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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | The evening of Lena's visit to the Fallon House on behalf of her friend, the Lord and Lady Fallon retire to their rooms to discuss their strategies and perspectives, what to do about House Esprit, and just how far into Mr. Shaw's business they're going to get. 4400-ish words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Chain: Siarenne
It's audible even from the hallway that Avrenne is singing, somewhere in her room; the woman has a voice that carries. It's not one of the Kul Tiran songs, this one, and if it once had words, it doesn't now, as she vocalizes. There is something deeply haunting about it, that depth of her voice suited for the darkness even in the highest notes.
Within her own room Avrenne stands by one of the large windows, one hand over her belly, dressed in one of her few nightgowns, a black and gold silken thing, her hair already dried from her bath, and her attention on something other than what's before her — a pane of glass now opaque with the winter night, showing nothing back at her but a faint reflection of the woman singing.
Her husband does not knock, which is unlike him, but perhaps he doesn't want to interrupt the song. He opens the door quietly — the door from the hall, not his bedroom — and just as quietly steps in and closes it behind him. He is still dressed — though jacket and cravat have vanished — and is holding a glass of brandy, so it seems likely he has just come from his office down the hall.
For a few moments, he stands and watches Avrenne, listening. Then he moves into the room, sets his glass down carefully on a bureau, and goes across to her. He stops behind her and rests his hands on her hips, his reflection's gaze on hers in the windowpane.
She doesn't startle, ending a note properly before she lets the song end, leaning back into him for a moment before she tips her head up to look at him. For all the melancholy of the song, her expression brightens at the sight of him, the sweet smile he knows warming up her face, and she re-greets him with a hand stretching up to touch his cheek, no sign at all of the composed duchess who met him at the door with a guest. "Vice Admiral."
"Your Grace," he says, and bends to kiss her gently. He straightens and searches her expression, still smiling but with a faint line between his brows. "A melancholy mermaid this evening, from the sound of ye. Will ye tell me what about?"
Her eyes drop to his shirt, an unnecessary examination of his buttons, her hand drifting to his collar. "They are not particularly pleasant thoughts," she admits, but that's not a no. "I was considering what Ralaea spoke of about her and Mr. Morningdew's excursion to his former estate, and considering the…"
Her voice falters for a moment before it returns, the words held at arms length now. "The potential state of The Great House and those who would have been in residence at the time when the Scourge came through." That's ambiguous, but she doesn't leave it there. "My mother, and my sister. What became of them, their bodies, their — souls after their death."
"Ah," he exhales. His troubled dark gaze holds hers a moment longer, and then he folds her into an embrace. "My heart. There's no good in telling ye to put it from your mind, I know. Is there anything would take some of the weight of it from ye?"
She's small there, that curling of her shoulders into the shelter of him. "There's nothing really to be done," she says quietly into his shirt. "We could sponsor another expedition, perhaps, that might get closer, but how would they even know? How could they tell what they were looking at? And if they should note anything, what would I even do with the information? There is no way up to the Great House, and any attempt would be unreasonable. There's nothing to be done," she repeats, possibly more to herself than anyone, a reminder. "It was just a moment's thought, that's all." She turns her head to rest her cheek on him. "Did you finish the letter to Mr. Berdon?"
"I did," he says, and draws his palm down her back in a soothing stroke. "I left it in Miss Coit's room, as she wasn't in. I expect she's wi' Miss Westwind at the moment." He's silent for a time. "When the war's over, my star, I'll go if ye like. Myself, with an expedition to Lordaeron. I don't… know that we could do more than what's been done before, but ye know I'd no' leave a stone unturned in the trying."
The offer quite clearly takes her unaware — it's very likely from her reaction that the thought that he might go himself had not occurred to her as an option at all. Though she doesn't raise her head, he knows something of the emotion that ripples through her — that shake of her shoulders, those two sharp breaths, and the way she grips onto him with both hands as if the world might fall away from her any moment now. There's a sound of his name, a breath really. The shaking gets worse for a moment, then steadies.
"I have the report," she tells him, her voice a little cracked and not yet steady again, though her shoulders square off. Rationality is being attempted, at least, and formality used as a security blanket. "The report from the one that made it there. I can give it to you, and you may assess for yourself, given your experience and your expertise." A sound, small and vulnerable, escapes, and she catches it. "Thank you."
"I'd like to see it," he says. "The report, that is, but also the place, if any of it can be reached." In a lighter tone, an attempt at deflecting some emotion, he adds, "They're my lands as well now, after all. And my family."
The shaking of her shoulders heralds another small wave, but her voice she manages to force steady at least. "Of course." Her hands are definitely leaving wrinkles behind now, balled into fists. "A House sees to its own." That motto again. It isn't House Esprit's official motto, which means it might be some larger one, or a personal belief possibly.
There's the sound of a quiet sniffle. "I will have the report delivered out of storage to your office at the earliest convenience. If you do — if you do come to another conclusion, and you are able to…" A pause. "Brutal as it may sound, what Ralaea and Mr. Morningdew did to his own— it's a mercy. It is. There's nothing to be preserved." And hopefully everyone present at the time will resist the apparently strong urge to propose over the remains, like normal people.
"Aye," he says gently. "All right. We'll no' leave anything unseen-to if we can see to it, mo ghrá." His hand continues to move soothingly and slow on her back. "Ye wanted to see about the key, as well, did ye no'? Ye'll have to make a whole plan for me, things ye want and things ye want to know. I'll do what I can."
Ooh, a list! That's like, second only to ledgers in comfort tasks. It's hard to say whether the thought of that or the hand on her is what makes her finally realize the death grip of her hands, but something does it at least. She tries to blot at her face with the back of her wrists, as if she might hide the evidence of tears. She lifts her head up slightly. "You musn't think I will be disappointed if you come to the same conclusion, that there is nothing to be done, or that it would come at a high cost. There is nothing there worth even a single life to get to it."
He nods somberly down at her. "Aye, all right. But I'd be no kind of husband if I wasn't at least willing to see to it myself. And I can bring Mac and some of the others — we've some formidable climbers in the lot, even if it's rigging and masts where they first learned. There's call sometimes for a landing party to scale a cliff or a fortress wall."
She looks at him, and despite some efforts, there's no way to disguise the evidence of her tears — redness all around her eyes and nose. There's soft, shining gratitude in her eyes, still overbright. "Thank you," she says again. She pets a hand along his shirt, sniffling delicately. "You are always so good to me." Uh oh, that almost brings out another wave of tears. She takes a breath, and sets the backs of both her hands against her eyes, as if trying to force back the tears and evidence of them through pressure. "I'm sorry, the… it must be the pregnancy. They tell you that it will take you into bouts of over sentimentality, but one hopes to not be so…at the whim of it."
"That's all right, pet," he tells her, and smooths a thumb across her cheekbone as if to smudge away tears. Ladies do have feelings sometimes, ha ha, poor little guys. "I'm sorry if it made the dinner unpleasant for ye? I didn't mean to spring Miss Coit by surprise, but she came to see me in such knots about Miss Westwind…."
"No," she says immediately, setting her hands down from her face, composing herself in small adjustments. "No, of course not. It would not matter what reason you might have brought her here. She is welcome. As is any lady you might invite for any cause you see fit."
"My gracious lady," Siamus tells her, and smiles faintly.
He steps back and skims her with a look. "I am fond of that nightdress," he tells her. "Though fonder still of ye without it. Will ye come and keep me company while I make ready? Ye can tell me about your tea wi' Miss Coit, or whatever ye please."
"Of course," she agrees, a flick of her eyes at his shirt and the buttons there. They're not going far. But reflex or habit has her raise her hand for an escort. "I had been hoping for another opportunity to speak with her, to determine how best to… retain her employment, perhaps even if she were to leave Cobalt, for some reason." The reason might be because she would be employing directly with the Fleet, but Avrenne is too subtle to say it. "I believe I have a clearer picture now of what song that would be."
Siamus gives her his arm equally reflexively, and leads her to the door that connects their rooms, ushering her through. "Oh, aye? Well, sit and tell me. She'd be a prize for the Fleet if we could win her. I'd no' like to poach Ference's people, but if Miss Coit took it in her own head for some reason to find her own way…."
He escorts her over to the edge of the bed, where he releases her to lift his hands to his shirt-buttons.
Avrenne sits with practiced elegance, watching his hands with interest, as she folds her own in her lap, left over right. "A sure defining factor, though far from the only one, will be monetary compensation. She is very well aware how wealth can translate to power and independence. It is likely why she chose Cobalt Company in the first place, as her girlfriend did. They offer very competitive rates, and have been known to secure jobs that even other mercenary companies attempting to low ball have been unable to get, because their reputation is that they are worth the extra cost, and they have proven it many times over. Miss Coit is well paid, and will not leave a secure form of income without another of equal or better. It is, of course, a fairly simple matter for that element." For House Fallon, anyway. Ha ha money. There is a faint frown on her face though. It's probably not as simple as just offering Miss Coit a treasure chest of riches.
"I was thinking," says Siamus as he sheds his shirt, "of a gift for her, for all she did for us. Aye?" He doesn't say in Icecrown, but the unspoken words hang in the air. "There's a mare she rides everywhere in Narthrend, a chestnut — neatly-made, decent conformation and a sweet temper — that I'd thought was hers, but apparently she leases her out from the Valiance Keep livery. She only just told me this morning, when I asked whether she had her horse wi'her. I thought perhaps to have Balfour arrange the purchase of the mare."
Avrenne stares at his chest, a faint smile on her face, but beyond the obvious enjoyment of the view, she's clearly thinking, considering and measuring. At last she gives a small nod. "An excellent idea. I think it suits very well. I think she would likely see it as an expansion of her independence, as well as a potentially valuable resource that she could sell in an emergency where she only makes a profit rather than recoup a loss." As a lady considers, of course. "It may be that it is worth considering making it clear to her, at this point, for long term benefits, that it is a…" She moves her left hand in a vague circular motion in the air. "Bonus for exceptional services rendered from her employer, rather than framed as a…personal gift, even if the gratitude is professional and sincerely meant. I think the distinction may be important to her." It's a bit of a blend of information presented and her personal opinion, almost a suggestion.
Siamus nods thoughtfully. "Aye, all right. That's sound sense." He flashes Avrenne a smile. "I'll see she knows." He turns to vanish into the bathroom; a moment later, the sound of water running is audible. "Did ye learn anything else?" he calls through the ajar door.
There's a returning smile at his, not at all like the composed duchess of earlier.
A pause before she asks, "Has Miss Coit ever spoken to you of any of her previous partners?"
There is a pause, either for thought or for washing, because there's some splashing from the basin, and then Siamus leans out of the bathroom, toweling off his face and neck. "Her partners? Lovers, ye mean? No, we don't — we've no' touched on the subject. Though I do wonder…." He hesitates, frowns, shrugs, and vanishes again. "Why d'ye ask?" he calls.
"It might be related. Last time I spoke with her I noted an emphasis on a certain sort of security with her employment as a draw for her with Cobalt Company, though the cause might have been from any source as a woman, or a former refugee.
"Tonight though, we were speaking of Ralaea's choice of Mr. Morningdew," she says and there is now a distinct note of distaste in her voice, no longer concealed in company. It shifts to go brisker, as she continues, "And Miss Coit made a comment about my own…missteps in the past, with Mr. Green, and in some, oh, solidarity, I suppose, offered her own experience.
"Some years ago, she made the very reasonable, and practical, choice to engage in a partnership with someone for financial, possibly social and even physical security." This, Avrenne's tone suggests, is excellent sense. Gold star for Lena. "A man, I believe, though she did not specify. Someone who was meant to provide those things in exchange for her companionship and warlock talents, perhaps. And that person…failed to do so. Either through mismanagement or…abandonment. And I think she may have little recourse to press the failure.
"I think it relates to her choices now, for employment, and even a partner, someone capable of providing physical security when she may not be able. Once such a dependent relationship has failed, in such a way, particularly of a man who may have more power than one does, one does prefer and trust the security and reliability of money for security, and safety in a contract relationship, such as employment." Or marital, as the case may be. She sounds calm, but her hands are clasped a little too tightly in her lap, out of memory most likely.
"Abandoned by a man?" Siamus's tone Disapproves. A blackguard, no doubt. "Poor lass. She's no' mentioned a husband, but then as I say, we've no' talked on the matter. I suppose she might have been a mistress or the like. Cobalt takes fine care of its people, but we'll be sure and make her know she's secure wi' the Fleet, as well."
"She's been with Cobalt for two years now, and I think it's part of the retention. They have secured her trust in their system and their reliability. She seems slow to trust in general, and seems to have a particular difficulty with men, for one reason or another. Time and action will give proof to what I have spoken of, and I expect eventually she may come to decide that it would be worth contracting an employment directly, perhaps more officially through the Alliance." Is that because Avrenne will keep singing about it? Possibly. Time will tell. "Her motivations are likely to be on a personal level though, rather than national or by principle."
Siamus emerges now, frowning thoughtfully. "Motivated by personal loyalties, but wary of men. How d'ye suppose I ought to approach that, then?"
Avrenne's own expression lightens at the sight of him, that faint smile back on her face that had grown grim, her grip on her hands relaxing. "In your case, simply be yourself, a man of impeccable honor and courtesy, whose word is his bond. She already trusts in you, personally, at least so far, or as she said, she would not have come as she has. I, of course, have been singing of you since her last visit, at her report. A woman's word, particularly one who knows something of that difficulty to trust, can be useful. But, I think that professional approach, the emphasis on the contract between you, the reassurance of her independence and that her safety is prioritized, combined with time will likely prove the truth of it. As for a final piece, something that Cobalt cannot offer her, well. That may depend on what else she wants, once her basic needs are met. To know that, I would need to speak with her more."
"Well, then we shall see ye have your opportunity." He smiles at her, comes to the bed's edge to bend down and rest his knuckles lightly on the mattress to either side of her as he kisses her. He draws back slowly, smiling down at her. "My clever mermaid."
He's close enough for touching, so she does, in that way of hers of reaching for something she wants, fingertips skimming over his skin lightly, like she's trying to absorb him through it. Her smile is brighter, her eyes on his. "You may also want to consider if Zath might have some influence with her, as her teacher. He may know more of her aspirations, and his personal endorsement of the opportunity the Fleet could offer her might be a significant a factor in the long run." Connections, connections. It's the Avrenne Way.
There's a flicker across his expression and then he nods and straightens up. "I'll speak wi' him about it. He does know her well, I imagine, and he's a canny man. His perspective would be useful." He steps away from the bed to remove his trousers.
Avrenne doesn't keep hold of him, but her eyes are intent on his expression, the start of a frown on hers. "What is it?"
Siamus shrugs equably. "I suspect from the way he spoke of her to me recently that Tyrrell and Miss Coit have been close in the past. So he may have a sharp sense of what would sway her."
Avrenne's brows raise, and she considers that. "'One of his blondes, then,'" she says, her voice gone a little dry, the sound of a quote in her tone, though she doesn't even remotely attempt the Gilnean accent. A touch of grief flits briefly around her eyes, and she reorganizes her hands over her belly, rubbing it idly in a small circle. "It was one of the first things Lieutenant Boles said to me in Wintergarde, when I revealed an interest in him. It does seem to be a particular weakness for him." There's a controlled shrug, up and down, her own blonde hair now to her collarbones. "Miss Coit is also connected to Miss Mullby, Zath's other student."
"Miss Mullby, aye. The girl wi' the eyes. She's looking into the Admiralty matter for me right now, the loss of the Heron. She and a few of her fellow Cobalts. I wonder how close she is wi' Miss Coit. A clever lass in her own right, of course, though she lacks some of Miss Coit's… sharpness on her." He wanders the room briefly, absent in his thoughts, and also without his clothes on.
"She is much younger," Avrenne says, her eyes following Siamus as surely as a compass. Her tone has gone a little distracted. "They seemed well acquainted with each other, Miss Mullby and Miss Coit. They attended the Charity Gala together, and Miss Coit spoke of her in familiar terms." Very distracted. It takes her a moment before she blinks and asks, "Miss Mullby is working on the Heron matter?"
"That's right," he agrees, which could be an answer to the last thing, but no, it turns out he's still caught on, "She was at the Gala, I recall. The lass wi' the cane. Poisoned?" Wow, look at that recall of personal detail.
He starts back toward the bed. "She's working with another Hazan lad and a dwarf and… two other girls? on the Heron. One of the girls has a brother… Jansen's the name."
Avrenne's attention may be split between her husband's walking and the information, but even so, names and details are being marked down in the eternal ledger of information of her mind. "Another Hazan, someone of relation to Lady Ference and Lieutenant Hazan of Cobalt Company, I assume? Jansen…" Beep boop, checking data. "That is likely to be of the Jansen Stead, in northern Westfall on the western border of Elywnn. Farmers, historically. Wheat and oat primary crops, if I recall correctly."
"Oh, aye? I don't know about the family, just that there's a brother with the — well, it would be Westfall, I suppose, he's wi'the Brigade in Grizzly Hills. Ta asked me to look him up for the girl, once. The Hazan lad is — I can't recall his relation to the lieutenant. Brother? Not a brother. Cousin. He's got a first name." Again, what an astounding grasp of finer detail.
It's fine. The way Avrenne is looking at him at the moment, she's more likely to want to get an astounding grasp on Siamus' finer details than anything else. Still. Business is Business, and this one in particular, of possible mislaid war resources… "Well, at least a few with some possible connections to those in the north as well as here for some discretion to trace a thread back. Has Cobalt yet managed to collect any new information or leads about the munitions?"
Siamus hesitates at the bedside. "Not munitions, as it happens. Intelligence. Which is why they've been keeping it so out-of-the-way, no' made a proper recovery operation of it. Shaw got his hands on something he wouldn't like to admit to in public, and then someone took it from him again."
There's a subtle, possibly reflexive, pulling back of Avrenne's body language, like she's taken a small step back even while being seated, at the mention of Shaw's Business. "I see." The hand idly attempting to soothe the movements of the baby goes still. "Then I wonder if perhaps it may be of use if someone were to locate some similar amount of cargo of new munitions to be shipped, for anyone else looking at the matter at all, to consider it solved, and direct their attention elsewhere, while Cobalt does their work?"
Siamus's expression gleams. "Ah, but ye must watch the Lady Fallon, for she's a canny one. It's an excellent thought, and I'll put it to Jes-Tereth tomorrow."
She smiles up at him, and reaches out a hand to him, like a little touchstone. "You have my support, as always. As a general rule, I tend to stay out of Mr. Shaw's business. He's the type who when one is on his good side, there are great benefits, but if one gets onto his bad side, the consequences can be…most severe. I don't particularly care for dealing in such extremes. But a matter of information of importance to the Alliance security, especially now, has nothing but my willingness to assist in any way I can." You hear that, Shaw Listening Device In The Wall? Not that he would put one there. Probably. Maybe. Who knows.
The Shaw Listening Device in the walls of Fallon House is named Sintha, and she isn't there tonight.
Siamus laughs. "He's had the edge of my temper once or twice, but Ta's enough to mollify him if it comes to that. I expect he can only appreciate assistance and cover wi' this, whether he'll admit it or no, but I'll let Lelah manage him directly anyway."
Avrenne's smile goes a little softer at the laugh, and she leans closer to him. "I expect she can handle Mr. Shaw quite well." That's what they pay her the big bucks and give her the big hat for.
"I expect she can," Siamus agrees. "Even if she's no Fallon siren. Now, will ye get in the bed properly and make room for your husband, or shall I pick ye up and put ye someplace else?"
Avrenne's smile goes sweet, the sound of a warm laugh a hum behind her lips, as she shifts her legs off the floor and up onto the bed, both hands gathering up the nightgown, pulling the material up slowly over her legs until it's at her hips. She moves over a couple of inches towards the center of the bed — is she making room for Siamus? he's not going to fit there on that closer side at least — and then spreads her legs in welcome, arms held out for him. Oh, that's where she's making room for him.
It's his turn to laugh, and he climbs willingly into that space and then bears her down to the pillows with his weight atop hers, to kiss her. "A lady who knows how to welcome her man," he breathes against her neck, nuzzling her skin. "Good girl."