culture.

"The Tidemother, the White Lady, the Blue Child though — that is more like…the first time I learned of geometry. Nothing about the world has altered, and nothing new has been added, but my understanding of the equations of the world has changed. It's a little, for me, of learning a mathematical approach that I had to be told existed, but once I knew of it, I could feel the rightness of it to understand the world around me better. And the reasons I want to know more are for me, for my interest in that." Her voice grows quieter, and her gaze is steady on Sintha.

"So far, though, I've only heard his perspective on it, and he will always have a relationship with it that I never will. I won't ever be able to hear what he does, or feel the things in the same way. If I recall correctly though, this aspect of Kul Tiran culture is part of what the Fallons specialize in." Her eyes hold steady on Sintha. "Would you be willing, sometime, to speak to me of it, of your perspective on it, your thoughts of it all, as another Fallon with a different experience of it all? I will understand," she repeats gently but without pity, holding herself in at that angle to block Sintha from the others. "If you say no."

Sintha's expression does something peculiar, a fleeting cloud, a certain set of her jaw. And then the weather passes, and she smiles again. "Naturally, gosh. I'm nowhere near as wrapped up in it all as Shay is, but I am Tirasian by birth, at the very least, and I do respect our traditions. The majority of us aren't — what Shay is, you know, but we still hold to our faith in the Tidemother. Well, apart from some of the Drust, but they're awfully peculiar, no one much minds them." She laughs.

Avrenne nods, that solemn air to her. "Thank you, Sintha," she says as she reaches out a hand as though to touch Sintha's shoulder. "I always mean my questions respectfully, but I know there are things I just don't know if they're rude to ask, particularly as a foreigner and mainlander."

"Oh, well, we're all foreigners here, aren't we, darling? I do know how that is. You must never hesitate to ask me, and be assured if it's rude I'll tell you!" Another bright peal of laughter. "Unlike Shay, I do not take offense."

Avrenne smiles faintly at that. "He's been very kind about it, and taken no offense, but I expect eventually I will ask something… odd, or possibly blasphemous. I've made that mistake in the past with the Light, as I have been resoundingly informed by a priest before," Avrenne says, and her voice has gone very dry. She steps again to be able to keep Isla and Sir Somer in view. "Apparently asking too many questions on whether or not one is ascribing mortal qualities like 'compassion' to an elemental force, and likening using the arcane to slow a fall to claiming that a mage is invoking the 'compassionate side of gravity' rather than the mechanical truth of concentration is an offense to the Light and not only I, but my ancestors, should be ashamed of the suggestion. I try to keep my questions and opinions on the matter to myself since that."

"Bless their fervent little souls," says Sintha kindly. Debatably kindly. "We have a Light-priest here, you know — I think I mentioned that — but he's a native Tirasian as well, a convert. I don't believe Shay's said five words to the man, but I've found him rather down to earth." She glances sidelong at Avrenne. "I engaged him for, you know — the optics of the thing, for the election. I'm reluctant for Shay's foreign pieties to call his loyalty into question again. He really, by the way, turns into the most dreadful arse on the subject, I should warn you. His loyalties, I mean. How dare anyone question, he doesn't need to prove, so on and so forth. A weakness, perhaps, if an opponent knew to pursue it."

Avrenne nods. "It's going to come up in the House, inevitably. Some will try to isolate him, cast suspicion on his opinion and his voice for his origins; it's the obvious play, but some of them will know to play it. It's part of why he must go into it with the three allies as much as possible, and why I will try to turn the most powerful voices already there to bend towards him rather than away. His actions and his proposal, however, will speak for him as well, especially when one knows how to frame them the way they should be seen. It'll be difficult at times, I expect, for him to endure the doubt, those stabs of politics. I believe in him, and I will not let him stand there alone against that. Wherever I may, I will break that wave against myself rather than him.

"But I will keep an ear out for when he comes home and starts singing, what were the songs — 'Proudmoore's Blood' and 'Daughter of the Sea,' if I recall those correctly? I'll need to know what those sound like, when you have a moment to sing them."

"Oh," says Sintha cheerfully, "well the first is rather easy, as it's a song that can be shouted even while drunk." She glances toward the pair on the shore and then, out of consideration for Isla's sensibilities, perhaps, turns slightly toward Avrenne and quietly sing-chants:

"Oh, a drop of Proudmoore's blood wouldn't do us any harm
A drop of Proudmoore's blood wouldn't do us any harm
A drop of Proudmoore's blood wouldn't do us any harm
And we'll all hang on behind —

"It's rather bawdy, so I won't sing the whole thing. The comprehensive list of things that will not do sailors any harm includes, for example, 'a big-breasted girl,' though naturally Shay wouldn't sing that in delicate company." She glances again at the pair on the shore.

Avrenne glances down at her extremely un-big-breasted chest and snorts. "In that manner I suppose I am particularly delicate company," she says in a dry, amused voice. "Although, in truth, I appreciate his gentlemanliness. It speaks so well of him to be thoughtful and mindful of it. Though I can assure you I have heard so much worse. There's always some soldier who thinks they will get the duchess come to visit the front to blush or gasp in shock. Perhaps even faint away."

"Gosh, Shay wouldn't hear of it, nor from any of his crews. I don't want to disabuse you of the notion that he is the most horrible sailor sometimes — he really is — but he is at heart a gentleman, I think. Even if not at… other places." She glances sidelong at Avrenne with amusement, and then at the other woman's modest assets. "Although I should — well, no, I shan't be indelicate, Shay would give me such a scolding if he found out. 'Sintha Mairead, you're no kind of lady!'" She does a gruff, convincing impression of her brother's accent and rolls her eyes.

"At any rate, the other isn't bawdy at all, it's rather haunting." She is silent a moment, frowning slightly, perhaps to recall either lyrics or tune. At last she sings, in a soft, sorrowful alto voice:

"Those blood-soaked shores of Kalimdor,
Where sailors fought and died —
The Admiral fell at Theramore,
Because she left his side.

"Why this? Why this, oh Daughter of the Sea?
Why this? Did you forget your seaside days?
Always the pride of our nation's eyes,
How could she go astray?"

She gives Avrenne another look, almost embarrassed, and shrugs. "That's only a bit of it, but you'll know the tune now if you hear it."

Avrenne watches Sintha singing with that same grave attention, a focused listening, her hands folded in front of her. She smiles and there's something sorrowful in her eyes when it's over. "How beautiful, in its way. Thank you, for sharing it with me, and the knowledge of what it will mean. I don't want to pry into his secrets that he wishes to keep, but I do want to know when he needs help. I don't think he asks for it," she says in a very quiet voice. She tips her chin up, and in a slightly louder voice adds, "But, he's not the only one who takes care of what's his."

Isla holds something up off the sand, looking up at it. Sir Somer bends down closer to see what it is.

"Gosh," says Sintha, perhaps relieved to turn the subject to something lighter, "I wonder what she's got there." She raises her own voice. "Isla, darling, what is it?"

Isla stands up and holds it out, yelling back, her voice slightly less clear in the shouting of it, "I have no idea and Sir Somer doesn't know either!" The italics are shouted with extra emphasis if also less clarity. In her right hand is the remnant of a dried out — probably dead — small clump of a barnacle.

Avrenne squints as she starts walking forward. "What is that?" is muttered, as though mostly talking to herself.

Sintha wades along with her, laughing again. "That's barnacle, darling! Quite dead, I'm afraid, if you've just rooted it out from the sand all dried up! They're awfully funny little creatures — delicious, as well, certain kinds — but they can be a horrid nuisance for ships."

Isla shrieks at the revelation that it's dead, dropping it onto the sand and attempting to jump away from it, a look of horror on her face, as she rubs her hand on her bathing suit and then looks down with renewed horror that she just rubbed whatever imagined thing from her hand onto her bathing suit.

"It's not significantly different than a mussel or an oyster," Avrenne says calmly as she makes her way to Isla. "It's just been cooked by the sand instead of boiled in water."

"Just another little shelled creature," agrees Sintha cheerfully. "At the mercy of the tides, like all the rest of us. You won't be harmed for having touched it, and you mustn't be squeamish about the sea, darling, you're to be something of a part of House Fallon now. Hm?"

Isla looks between her hand and her bathing suit and Sintha, and there's that strong sense of an emotion building, tears forming up, as though she's done something horrible and doesn't know now how to apologize for it.

Avrenne closes the distance, setting a hand on the younger girl's shoulder, and that close it's clear that despite the fact that she's older, she's several inches shorter than Isla. "It's alright. Remember, it's not dead the way a person is dead. It's alright to touch it," she says in a very gentle voice, but with that same unshaken calm. "It's only a shell, and lots of things on the beach are like that."

"I'm sorry," Isla says, to her feet, penitent and embarrassed.

"Nothing to be sorry for," Avrenne says firmly. "Come on. I bet lunch will be soon. And you can see for yourself that it's just like the others." She turns her head to look at Sintha. "Right? Do you think we'll be lucky to have more of those delightful things today?"

"We absolutely will," says Sintha with breathless enthusiasm, but the look she casts at Avrenne is a troubled question. She looks back to Isla. "And I'm awfully sorry if it took you rather by surprise, darling. There's nothing in the slightest to worry about, I am only teasing you and I do hope it wasn't a shock. Perhaps after lunch you and I might come back and collect some lovelier shells and look for more bits of glass, to decorate your new room when you move in with us? Before we go and look at my menagerie."

Avrenne gives Sintha a subtle nod back, an answer to be given later, that cool composure of hers back covering her.

Sir Somer is a somber, stoic presence, a heaviness in his eyes as he watches Isla.

Isla brightens at Sintha, something still lingering on the edges of the way she holds her hands like she's trying not to still treat one of them as though it's been tainted. "I can decorate it?" Is a hopeful sound.

"Of course. This will be our home," Avrenne says. She takes Isla's hand that held the barnacle, and starts leading them back up towards the house. "Come on. Let's go see what's in store, shall we?"

Sintha collects her sandals and keeps up a steady stream of lighthearted, breathless chatter as the group proceeds back up the slope and toward the house again: gosh what a lovely day what lovely weather just look at the beach roses in bloom does Isla prefer lemon puddings or chocolate because Cook might be doing both for dessert tonight isn't the sea air delightful for sleeping what color dress do you think you'd like for the wedding Sintha's will probably be blue but then again isn't it always perhaps she should try a change… and before long they're at the door of the house and Barbour is there to usher them benevolently inside.

Sir Somer gravely collects Avrenne's dress from where she left it, carrying it like a maiden who has evaporated in his arms as he walks behind the three women.

Isla has already started bubbling back up before they've even left the sandy beach, gasping with delight and enthusiasm, and brighter and brighter smiles. She doesn't, however, clasp her hands to her chest yet at all, and keeps her hand in Avrenne's hold. There's no more shadow to the young girl as they are ushered back inside.

Avrenne is a quiet, calmly collected presence beside her, walking forward as though she was dressed in nothing but the most formal, regal of gowns for an affair of state. She is, however, actually in a wet, maroon, skin tight bathing suit that shows every curve and plane of her body, even if her skin is covered to her wrists and knees, that small flash of skin at the base of her throat. She removes her hat as they get inside, holding it to her side, her hair a dark gold in a Lordaeron braid, small tendrils escaped around her temples.

There is a moment — stepping from the brilliant early-summer midday and the sun-glare on the sea into the dimmer entrance hall of the manor — when the eyes must adjust to the lower light, and so one might be forgiven for failing to immediately notice Siamus Fallon descending the stairs.

He shows the same slight signs of unrest that his sister did earlier, the shadowed eyes and slightly haggard appearance, but his expression is as composed and faintly sardonic as ever. He's dressed much more casually than he has been previously, in simple dark trousers and boots, a white shirt undone at the collar. He is not, however, dressed so casually as Avrenne, and the way he pauses on the stairs to survey her says that he has noticed this.

"Well," he says, his tone gently dry. "A lovely day, aye?" A beat. "For a swim."

Avrenne's expression lights up at the sight of Siamus, a smile that brightens her face, the expression growing warmer at his noticing, her eyes flicking to the undone collar and rapidly back up to his face, a hint of color on her cheeks. Gotta watch out for that spring sunlight, gosh. "Hello, Siamus," she says, and there's that touch of a sultry sound in her voice that she tries to chase out of it. "Yes. We were just down at the beach. The water felt lovely for a morning swim."

"It was so cold! I couldn't get even to my knees," Isla protests, but she waves merrily at Siamus with a wide smile. "Are you going to come to lunch?"

"I am, Isla," he tells her amiably, though it takes him another beat after answering to actually take his gaze from Avrenne and direct it at the girl. His smile warms kindly. "And I'm sorry to have missed ye at breakfast. Ye worked up a hunger, I hope, wi' the swimming?"

He has resumed his descent now casually as he speaks; there is plenty of room in the hall for the group, but he moves around them by passing perhaps unnecessarily close to Avrenne. "And will ye ladies be changing out o' your wet things, then, before joining us?" The question, though it seems directed at the group, is spoken almost into Avrenne's ear, something low and intimate in his tone.

But then he's past, pausing on his way toward the terrace door to look back inquiringly.

Avrenne's eyes track him as he moves closer, only finally flicking away to straight ahead when he asks his question. There's the faintest flutter of her breathing that she's clearly trying to hold calm and steady.

Isla looks down curiously at their linked hands, and asks, "Avrenne?"

It takes Avrenne over a full second to respond. "Mm?" Is a soft inquiring sound as she turns her head to Isla, and there's definitely something around her expression trying very hard to seem unaffected, and just not quite pulling it off. "Yes. Yes, of course. We'll change for lunch." She lets go of Isla's hand, and she doesn't manage to look at Siamus as she turns to Sir Somer to collect her dress from him.

Sir Somer is looking at Avrenne like he's never seen her before, blinking repeatedly, even as he gives her a bow as he hands over the dress.

Avrenne folds it over her other arm. "I'll be down in a few minutes," she says to no one and everyone at once before she turns to leave for her room, trying to hold her head high.

Siamus smiles very faintly after her, tracking her up the stairs with his gaze.

Sintha makes a sound that is the auditory equivalent of an eyeroll, and her brother turns a grave expression on her. "I shall see you all shortly, then," he says, and inclines his head to the group before resuming his course toward the door.