(2023-12-23) Let Me Explain. No, There Is Too Much. Let Me Sum Up.

Details

Author:	Athena
Summary:	Lena follows the trail of Where In The World Is Ralaea --Sandiego-- Westwind to her current residence at the Fallon's Elwynn coast house, and joins the Lord and Lady Fallon for drinks and dinner to discuss what exactly has changed for her between her relationship with death knights and her brother. It's not much. Just 21k-ish words. Discussion of personal character plots.
Rating:	T for Teen

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brief formal romantic gestures, discussion of the death knights and death knight rights, discussions around stalking, allusions to domestic violence (past), pregnancy

The sky at this December dusk is a low canopy of lavender-blue, a few early silver stars glimmering in the east even as the day's last color leaches into the western sea. Pools of violet shadow are gathered close around the stony foot of the great, gothic Fallon House, and the air is sharp with salt and frost and the tang of woodsmoke.

A pair of riders approaches at an easy canter from the Elwynn road. One of them is expected: Lord Siamus Fallon, in his dark blue winter greatcoat and tricorne hat, riding the smoky-gray Siroc. With him, however, is an unexpected second: a young blonde woman, riding a gleaming black gelding.

The blonde woman might be recognizable as Lena Coit, fleet warlock, if one gets a good look past the knit hat, long coat, and gloves that might obscure her identity. She rides with the ease of someone well-practiced at horseback riding, if not with any particular dressage-style panache.

Thredd, the senior groom, emerges from the gatehouse to greet both riders. He goes first to Miss Coit's stirrup, to help the lady down should she need it. He doesn't immediately volunteer his hand, though, because it looks suspiciously like she doesn't need it.

Siamus swings down from the saddle to the gravel drive and nods to Thredd. "Her Grace is home?"

"Aye, sar," Thredd replies.

At the great house's front porch, Shine has already opened the door and stands waiting patiently to receive His Lordship And Guest.

Absent an offered hand down, it doesn't occur to Lena that she might need it. She swings down out of the gelding's saddle in much the same manner as Siamus, landing lightly on the gravel and resting an affectionate hand on the horse's neck. It was apparently a long enough ride to build a connection.

Siamus smiles at her. "A good lad, aye?" He offers Siroc's reins to Thredd, who has already taken the gelding's bridle.

Stepping away from the groom and horses, Siamus offers Lena his arm, a gentlemanly reflex. It is not a gesture he'd offer in a more professional context, but it is evening, they are at his house — it's Gembelman O'Clock.

Lena moves away from the gelding and sets her hand in the crook of his arm, smiling up at him in willingness to be led… wherever it is she's supposed to go now.

Siamus escorts her across the drive to where Shine waits at the open door. The house spills warmth and lamplight down the steps as they go up, and then they are in the grand front hall and the one-eyed footman is closing the door and turning back to help Lena with her coat. "Good evening, sir. Miss Coit. Shall I have a place set for the lady at dinner?"

"If ye please," Siamus says, shrugging off his own coat. "And have Moirin make up a guest room. Best ask Her Grace which one."

Speaking of Her Grace — the Duchess Esprit, and Lady of the House, having been drawn by the sounds of the door, makes her way into the front hall. Her dress is not one she might have worn to receive company, something more of a house dress, a plainer design of a warm, dark red velvet that clings softly to her slim form, the neckline squared off and the sleeves long, but simple. The waistline is high, just under her bust, to accommodate an unmistakable baby bump, curving out from the small woman at almost half again her size, showing that time has passed.

For a brief moment, Avrenne's expression is much less guarded, a warmer, brighter look to her than Lena's ever seen, her eyes first on Siamus, like a compass pulled to north, and no one could mistake that she is pleased to see him. And then her sense of the room expands, as she flicks her eyes to the woman next to him, and the look is tucked back under control, arranging into poised lines, her posture straightening, as her hands fold together in front of her. "Siamus. Welcome back." She inclines her head slightly to Lena, her voice cool and polite. "Miss Coit, a delight to see you again."

Lena slides her hand away from Siamus's arm, and takes a step away to curtsey to the Lady, keeping her eyes cast down. She doesn't speak, since clearly it's Lord Fallon's role to explain the situation to Lady Fallon.

"Your Grace," Siamus answers her. There is a certain warmth in his voice if not in the words he is saying. "Thank ye kindly. I've asked Miss Coit to join us tonight. She didn't realize that Miss Westwind was staying wi'us, and has been anxious for that young lady's welfare."

He steps away from Lena to offer his wife — yes, his own wife — a courteous bow, and draws her hand up for a kiss. As he bends his head to the kiss, his gaze flicks upward to Avrenne's face, and there is an unmistakable gleam in his dark eyes.

Avrenne's answering curtsy to Siamus is automatic, a reflex, but one she doesn't halt. Her head is held in that noblewoman's way, the formality of her manner remaining, composed and polite as if he were any gentleman of her acquaintance. There is no embracing, no smile, just this formal reception, although her eyes go to Siamus' own and hold there for a long beat, as her fingers tap against his, unseen by Lena, the letter C in Morse Code.

"I see." Those dark eyes flick to Lena again. "You are more than welcome, of course, Miss Coit. I am sorry for any undue anxiety that might have been caused. We have not widely advertised her location, for reasons of security. Ralaea is in her room, I expect, at the moment. She often is at this time. Shall I have the west room made up, or are you expected elsewhere this evening after dinner?"

"Oh, no," Lena looks up without thinking, and then lowers her gaze demurely again. "I was expecting to… I mean. Thank you, Your Grace, I would appreciate that. I did not know much of the situation here, so you can appreciate I got a little concerned when I heard she'd fought with her brother and vanished."

"I did invite her to stay," Siamus says, a little apologetically — though to which woman, it isn't clear. "Miss Westwind's spoken of her often enough, I expected they might like the time to catch up." So not that kind of overnight invitation.

He has straightened again, but he hasn't actually let go of Avrenne's hand, potentially betraying an (1) feeling in public.

It might be a little telling that she does not remove her hand from his, stepping to his side. "No, of course. After all you have done, Miss Coit, I hope you understand you are more welcome, for any reason. Stay as long as you would like. Your concern for your friend does you credit, and I am sure she will enjoy the company." She does not, for diplomatic reasons perhaps, address the argument between the siblings refusing to talk to each other. It's that time of year, what can one expect?

She turns her head slightly to address the footman. "Shine, if you could have Moirin make up the west guestroom, and let Ralaea know her friend is here?"

The footman bows crisply. "Your Grace," he affirms, and moves with alacrity to put coats away and find Moirin the maid.

"Will we have a drink in the library before dinner?" Siamus inquires of the two ladies. His tone implies that definitely yes, he will, at least.

Lena straightens a little, now that her presence has been accepted. She looks to Lady Fallon for the answer to this one, her gaze arresting ever so briefly on the baby bump before she looks up to the Lady's face.

Avrenne's answer is in shifting to set her hand for an escort, as a lady. "Would you care for anything specific, Miss Coit? Whiskey or wine? I can personally recommend a very fine Gamay." So fine that it sent her to sleep in her husband's lap, but Avrenne does not add that part out loud.

Lena hesitates, glancing from Siamus to Avrenne, some calculation going on behind her eyes. "I would love a glass of wine, Your Grace."

Siamus gives his arm to escort his wife immediately, reflexively, and then offers his other arm to Lena. What? She doesn't know where the library is, does she? It's still Gembelman O'Clock.

Avrenne just waits for Lena to take his arm. She may or may not know where the library is, but that doesn't matter. Avrenne certainly knows, but she's taking the gentleman's escort all the same.

Lena seems still a touch uncertain, but she takes his other arm and lets herself be led.

In the library, Siamus escorts both ladies to a couch near the comfortably crackling fireside, and releases them there so that he can cross alone to the sideboard with its liquor decanters and glasses. He pours a glass of red wine — unclear whether it is actually the infamous Gamay — and brings this to Lena before going back to pour his own whiskey. He does not pour a drink for his wife, both because she is pregnant and because they save the lap-napping and tipsy-song-singing for special occasions.

Lena accepts the glass and takes a sip, nodding at Siamus with his whiskey. Does she want whiskey, too? Even if she does, it's probably a bad idea.

Avrenne sits decorously, arranging her dress to fall in proper folds, setting her hands in her lap, that sense of someone sitting for a portrait, straight backed and quite still. She does not ask for either whiskey or wine. She is there for the company and conversation.

Somewhere in an upstairs wing of the house, Shine has knocked courteously at a door and informed Miss Westwind that Miss Lena Coit has come home with the Vice Admiral and wishes to see her.

Lena sets her glass down looking over at the Duchess, who is clearly expecting conversation. "I expect you've not been north lately, Your Grace? Is there aught of news you might like from that quarter?"

"I am always interested in hearing the latest of our efforts in the North by those fighting for the Alliance," Avrenne says. "Particularly if you have noticed anything that is lacking for those in service, of what might be needed for our soldiers, that could assist in the war." Look, she is down to talk War Efforts any time, any place. Just ask her husband.

It takes a little bit of time, but Ralaea does make her way from the guest wing to the library, peeking suspiciously into the room first to make sure no trap awaits her there. She is dressed in her usual under-the-armor clothes, just a black shirt and black pants. In fact, she might as well be wearing a single black sleeve for how it looks when she's standing still.

Satisfied that there is no trap to speak of, she steps to one side of the door — on the inside of the room at least — and simply lurks there, arms crossed, as if guarding the door has suddenly become her new job.

Siamus glances up from his drink, where he still loiters near the sideboard. "Miss Westwind," he greets Rae. "Ye make a fine shadow, but why don't ye come and join, lass?" Despite the formality of that Miss Westwind, his tone is familiar, good-humored, and a little paternal.

Lena, about to answer Avrenne, flinches at Siamus's greeting. A failure of situational awareness, though perhaps one might think the failure forgivable in the supposedly safe area of an employer's library. Then again, given her history… Lena turns to smile at Miss Westwind.

"Rae, hello!" Lena says, raising her glass in a greeting. "I thought I'd come visit, haven't seen you since the spring."

"Yeah, it's… been a while." Something close to guilt flashes across Ralaea's face and she glances awkwardly away. "I don't mean to interrupt anything." She stalks closer, finding a seat that is not directly near anyone and sitting down stiffly.

"No, I… I'm here to see you," Lena repeats, her brow furrowing slightly. "You doing alright? I heard a lot of things…" she possibly considers mentioning these things, then settles on ending with,"…have changed."

Avrenne's eyes flick from Lena at the flinch, to Ralaea, then back, her expression difficult to read beyond a general, cool politeness. If she appreciates Lena's entry into the Understatement of the Year competition, it doesn't show as she sets her attention on Ralaea for the confirmation on her well being and of how many things have changed.

"You heard," Ralaea repeats, avoiding the question. "From who?" She looks at Siamus almost accusingly.

Siamus inclines his head in apologetic concession. Guilty as charged. "She came to me asking after ye. She'd heard of Morningdew's… situation, and was concerned for your own safety when she'd no' heard from ye in so long." He crosses now to join the ladies, and settles next to Avrenne. But not too close to Avrenne; they're married, that would be tacky.

"You are very fortunate in your friends, Ralaea, to have evoked such concern, and had another seek you out to be certain of your safety. Miss Coit has proven herself many times over a woman of discretion, bravery, and loyalty all," Avrenne remarks diplomatically, presenting another possible interpretation of the situation.

Lena sets down her wine glass and rests her hands on her lap. "Of course, if I've not heard from you by design rather than chance, then… I'll not trouble you long."

"N-no, that's not…" Ralaea sighs, trying to force relax, but unable to get the stiffness out of her posture. "Sorry. I'm sorry. If it sounded like that, I didn't mean for it to. I just… I was hoping to have my arms back by now, and they're better, but they're not what they were, and the trial's still got to happen, and Winter's Veil and… I should be in Northrend."

"I'm no' even in Narthrend," Siamus observes, in a tone that suggests he's not entirely sure why they haven't called a time out on the war until he can get back there. "We do what we must, aye? And right now, you're getting well so that ye can be there for the final blow." They would definitely not strike the final blow against the Lich King without Siamus and Rae both present, time out or no. Right? Right??

Avrenne doesn't reach over to pat his knee, but she does look over at him with that sympathy and understanding both, there, there, of course they're not going to have all the war without you, dearest, before turning to regard Ralaea. "Precisely," she says in support. "Some things cannot be rushed beyond a point. Proper healing and the unwieldy cogs of the judiciary system are of that nature, but we will have both settled soon. And it is understandable to hold off on correspondence wishing to wait until one can report better news of a return than news of waiting, but so too must a friend wonder at the meaning of a long silence and grow uneasy." Whose side is Avrenne on? Possibly both, or neither, a neutral third party.

"I'm headed back up there tomorrow," Lena says, in a placating kind of tone. "I'll keep an eye on things, let you know if it looks like war's going to happen without you? Surely not yet, we've still not even got through the Wr… not got through into Icecrown."

Siamus studies his drink, gets restlessly to his feet and returns to the sideboard to top it off. The glass was not even close to finished.

"I'll give ye a letter, if ye don't mind," he says over his shoulder to Lena. "For Thom. Berdon."

"Oh, that'd be no trouble," Lena smiles. "D'you know where I'll find him exact?"

"The Grace should be mooring at Kamagua before the 25th." Siamus bears his freshened drink back to the couch. "I'm giving him the helm. Waiting on Jes-Tereth to formalize his promotion within the Alliance, but he'll be Grace's Captain for the new year. When I head narth again, I'll be sailing the Lady Blanche." He smiles wryly. "He'll be surrendering some of his crew to me, though. Kettering’s my bosun."

Lena nods, "I can swing by there easy. Not too far a ride from Dalaran." She picks up her wine glass again and takes a sip, turning back to Rae. "Arms're getting better then? That's good to hear. And… what happened, with all the death knight stuff?"

Avrenne's eyes follow Siamus' journey to and from the whiskey dispenser sideboard, her expression schooled, but she does allow a small, controlled smile at the mention of the Lady Blanche.

At the mention of death knights, that smile goes away, leaving nothing but a composed, cool duchess in its place. She doesn't exactly reach for Siamus, but her hand moves in her lap, a slight movement along her leg, as if she might have reached for him and has aborted the motion before it got very far.

Siamus, who appears to be absorbed equally in his drink and Lena's line of questioning, and is not even looking at his wife, reaches over anyway and takes her hand. He gives it a brief squeeze and then releases it. No one saw that, shh.

Ralaea tenses again at the question, and slides her hands to her knees, squeezing lightly. "It's… complicated. You want the whole story, or just the current stuff? Currently hate all death knights except Harvey, and I'm only for the whole citizenship thing because it makes them punishable by law, because otherwise the poor judgment paladins get to have their say in whether or not we can act against them, and I trust Tirion Fordring as far as I can throw him which isn't far right now, I can barely use my swords." Look, she said the current stuff anyway.

Siamus raises his eyebrows and looks briefly like he's wondering how far Rae could throw Tirion Fordring when her arms are working. He has another sip of his drink rather than asking, and watches Rae benevolently. What a good, sullen, angry, opinionated little lass.

"Except Harvey," Lena repeats. "Who is the fellow was stalking you in the Fjord? The monster? Or do I have that one wrong."

Avrenne's chin tips ever so slightly at Ralaea's declaration of support for the citizenship while against the undead — yes, a good and proper daughter of Lordaeron stance, if we can overlook that unseemly attachment to the one she has, and we might just have to, no one is perfect.

At Lena's question, there is no altering Avrenne's expression at all — in fact, possibly oddly so, as if she's frozen it in place to conceal something else — and her eyes flick from Lena to Ralaea.

"Except Harvey… who was stalking me in the Fjord," Ralaea confirms. "It's alright, we've… I've seen who he is now. And he proposed, so."

"So he's said he loved you, and that made everything better?" Lena asks, her expression still carefully calm. "What makes you think you're in a place to judge all the rest of 'em? How do you reckon you've seen who they all are?"

Siamus regards Lena with renewed interest.

Avrenne's attention remains on Ralaea, waiting for the explanation with a quiet attentiveness, but there is a slight look to her expression there that reads as concern. She remains unconvinced, it would seem, that a man's love is any reason to accept a proposal, but we know how she feels about love matches in general.

"I've worked with others," Ralaea says, her expression darkening. "Harvey's part of Roper's crew, and I don't… Listen, Roper and Syarra are the true monsters. Roper's sort of… outwardly a monster, but Syarra will pretend she's being kind to you and then destroy you from the inside. I don't know what game they're playing trying to get the Ebon Blade accepted, but if we can tear them from the safety of their organization and make them citizens, we can hold them accountable for the things they try to pull. Harvey's…not like them. It's hard to explain. I've known him for so long, so I can tell, it's still him."

"Destroy ye from the inside?" Siamus's focus swivels sharply back to Rae. "How d'ye mean?" Like, are we talking plague, here?

"Not physically," Ralaea corrects. "She targets… your will. Your sense of… who you are, what you want, what you're even doing, it's… Some sort of mental manipulation I think."

Siamus frowns into his drink, and then tips back a long swallow of it. He may be contemplating another letter to Roper.

"Look, all I know've Harvey is your sleepless nights, your worry," Lena frowns. "And then that turns around somehow, and I still don't see how. Roper, I knew alive, and he's still him." Is that a bluff? Probably. "I don't know this Syarra whoever. But Harvey's not… he hasn't hurt you, has he?"

Avrenne makes a mm sort of sound, folding her hands in her lap. "Or made you feel as though you had no other option but to accept his feelings for you? A man might have many such sentiments, but one is not obligated to consider it when it comes to the matter of one's own life and marriage." There are other options than love matches, dear. Like contracts! Lovely, well worded and explicit contracts.

Siamus nods firmly. Don't marry a guy for love, kiddo. Marry a guy for money, sensibly.

"It wasn't him. All he did was follow me. I… I took the first step closer." Ralaea's hand moves towards her neck, stopping just below it to hold something resting just under her shirt. The ring, maybe. "Lena, do you remember the Vrykul we had to kill? The sleeping ones? I felt like I was the only one against that plan. It was… lonely, a bit. After that day, I wrote a letter to him, and he responded. It… made me happy."

"I take it he was also opposed to killing the servants of the Lich King," Lena says, her expression going just a little bit more neutral, her gaze drawn to Ralaea's hand. "Yes, I remember that. It was a kindness in you." Just the faintest hint of emphasis on the last two words.

"It wasn't kindness, it was necessity." Ralaea's tone has become confident, suddenly, almost as though she is mimicking someone. "What good does it do to kill the monsters, if we become monsters ourselves? Harvey's response to me was a question. Isn't killing the helpless, the innocent, what Arthas did?"

Avrenne flinches, ever so slightly, an involuntary movement, her hands going tighter together in her lap. Her chin tilts up a little more, shoulders squaring off, but she says nothing in defense of either the vrykul's potential helplessness or Harvey.

"They weren't innocent, they were asleep," Lena says quietly, looking away to her own glass of wine. "Only difference if we let 'em wake is that it'd be a harder fight and our people would be sacrificed. But we already argued this. So that brought you over closer to Harvey. And that's… how you met the other ones, too?"

Avrenne's eyes flick to Lena, and there is calm, cold approval in those dark eyes.

"Yeah. Eventually I decided to… see for myself, what they really were." Ralaea drops her hand back into her lap. "We worked together for a bit, and… Did you hear about my former squad coming after me as death knights? We caught one of them together. Jenzelle's…" She stops the explanation abruptly. "Anyway, they wouldn't let me kill him, so I tried to blow the whole place up. I gave Syarra a warning, she could have left. Instead she let him… She let the prisoner talk."

"Your former… this is the death knights who got Jenzelle? The Scourge ones? Why capture one and not kill him?" Lena frowns, glancing over to Avrenne and Siamus as if to check if they've heard this story.

Siamus has decidedly not heard this story, and is leaning a little forward now, his black gaze intent.

Avrenne raises her brows. She doesn't seem to know either.

"Yes, the ones who…" Ralaea stops again, her eyes flashing in anger before she forces that back down. "They were our friends. Kaela, Mevlin, Alver, Taya, Jothran. Our comrades. We caught Mevlin. The death knights wanted information I think? But they were going to keep him alive, torture him or something, I don't know. I wanted to give him a clean death, put him to rest like he deserved. They wouldn't let me. I had to get someone else to do it, after."

Lena blinks at that. "Someone… to sneak by the death knights? Or a different death knight?"

"It wasn't a death knight. Syarra has a living sister. She killed him as a favor to me. She's… working with them too, I guess? But I don't know how much she trusts them." Ralaea focuses her gaze on the ground. "I would have done it. If I hadn't promised Ben I wouldn't strike first, I would have blown them all up."

"That… would've broken a truce with some folk who could be dangerous enemies," Lena says, setting aside her wine and leaning forward towards Rae. "Ben's a good one to trust about stuff like that. But okay, so all that soured you on the other death knights, but they… they got their own living people, I guess. And after that you an' Harvey fell in love?"

Siamus is frowning, ruminative; he seems to have checked out of the immediate conversation as he contemplates his whiskey glass.

Roper is definitely getting a letter soon.

Oh, boy! He loves mail.

Avrenne might have her own questions for Ralaea, but she is holding them for now, waiting for the answer to Lena's before she asks anything just yet.

"We didn't fall in love just like that," Ralaea says. "The whole reason he was following me after he came back was because he wanted to protect me. We've been in love since we were children. The main difference now is what was done to him by the Lich King, you know, the Hunger? And that more of what was on the inside is on the outside now. He has a lot of regrets about how he lived his life, and that comes out a bit more. We talked. He told me the things he wished he had when he was still alive. And then we went and killed his parents."

"What?" Lena asks, bewildered.

Siamus has heard this part, at least, before. He nods absently. Killed his parents, yeah.

"I was given to understand his parents were already dead, killed in the Fall," Avrenne says, regarding Ralaea evenly, her expression cool and polite, and her hands arranged once more calmly and delicately in her lap. If her eyes flick once to Siamus' whiskey and then back to Ralaea, well. It's a lot to take in.

"Oh, and they, ah…" Lena grimaces, and reaches a hand towards Rae in sympathy, though it doesn't quite reach her. "That's a rough business. I'm lucky mine weren't up and around after." As far as she knows.

"Yeah, they were dead, we killed them again," Ralaea says, matter-of-factly. "Apparently they were still lingering around the manor. It was good closure. His father obviously never approved of us, and that held true. Harvey proposed over their bodies. Well. His father's body. His mother became a banshee. I think her body might've been too frail to rise properly?"

Lena returns to her wine, taking a moment for a nice big gulp rather than offering an opinion on the subject of reanimating frail bodies.

Siamus tips back the rest of his whiskey. It was a fair amount of whiskey.

There is something around Avrenne's eyes and mouth at that, a twitch of her hand that goes nowhere, a little hitch to her breathing, before she lifts her chin up a little higher, squares off those shoulders, and composes her face. "It was well done of him to clear off the Scourged remains. A House sees to its own," she says, that sound of something approaching a motto. Her voice is even, and cool, and betrays nothing of her feelings on the matter of mothers turned to banshees.

Siamus turns to set his glass on the end table beside the couch. Avrenne is between him and the end of the couch, so doing this requires that he lean close and reach back past her to set it down. If, in doing so, his arm is accidentally around her for a minute, well. That's what you get for being in the way, Avrenne.

If Avrenne leans more into Siamus than out of his way, well, maybe she just misjudged the proper direction, as people can do. She does not smile at Ralaea, but then again, that's not unusual. Avrenne often doesn't smile in company.

Lena takes a breath, and then another one, and then smiles at Rae. "Well, I reckon that's more or less caught me up. Was it Harvey you were fighting with your brother about?"

At the mention of her brother, Ralaea's expression goes cold. "I don't know what you're talking about," she says. "I don't have a brother."

That draws Siamus upright again, away from Avrenne, and he regards Rae sternly.

"Right, okay," Lena says, the smile faltering as she looks once again a little confused. "Only I heard he was worried about you. But sorry. Um. I could tell you what I've been up to, but I reckon you've heard a lot of it from the Vice Admiral. I also helped stop a warlock murderer, helped a bit to save another kidnapped warlock, started up an ethics bureau and got a girlfriend. So I guess I've been pretty busy myself."

Siamus arches a brow at got a girlfriend.

"Miss Coit's a tremendous asset to the fleet," he says. "We'd no' have come away from Icecrown nearly as many as we did without her." He inclines his head gravely to Lena.

Avrenne is not surprised by the girlfriend, but she took note of who Lena brought to their wedding. She nods approvingly at Lena's accounting. Lena is an accomplished young lady.

"It sounds like you've been doing a lot of good," Ralaea says, trying to smile, even a tiny bit. There is new wariness in her eyes, however, as she considers how Lena came by the information about her brother. "Your girlfriend anyone I know?"

"Might be, she's from Cobalt," Lena says, a faint crease between her brows as she takes in Rae's expression. "You met Terrineth before?"

Ralaea shakes her head. "No. Cobalt though, that's good." Her words are friendly enough, but an observant person might notice the slight tremble of her hands in her lap, or the occasional glance towards the door, as if she is judging the distance between it and herself.

Lena is an observant person, but she doesn't move to block Rae. "I think you've met Sandy, right? He's the one got kidnapped. Lost a leg, too, got a prosthetic one now. Doing alright these days, staying in Dalaran. Still cheerful."

"Sandy?" Ralaea blinks in surprise, giving Lena her full attention now. "What… Who?" She leans forward in her seat, perhaps having forgotten her brother entirely. "You did catch the person, I hope? Are they dead?"

Shine chooses this suspenseful moment to appear in the library doorway. "Dinner is served," he informs the group courteously.

Avrenne shifts her dress slightly, preparing to stand. "The person was caught and will be properly tried in a court of law. The family has requested for some privacy surrounding the circumstances of the matter in these difficult times. Lord Gausanders," she says, and she may be the only person either Lena or Ralaea have ever heard refer to him that way, "is working on putting the incident behind him and looking forward, as I am sure you can understand."

"Will the person still have their leg? Can they do that, trial a person's leg off?" Ralaea clearly has Opinions.

Lena rises, wineglass in hand, and adds, "He's… even now, he doesn't want her harmed, despite everything, the girl who did it. Sandy's heart's just that big, you know? The whole thing was a bit of a tangle, to be honest, it's more complicated than it sounds."

"Is it at least a good leg he's got now?" Ralaea's frustration is clear. Nice people, man. Why are they like that?

Siamus has risen and turned automatically to offer Avrenne his hand to help her up.

"Seems like it? He says it does all the things a leg ought," Lena starts moving towards the door.

Ralaea gets up with a sigh so big it looks like it could have propelled her to her feet on its own. "Fine. Well if he needs a better one, I'll… study or something."

Avrenne takes Siamus' hand, rising with a little less elegance, slightly encumbered by the pregnancy, setting her arm in his to be escorted in for dinner.

Shine remains in the doorway as the Fallons and their guests approach, and he makes the slightest, subtle gesture at Lena, ushering her perhaps to one side to wait.

He does not bother trying to signal Rae. He's probably tried before.

Lena catches the gesture and frowns slightly. She steps obediently to the side of the door, for whatever reason.

Shine smiles at her and inclines his head.

Siamus, oblivious to the exchange, escorts the Duchess Esprit from the library and into the hall to proceed toward the dining room. He does not offer Lena an arm this time because now there are three ladies, and he has only got two arms.

The moment the Fallons are past, Shine cordially ushers Lena after them.

Lena follows behind towards the dining room, glancing to Rae to see if she's coming along.

Avrenne's glamour fades significantly standing next to Siamus — she is actually tiny — but her manner is formal, and elegant, as if she is attending a state dinner. It may just be how she walks.

Ralaea follows the group last, either from habit, or trying to keep her exits open. Probably a little of both. Her arms are crossed, and she stares at the walls as she walks. If there was any sense of formality to the procession, her demeanor all but ruins it.

In the candlelit dining room, Siamus escorts Avrenne to her place at his right hand and draws out her chair for her. Sintha's place to his left has not been set; there is a setting at the next place down on the left, and one to Avrenne's right.

Avrenne sits with practiced elegance, the sort that manages an 8 minimum from the Russian judge at all times, if not ever quite a perfect 10.

There aren't as many place settings as there could be — Lady Priscilla Moore, Sir Somer, Finley, and the Children are not expected for this dinner time, still out on their Adventure. They had not known, after all, that company was coming.

Siamus moves to his own chair at the head of the table and waits, one hand on the back of it, for the other two ladies to sit. Yes, you too, Rae. You are an lady.

Lena moves to one of the two place settings and pauses. Is she supposed to sit or wait?

Ralaea takes her seat in the other place. "He's not going to sit until you do," she informs Lena. They've been over this. She knows.

Siamus smiles faintly at Rae, his dark gaze warm with humor. He nods to Lena.

"Oh, we go first? Alright," Lena hastily slides into her own seat, glancing over at Avrenne and Siamus to confirm this was the Right Thing.

Avrenne inclines her head to Lena, a small smile permitted on her lips.

Siamus draws out his chair and sits. "Ladies first," he says to Lena, good-naturedly. He nods to Rae. "Miss Westwind has tested the principle and found it holds."

Whatever he means by tested is left to imagination, as Ralaea does not elaborate on it, instead focusing her attention on the flickering candle flames.

Lena looks around at the others. Do people talk at dinner, or is that just breakfast?

The footman Croft approaches to pour wine for Lena and Siamus. At the same time, the maid Catrin appears to set down a glass of water for Avrenne — no ice, but cold enough to mist the outside of the glass — and one of milk for Rae.

Siamus nods to Croft and reaches for his wine glass. To Lena, he says, "Will ye be celebrating the holiday, then? Winter Veil, that is?"

Lena considers the question for longer than might be expected, then says, "I'm to meet up with Terri, for a gift exchange. Reckon we'll do some celebrating. Do all of you have a lot of plans?"

"I defer to Her Grace for that," Siamus says, and salutes his wife with his glass and a smile. "I've never done much in the way of it myself. It's not caught on so broadly in Kul Tiras as on the mainland. Ta took to it at once, of course, but she was usually back to the islands to visit our mother this time of year, and left to my own devices, I'm no' a particularly festive man."

Her Grace does not seem a particularly festive woman — maybe they're well suited? — unsmiling and serious, even as her eyes flick to Siamus for a moment, then back to Lena.

"We will be here at the House, on Winter Veil's day. My own family's tradition held a proper family meal in celebration of the season, and appropriate gifts exchanged. The children sang carols, and were each allowed a portion of the tree to decorate." There's a bit of a moment, where Avrenne's hand drifts to her belly, setting down on it lightly, before she deliberately shifts the movement to pick up her water to take a small sip. "Will you be in Northrend, or are you and your girlfriend returning to Westfall — if I recall that correctly — for the holiday celebration?"

"Oh, um, not Westfall, I don't think," Lena says quickly. "Probably Dalaran? That's mostly where I've been staying between missions. And I've no family traditions to speak of anymore, myself." Lena glances at Rae, inviting her to comment on her own plans or traditions.

Ralaea does not make any comments on family or traditions, instead reaching with both hands for her milk and taking a long, slow drink, while looking back at Lena.

"Miss Westwind will be here with us," Siamus says easily. "So she and I will both be new to Her Grace's holiday traditions. I'm looking forward to it." He smiles at Avrenne and then at Rae. You're looking forward to it too, young lady, FYI.

Croft and Catrin return, bearing plates of seared sea scallops gleaming in a citrus-scented butter, which they set at each place.

"Well, that sounds proper festive," Lena says, waiting to see who's supposed to eat first. "Rae, you going to have friends and fam… fiance over for it?"

"No," Ralaea says, then goes back to sipping at the milk.

Lena glances down at the food and mutters, quietly enough to be ignored, "Wish I had a chance to spend a Winter's Veil with any of my brothers." Then she looks back up at Rae with a smile and says, "You already got plans for when your arms are healed up? Going to stick with the fleet or back to Cobalt business?"

"I'm going to track down Kaela Mondragon, and put an end to her. Then the Lich King." Ralaea says it as though it's obvious. "Hope the trial's over by then, but if not… Can't wait any longer."

"Of course, yeah, but who with?" Lena asks, glancing at their hosts. Are they eating yet? She's hungry. "I don't fancy your odds of digging through to Icecrown all on your lonesome, nor sailing, not after what we've seen on that route."

Avrenne is eating in small, delicate bites, using her utensils properly — in Lordaeron fashion, which might be some reverting to habit, or from inattention to her table manners, paying more attention to the conversation. Her eyes flick to Siamus again briefly at the mention of the sailing route, before lowering them again.

"It is, of course, a worthy long term goal to set. I have been given to understand that this Kaela Mondragon was behind several attacks of Alliance citizens, and surely should be prioritized by Cobalt Company, as some of those have been personally directed at them. Perhaps by that point, you might have mastered the chopper, to take with you to Cobalt's efforts in pursuit?" It is clear from her tone that, naturally, of course, Ralaea would be working with her Company. It would be foolish to assume otherwise. Avrenne looks at Lena to offer in explanation, "It is one of the newest inventions in motorized technology, a large step up beyond the gnomish mechanostrider. Siamus and Ralaea have been working on improving it for Northrend's conditions."

"A chopper," Lena repeats, her smile going a little alarmed. "I take it that's some sort of… combat offensive way of transport?"

"Aye, a wheeled engine," Siamus says. "Rocket fuel powered, very fast. The one I brought home is purely for transportation purposes, but Miss Westwind and I have been, as my Lady says, discussing potential modifications for the north."

"It has been designed for multiple passengers, an ideal component for addressing a concern against a dangerous target potentially on the move. One may operate the vehicle, while another in the sidecar may go on the offensive," Avrenne suggests, tactically. Teamwork. Partnership. Consider the benefits.

Siamus, who has not discussed that with Rae, glances at her now. Listen to your mother.

"That, uh…" Lena blinks, and takes a bite of her food and swallows before continuing. "That sounds effective."

"Or, you know, I could throw bombs. Steering with one hand doesn't seem too bad if it's only for a few seconds." Ralaea is stubborn.

"Maximizing the efficiency possibility of two offensive abilities," Avrenne says, as if it's obvious that there is now at least one other person in this hypothetical sidecar. They are, clearly, on the same page here, aren't they, Ralaea? "An excellent idea, one that would be worth practicing with another, to best time your shots. It is a classic military strategy, to avoid needing time for a defensive, as two archers might alter their shots while the other reloads."

Ralaea's expression goes flat, as if someone has just dumped a bucket of water on her. Any potential arguments she may have had die there, and she takes a bite of her food instead.

Siamus smiles at his wife. No reason. He just likes smiling at her.

Lena just eats for the moment, unwilling to try another foray into the metaphorical minefield of Rae's past or future intentions for at least the space of a mouthful of scallops.

On to less fraught topics, then. Something nice and relaxing. Oh, how about the war? "Miss Coit, you did say that you had recent news of Northrend? I heard the most extraordinary news about the brothers of King Magni Bronzebeard, and that Cobalt Company was involved."

"Oh, yes, I wasn't involved so much, but I did read the newsletter," Lena says, her smile growing a little more confident on this topic. "Muradin and Brann both still around. And actually alive, not, you know, reanimated or anything."

"As expected of a Bronzebeard, as durable and unyielding in the face of adversity as Ironforge itself. Truly wonderful news," Avrenne says, her tone polite, but not cold. It seems sincerely meant, if serious. "I do wonder, has the WEB been considering recruiting any dwarves for the initiative?"

"Dwarves?" Lena blinks. "I suppose there must be dwarven warlocks, in which case we'd want them to join up as well. The goal, of course, is for all ethical warlocks to be a part of WEB. I've not met any myself, though. You have people in mind?"

"Not at present." Avrenne pauses in between bites. "But I will keep an eye out, as always, if one should present the opportunity. How has it been proceeding, the WEB, in your opinion? I understand that a suitable priest was located? A draenei anchorite, if I recall correctly?" Hm, how does she already know that? Maybe she is in contact with Zath still? Maybe the real mystery is how she got the information out of him.

"You mean Paluuva?" Lena asks, talking in between bites herself. "Yes, she's a friend of mine, was happy to be involved. Really open-minded sort, not like to put the warlocks on edge. We worked together long before on troll stuff in Stranglethorn, back when we found out about the whole Soulflayer thing, which, thankfully, didn't turn out to be a thing that happened."

"Are you, like… reporting to a spider or something?" Ralaea asks. She might even be serious.

Siamus is too much of a gentleman to choke on his wine but he does clear his throat in suspiciously emphatic fashion and gaze up at the chandelier for a solemn moment.

Lena looks at Rae in clear confusion, and then giggles when realization hits. "Oh, goodness, sorry, Rae, I never told you what it was called? The warlock ethics bureau… the WEB. It's… well, it might be a bit of humor from Captain Tyrrell's side, the acronym. The priest thing is folks to check up on us, make sure we're not going evil."

Avrenne makes a sound like a thoughtful hum. It was certainly not a repressed laugh. She is a Very Serious Duchess. She does need to take a bite of her dinner though. For reasons. She adds, "Captain Tyrrell established the ethics bureau with your own Company's Lord Elohad Ference and his wife, with that in mind. A safety net, made of multiple perspectives across the forces of the universe: fel, arcane, light, shadow, life, and… death." It was a small hesitation, but it was one.

"I still don't know what that's got to do with a web," Ralaea says. "Do the priests tie holy spider silk around you someplace and then check it to… see if you're evil?"

"No, it's the…" Lena frowns, considering how to better explain. "Maybe you're signing a letter, but you don't want to write out all the letters? So you'd go with writing R and W for Ralaea and Westwind, right?"

Ralaea stares at her. "I don't have to write my entire name?"

"Yeah, it's called an acr… um, that's actually called initials. I guess 'cause it's the initial letters," Lena may be out of her depth. She sneaks a look at the nobles to see if they're laughing at her. "But folks who expect it would see the RW and know, oh, that's from Rae."

Avrenne isn't laughing, but then she hasn't been. She nods solemnly in agreement. "In this case, Warlocks Ethics Bureau, which is spelled with a W, E, and B, thus, can be read as the 'WEB.' Which allows for an ease of an efficient term for it. Not every shortening can be used so, and one must be wary of repeating another in use. If you speak of Eastvale Logging Camp only as ELC, you may be mistaken for meaning the ELC, Engineered Light Combat, gnomish tank. Thus, a bit of cleverness on Captain Tyrrell's part, to allude to the purpose while being accurate in the designation according to the words chosen."

Ralaea looks extremely blank, having gotten lost somewhere in the middle. "Uh… huh," she says, taking another bite. "Is WEB not in use? I mean, there's already a word for that. It's what spiders make. And sometimes slugs."

"Slugs make webs?" Lena looks at Rae with curiosity.

Avrenne certainly doesn't know about slugs. "Yes, WEB is in use as a word, though not currently as an established acronym of another organization. The word, however, is known, and without the context, easy to mistake. Hence the ease of confusion, when one is unfamiliar with the Warlocks Ethics Bureau. Now that you know, if we were to speak of Miss Coit's work with the WEB, you would know we likely speak of the Warlocks Ethics Bureau, rather than any cobweb or… slug-made web."

"Yeah, slugs make webs, you ever seen them hanging from trees? Web." Ralaea is probably that girl who brought a pet slug to her family's dinner table at least once.

Siamus is squinting at Rae like he is imagining this right now.

"Those are from slugs? Huh, I just assumed…" Lena continues eating her scallops, entirely unbothered by the topic. "Anyway, yeah, I was talking about warlocks. And Luu, who I'd imagine you know pretty well too."

Ralaea lifts her eyebrows at the name Luu. "Yeah, she was on squad with us. And after you left, too. She's nice. Trustworthy. But what's a priest supposed to do if someone goes evil?"

"Well, notice, before it's done happening, and alert folk?" Lena offers. "Anyway, the plan isn't just light. I'd guess we also ought to learn more about shamans and druids and… death kn… shadow priests… all that stuff, right? All the cosmological forces."

"Shamans," Siamus says, and leans forward nodding. "Aye. The ones we met with in Moa'ki — d'ye have one already for the WEB, or no?"

"Not yet, I don't think," Lena admits. "There's a good number of them in Cobalt, though… I might should've brought it up at our meeting, sir, but I wouldn't want to distract from fleet business."

Siamus flashes her a smile and nods, reaching for his wine glass again. "Good girl. But I'm happy to help Tyrrell wi' his endeavors, so if there's one of them would suit the WEB, ye might mention it to him. I expect we'd have to see a bit more of each of them first, though. The meeting was a brief one for getting acquainted."

There's no noticeable reaction from the duchess at the good girl, either from a controlled expression or from the context not triggering one, perhaps. But she does give a single nod in agreement, as she finishes a last scallop and sets her silverware accordingly to indicate she is finished.

Lena nods. "Might need to see more of 'em at work on the ship, get a better sense of if they fit. As for the rest… guess there's no reason to rush. Better right than fast."

Siamus salutes her with his wine glass and then drains the last of it and sets it down. Croft materializes to refill it as Catrin begins to clear away scallop plates.

"Well spoken, Miss Coit," Avrenne says in agreement. "True of so many things."

Ralaea scowls down at her plate, stabbing the last of the scallops as though they had done something to insult her, but not hard enough to break anything. Her arms are, after all, still recovering.

"Miss Westwind," says Siamus. "If I take the chopper down to the harbor tomorrow to inspect the Lady Blanche, would ye like to come? I had some thoughts on our conversation about mounting a gun on the sidecar, and ye can have a look at the Blanche's guns as well when we're there. Made wi' felsteel components, on Her Grace's recommendation."

Don’t sulk, Ralaea. Do you want to come to work with Dad tomorrow?

Ralaea perks up almost immediately. "Yeah? Yeah, I'll go, if that's fine. Can I drive? Should be fine as long as there's no big bumps on the way." That may be a bit optimistic.

"I'll drive her on the way down, and we'll see what condition the roads are in along the way." Siamus's tone is genial and indulgent. Odds are he will determine the roads Not Good tomorrow, though.

"Felsteel from Outland?" Lena speaks up, her tone curious. "I spent a fair time over that way, on Cobalt business."

"That's right. I've no' been myself — no' much call to sail ships through the Dark Portal — but Her Grace is familiar wi' the materials and resources. I've been meaning to see the place sometime, myself, but…." Siamus spreads his hands regretfully. You know. There's a war on.

"Might not have forever to consider, place seems to be unraveling," Lena shrugs, pushing back her empty plate slightly. "They did quite a number on it." She does not mention who they are. We all know.

Sure do.

"Has it been worsening more than expected?" Avrenne asks. "I have heard such varying estimates on the matter."

"Oh, well, you know that Cobalt helped balance things in the Zangarmarsh, but given that whole area apparently used to be a sea… and if you've seen how the lands all rent apart in the Netherstorm…" Lena spreads her hands. "I don't think anyone really knows how long a world might have, after something like that's done to it."

"Zangarmarsh and the Netherstorm. Those are two of the places Lady Cressidha commended to me, if I recall?" Siamus glances at Avrenne for confirmation.

Is there a touch of something warmer in her eyes that flick to his, at the phrasing? No, surely it's your imagination. "Yes," Avrenne confirms. "For the eco-domes, and the arcane storms, in regards to Netherstorm, and the potential for exploration inherent in Zangarmarsh." If she recalls correctly.

"I don't like the sky in Hellfire Peninsula, but Shattrath is…" Ralaea's expression goes a bit distant as she reaches for her milk again. "A place."

Siamus arches a brow and glances at Lena to see whether she can corroborate Shattrath's place-ness.

"It is certainly that," Lena says, reaching for her own wine and corroborating the placeness of Shattrath. "Neutral city, but not slanting Alliance like Dalaran. Built on the ruins of an older Shattrath I never got to see — lots of refugees there from all sorts of wars."

If Avrenne has any opinion on the neutrality of either Shattrath or Dalaran, she keeps it well hidden. "I was there but briefly myself. My concerns were elsewhere. Honor Hold in the Hellfire Peninsula was an interesting place, particularly as a study in the management of limited resources. As Ralaea says though, the sky — such as it is — is disconcerting. I found it dizzying to look at for too long, myself."

"Aye? What's it like?" Siamus leans forward — and puts his elbows on the table, gasp — with interest.

Meanwhile, Catrin clears the remaining scallop plates away, and Croft begins laying out dishes of roast halibut with olives and rosemary and a crisp fennel-and-orange salad.

Lena glances at the new fish plates with a brief flash of startlement, quickly buried. There's more food? Then she looks back to the others. "Well it's not like a proper sky, it's more like… the nether. You know, like where I pull demons out of. All black and… there's things in it…"

Ralaea makes a face at Lena's description. "Glad no one said that while I was stuck there," she mutters.

"Ye were there together, or no?" Siamus looks between the two of them.

Avrenne is not surprised by her other course, but then again, she lives here. "There are several… moons, or planets, in the sky as well. There's something like an aurora as well, streams of fel like green light in the sky. What becomes particularly unsettling is that it never alters. There is no day, or night, and though it seems to constantly move, it never changes, the stars always in the same place no matter what time one's timepiece shows," she adds. It sure is a place.

Lena nods, whether at Siamus or Avrenne is not entirely clear. "We were both with Cobalt over there, yes, but not on the same squad. We didn't really get to know one another till Northrend."

"Funny, my first time on squad was going to a place I didn't know I'd be coming back from," Ralaea says. "Seems silly, after fighting for Lordaeron for so long." Her expression is not one of surprise at the fish, and she starts eating without complaint. Maybe she likes fish. She does ignore the salad for now.

"Silly to fight somewhere else?" Lena asks, starting in on her second course, salad first. "I suppose it's all connected, in the end. Even Outland, 'cause of the Portal."

Avrenne's brows raise at the seems silly. If she has thoughts on how arguably 'fighting for Lordaeron' the Scarlet Crusade was, they are hidden behind a cool, polite mask.

"Well, we haven't won the fight for Lordaeron, even still, and yet I went through a portal that, there could've been nothing on the other side. We could've died instantly. And then I'd never get to finish the fight. It felt a little like…abandoning my home, at the time." Ralaea's expression is focused on her plate. "Didn't really have much choice, though, I needed Cobalt Company."

"Needed them?" Siamus inquires, glancing up from his food.

Lena doesn't comment. She's very busy examining the halibut and being a person who abandoned her home.

Avrenne's mouth tightens and her chin goes up a little, as another person who abandoned her home to save her people. Her eyes hold on Ralaea, studying the younger woman, waiting on her answer.

"Big Company, pays well, and I needed the funds for holy water." Ralaea shrugs.

Siamus tilts his head slightly. Funds… for… holy water.

After a moment he nods genially and returns to his meal. Fish is good. Fish makes sense.

Avrenne considers it for a moment. "It can be quite expensive, particularly if one needs a large amount. That was the first treatment you tried for your condition that restored some sense of feeling, temporarily I gather?" How does Avrenne know that? She just knows stuff. Uncommonly canny woman.

"Sorta." Ralaea glances at her. "It didn't restore any feeling, it just hurt bad enough that… Anyway, it seemed to stop the spread of the… affliction. Which is why I needed it. I'm not sure what would have happened if it'd got anywhere important, or even… everywhere. Worst case I turn into some sort of monster, right? So I had to."

"Someone would have done something," Lena says, still looking down at her fish. "Before that happened. Someone would've noticed."

"Done what? It's not like anyone knew how to fix it," Ralaea says. "I'd still be using that stuff if the Abomination hadn't shown up, and I'm still not sure why Kaela sent her."

"The woman at the inn?" Lena asks, for clarification. "But it was a real cure, wasn't it? And maybe if more people knew about it, someone would've figured it out without needing her. But it doesn't matter, right? What's done is done, and you're getting better."

"That woman at the inn was the one who did it in the first place," Ralaea says. "And if more people knew about my arms, chances are I'd have gotten stabbed again. Or worse. Taya was aiming to kill, after all." Her voice, which had risen in volume, returns to a more reasonable strength for a dinner table. "Kaela's smart. She wouldn't have just…cured me for no reason. Somehow this fits in her plan, and if I don't know how, I'll be doing exactly what she wants."

"Why would she want to cure you?" Lena asks. "Unless it's just a matter of making sure there's no complications… for after…" she shakes her head, one of her hands clenching. "Sorry, not dinnertime conversation. But it's a good idea, not to act until you know."

Siamus nods agreement. "And that's why ye bide your time here until you're well and fit for Narthrend and whatever the Scourge knight's plan is. Let's no' sail onto the rocks wi'out a chart, aye? But we'll see a course laid in time."

"If one was looking to create a sense of indebtedness, to buy a moment's hesitation or doubt, that would be one way to do it, to offer a cure and an alliance through it. If, of course, one was underestimating a soldier with enough sense and loyalty to her not be so easily fooled," Avrenne says, cutting the last of her halibut properly, although still in Lordaeron style of formal dining. Sorry, Sintha, the fork is most definitely in the wrong hand for Stormwind. "And who is so fortunate in her friendships and connections to not face such monsters and their little games alone." Because, obviously, she won't be. Avrenne takes the bite, and sets her utensils down to indicate she's finished with the course.

This is why Siamus really married Avrenne; she holds her fork in the wrong right hand and she's a Duchess, so Sintha has to leave him alone.

He nods emphatically at her as well, though probably not about the fork thing.

"She wants to kill me. Don't know what an alliance has to do with anything." Ralaea's words are muttered, and she returns to her food.

Avrenne either doesn't hear or ignores the muttering. A lady doesn't mutter, Ralaea, goodness. "Miss Coit, do you have any preferences for your plans for tomorrow after breakfast?" The way she asks it makes it obvious that it's been already decided that she will be there for that breakfast, of course. No skipping meals, Lena. "I am certain Isla and Finley would be delighted to see you again, though I must warn you that Isla will likely be a little inquisitive about your latest exploits." Isla has never been a little inquisitive in her life, but sure, that's a polite way to phrase it.

"I've not any particular plans, beyond I do want to meet up with Terri for Winter Veil itself," Lena says, looking over to Avrenne. "I'd be happy to see Isla or Finley again, if they'd like. I didn't talk to them for all that long last time."

Catrin reappears to clear away dinner plates. No sooner have they been removed than Croft is there to replace them with dessert plates of crisp shortcrust lemon curd tartlets topped with pillowy whipped cream.

"Tell us about your lass, then," Siamus says genially to Lena. "How long is it, now? She's wi' Cobalt too, ye said?"

"Oh it's been… I suppose its been over a year now I knew her," Lena says, thinking back. "Not sure when along that line we started being an actual pair. After Northrend, and once the portals were open. And yes, she's been Cobalt for quite some time, though not as long as me. She used to… um, she was a prize fighter?"

Avrenne sets into the dessert with restraint and decorum, portioning out very small bites. Her brows raise at the last. "Interesting. What made her leave it for Cobalt?"

Ralaea listens attentively, while scooping off and eating only the whipped cream, and leaving the rest.

Siamus, too, looks intrigued at 'prize fighter,' though possibly not for the same reasons as Avrenne.

"Oh, the regular money, I would expect," Lena says, with the obvious assumption that all present would understand this motivation. She takes a bite of her dessert, in a proper manner, before continuing with, "I've not asked her directly, but I have seen her fight. I reckon that would take a lot out of a person, having to perform over and over."

"Is it harder than fighting Scourge?" Ralaea asks. She might even be genuinely curious, rather than competitive.

"Well, it's different," Lena says, considering. "There's a bit more of acting in it. You can't just win, you've got to do it in a way audiences like, so they'll bet on you. Or against you, I reckon. It's sort of like the difference between…" Lena glances at Avrenne, and that comparison dies on her lips. "Well, it's like… you might be more likely to get hurt, because you're putting on a show and not just winning as fast as you can."

Avrenne has her eyes on Lena, as she eats the tart and whipped cream both — look at that example, Ralaea, of exactly how to do it — listening to the explanation. It is unlikely that the duchess has much experience, if any, with prize fighting rings, and no expertise on the matter.

"What was her record?" Siamus inquires. "Where did she fight?"

"I never heard of her losing," Lena shrugs. "But I only saw her fight like the once. It was, um… I gather it might be sort of floating, the place."

"Like Dalaran?" Once again, Ralaea is serious.

"Sort of, yeah, but maybe more the people move than the physical place," Lena smiles.

Mm. That sounds less than strictly legal, but Avrenne doesn't say that out loud, opting to take another bite of her dessert, diplomatically sidestepping that implication.

"So it's a magic prize fighting thing?" Ralaea might now be picturing flying people. It's fine.

"Ah," says Siamus. "Perhaps no' strictly legal. For the best she got out of it, I expect." He says things out loud.

Lena blinks innocently at the two of them. "There may be magic involved sometimes, for all I know. And yes, for the best she got into Cobalt when she did."

"And now she does work primarily in Northrend?" Avrenne asks. Yes, let's focus on the present, and not the possibly seedy past of illegal fighting.

"Mostly still down in Stormwind," Lena says, a touch apologetically. "Though she's been staying with me in Dalaran sometimes. Like, for protection, when I thought that murderer might be after me." Lena glances at Rae, for some reason. Maybe to encourage the idea of protection.

"Is the King of Stormwind still single?" Ralaea asks suddenly. If protection did, in fact, enter her head, it did so in a strange fashion.

Siamus blinks. He lowers his fork and considers Rae. He looks at Avrenne and back to Rae. This seems… maybe beyond even the Duchess Esprit's matchmaking capabilities.

Still, hope springs eternal. "King Varian is, aye."

Depends on how averse King Varian is to some complicated marrying for a noble title then divorcing the undead carrier of said title while legally retaining it and then marrying into landless, mid-rank Lordaeron nobility. Avrenne could speak with Andy on it, maybe. It could be a way to get Ralaea away from her unwholesome romance. She'll consider it.

"Although he is always under threat of assassination, as any leader may be, he is well protected, beyond what a spouse might offer, and is himself quite an accomplished fighter," Avrenne adds. She might not know actually how much in common Varian has with Terrineth, in terms of prize fighting. "I do hope the immediate and present danger of need of that protection has passed, Miss Coit?"

"She's wi' the fleet now," Siamus reminds his wife.

"Oh, yes, and in any case that woman's in prison," Lena nods. Deadpan, she adds, "I could suggest Terri wed the king for his protection, but I think I'd rather keep her myself."

"I'm just saying, if I was the Queen of Stormwind, murderers wouldn't even glance at Cobalt Company," Ralaea says. "And we'd take back Lordaeron next." She eyes the tart still on her plate and puts her fork down.

Siamus studies Rae, perhaps trying to picture Queen Ralaea of Stormwind. From his expression, it is not an image that comes easily.

Avrenne lets a small smile slip past as she flicks her eyes to Siamus, holding her gaze on him, a hand going to her belly and resting there lightly, her head held as regally as, well, a queen. "One does not have to be queen for that. There are good soldiers out there who will not forget Lordaeron, and we will see our homeland free again someday in our lifetime." Siamus has promised her it, after all. And she knows how he keeps to his word.

Lena nods absently, finishing her dessert.

"If you say so. I hope we don't have to go rogue to do it. Lots of people thinking war with the Horde is a bad idea, even after the Wrathgate." What nice, light, dinner conversation. Ralaea picks up her milk to finish it off.

"Those people are fools, and they'll learn it soon enough if we're no' vigilant. If they've no' taken notice of the Horde's viciousness till now, they'll see as soon as the Lich King's dead and the brutes turn on us again in force. They've been biding their time and gathering forces since the wars; the Forsaken tipped their hand early, for all the orc chief tried to step away from it, and the King knows it." Siamus glowers.

Lena is just so interested in this pastry.

"And we must consider their history, for the best prediction of future actions is one's past actions. The Horde has not held their peace well in the past. For those who wish to avoid it, well. Whether or not one thinks war is a good or bad idea matters not at all when war comes to call on one's doorstep," Avrenne adds in support. "The only difference is whether one is prepared for it properly ahead of time, or denying the need for that preparation until one's door is broken down. King Varian understands how important it is to prepare for a war, and he will not have us caught unaware. As for Lordaeron, as with many things, it will simply take time. Best done right, rather than fast," Avrenne repeats. Take notes, Varian. "And we will see it done right." She sets her silverware to rest on her plate, finished with the last of it.

Lena finishes her own dessert, farewell useful distraction. She nods amiably at Avrenne and sits back, resting her silverware on her empty plate.

Catrin once again appears to whisk dishes away; this time she is aided by Croft, who apparently has nothing new to deliver. The meal must be — "There is tea in the library, Your Grace," he informs Avrenne low-voiced. Oh.

Avrenne nods her assent to Croft.

"Will ye send a brandy to my office?" Siamus asks the footman. To Lena, he says, "I'll go and write that letter for Berdon, so ye have it before ye retire tonight."

"Thank you, sir," Lena says, demonstrating that she has been listening. "So I'll just… shall I head to the guest room?"

"If you are ready to retire for the evening, of course," Avrenne says, readying herself to stand once the dishes have been cleared, wiping her hands — already clean — once more on her napkin. "There is tea in the library, if you would care to relax before doing so. And you are naturally welcome to take any that you might like for an evening entertainment. Do you read much fiction or nonfiction, Miss Coit?"

"I mostly read… well, maybe not the common sorts of nonfiction," Lena says, a little hesitant. "I reckon I could read fiction?" She glances at Rae again. Tell her, fellow guest, what is the correct thing to do?

Ralaea just gazes back at Lena, unhelpfully.

Siamus rises and moves to offer Avrenne a gentlemanly hand up.

"What sort of uncommon nonfiction do you prefer to read?" Avrenne asks, taking Siamus' hand, looking up at him as she rises with assistance, her fingers curling around his possibly more than what would be necessary, and lingering there.

"Oh, um, you know. Books on fel magic, sometimes demons," Lena says, in a tone that seems to indicate isn't that a super ordinary thing to read about.

"I fear ye'll find our library limited on the subject matter," Siamus says dryly. He lifts Avrenne's hand to kiss her knuckles briefly. "If ye ladies will excuse me. I'll join ye, perhaps, when I finish the letter."

Ah, the ladies are supposed to be together after dinner. One question answered. Lena nods politely at Siamus, and says, "Most libraries are, I've found."

Avrenne releases Siamus' hand, turning elegantly as if there's an invisible string suspended from the ceiling, holding her posture in perfect place, setting her hands together, preparing to lead the way to the library. "Shall we then? Perhaps we might see what else we do have that can tempt your interest, Miss Coit."

Siamus inclines his head courteously to the ladies and makes his escape heads for his office.

Avrenne's gaze follows him for possibly a little longer than one might expect, before she flicks her gaze to Ralaea, noting the young woman's demeanor. "Ralaea, would you care to join us, or would you prefer to take some time to work on your projects before your treatment?" She is not, of course, suggesting that Ralaea might be tired or that she needs to rest after all this socializing and inherent stress of slow recovery, goodness, no, but that Ralaea might have taken some time out of some personal schedule to attend social obligations, and is now being released back to her own doings, much as Dad Siamus is attending his.

Ralaea glances between Avrenne and Lena, possibly reading something else entirely from the situation, and gets to her feet. "Have to go study so I don't get a lecture when Harvey gets out of his… situation. Later, Lena. Enjoy tea." The slight wrinkle of her nose on the last word betrays her feelings for that particular beverage.

"Wouldn't want a lecture," Lena agrees, trying to sound like that's a totally ordinary concern to have about one's death knight fiance. "Maybe we can chat more before I head out tomorrow."

Lena turns obediently to follow Lady Fallon to the library.

The library is a large, quiet, lamplit room with a comfortably plush array of overstuffed velvet armchairs and couches. Two walls of the room are floor-to-ceiling bookcases. (With a rolling ladder, obviously.) A third wall is a cluttered gallery display of framed, hand-drawn (by a variety of hands) maps and nautical charts, as well as some pretty boring rich-people oil paintings of ships and horses, surrounding a large fireplace. The fourth wall is a row of tall casement windows looking out on the nighttime gardens.

On a low table before the hearth, among a group of armchairs, a tea service has been laid.

Lady Fallon moves with a stately walk to the library, though it should be noted that she seems as relaxed as one of her nature might get — this is her home, and she acts like it, her surety of place in every footstep, as if these halls were always meant to be walked down in such a manner, fit for a duchess.

Upon reaching the library, an observant person might notice, if their eyes were upon her, that she has a moment of her own observation of the room — her eyes flicking rapid across it, as if to note each and every single thing in it, and what has changed since the last time she was there. It's brief, and possibly habit, before she sweeps forward to the table, arranging herself on one of the armchairs near the fire, a hand on her belly for a moment with a bit of a petting motion, as if trying to soothe something down. She gestures to the other seat. "Do you take anything in your tea?"

Lena's stride is also one of calm assurance, but someone who knew her well would recognize that it's almost certainly an act in her case.

She pauses to consider the question as she sits in a nearby cushioned armchair, whether there might be some trick in it, before she answers, "Plain is fine, really." She pauses for another breath, then adds, "I hope Rae's been alright as a guest? I mean, I know she can be kind of… she's a good person, worth trusting."

Avrenne serves out two cups of plain black tea, setting Lena's closer to her with a practiced elegance. She settles back with her own, taking a sip of hot tea. "She has been under quite a lot of stress. It is always difficult for one of action to be forced by circumstance into inaction, and the matter that brought her to us was… unpleasant for her." It's probably not good enough for a proper entry into Understatement for the Year, but maybe enough for an honorable mention in the top 100.

"Siamus went to speak with her after meeting with Mr. Morningdew," she says, and it's an interesting distinction of name — not Lord Morningdew. "Where he learned of the danger she was in, and offered his own protection and house. That is his nature, of course, and he has my full support." Generous, protective, and gallant — the Siamus Fallon way. "Ralaea is a good daughter of Lordaeron, and she is doing her best in a difficult situation." It's diplomatically put, but also, possibly kind from such an icy seeming duchess. But then again, this is the same woman who carefully caught Mayellen when she might have otherwise fallen from an attempt at a curtsy at the Charity Gala.

Lena's brow creases a little at 'good daughter of Lordaeron', but she simply nods, taking a sip of her own tea.

"He is real protective of his people, I have noticed that," Lena says, definitely referring to Lord Fallon and not Mr. Morningdew, whom she does not even know except by reputation. "And I… I should really catch up with my friends more often. But what with… everything… I guess I fall into the trap sometimes of just assuming they're off somewhere safe and not changing."

"Well, that is part of the point, is it not, of the war in Northrend. Fight it there, rather than waiting for it to come here, and in doing so, keep those who remain here safe. Stormwind should be so safe, and it should be something one can reasonably assume of a friend." Avrenne takes another sip of tea. "Ralaea is also still learning how to correspond by letter. It is good of Siamus to set the example. How is Mr. Berdon, last you saw him?"

"Mr. Berdon? Oh, he's… fine, I suppose. Fine as they all are, with the Vice Admiral away so long. Bit restless, maybe." Lena takes another sip of tea. "Did he… get informed what the Vice Admiral's business was? I didn't, not direct. I only really knew he'd interest in the Ebon Blades from Roper."

"Mm. His interest is in the potential, of course, which is yet to be decided by the courts if it will be viable at all. Until the matter of the trial is concluded in one way or another, it is for the best to err on the side of discretion, as I am sure you understand." Yes. Discretion. The thing Siamus is best known for. "It is an uncharted political situation, and while Siamus is bold, he is not incautious, as I have no doubt you know from experience." She sets her tea down, rubbing a hand absentmindedly over her belly again. Settle down, kiddo. "I was not aware you were personally acquainted with a Knight of the Ebon Blade yourself. I would be very interested to hear your opinion on the matter of their potential citizenship and integration into the Alliance properly, Miss Coit."

Lena's gaze flickers briefly to Avrenne's stomach at the motion, then back to her face. "However it goes, I'd think we could still use them in the war, couldn't we? Citizens or no, the King's called them allies."

"Part of the trouble seems to be that for all that they have been called allies, one must look to how they have been treated by official channels. There was something of a matter of a death knight who requested of His Majesty to rejoin the Alliance army properly, and was subsequently and deliberately set on a mission intended to fail. He did survive, as I understand it in part due to Cobalt Company, however, but he left his position, a perhaps not unreasonable action to take." It's unclear from her tone actually which way she feels herself — would she have expected him to remain loyal even through such treatment? Or does she agree in a reciprocity? Who knows.

Avrenne shifts in her seat, settling her hands back in her lap. "I have been given to understand that the several of the Knights of the Ebon Blade might be willing to serve, but have hesitated by this example set, and that if we are to retain their loyalty in a war, something must be done to prevent further such incidents. Particularly if we are to consider that otherwise potentially loyal Alliance soldiers might be recruited by another." Like, say, the Horde. "You yourself do not seem averse to the possibility of serving alongside one of the Ebon Blade. Or potentially having one among the WEB?"

"I reckon I had heard of that business a bit, through the newsletters, but I came in through the Fjord myself," Lena gestures with the teacup, a faintly apologetic look on her face. "I never met the fellow in question. But I do wonder, do we want them in the military proper? Is it a good idea havin' them all dispersed among folk who might be scared or get injured? Or would officers feel safe tryin' to discipline 'em if they misstep? Maybe it's not so bad for them to be their own thing, like the Argents or Cobalt. As for WEB, I don’t think they'd fit as part of it. As consultants, maybe, as folk we can learn from, but they're not, they can't really be ethical, can they? Not their fault, I know, but we can't ignore it." Lena takes another sip of tea and sets down the cup. "Maybe they still need reason to be loyal, and maybe the whole citizenship thing could do that. Some rights, anyway. I think we got to be careful or we might get Forsaken knocking on the door saying, if them, why not us? And I do not want to have Forsaken on a ship with me, no offense to the Argents."

"The Forsaken made their choice. And clearly, through their own action, have demonstrated what their loyalty means even for that," Avrenne says, her tone cool and controlled. "But of course you are most correct. Some rights. At present, this ally situation is itself too vague, too undefined. And possibly too open a door in itself. Clarity can be essential in these sorts of situations, and someone must take the first step forward into that uncharted place and insist upon some order we can agree on. The Vice Admiral is such a man, willing to take that burden on, and it is in part why he campaigned for the House of Nobles. It is in his nature to take action rather than wait indefinitely for someone to decide that perhaps something might be done, and let the best timing of opportunity pass by." Oh, is that a hint of warmth in her voice, a slight smile in her eyes? Ahem. You saw nothing.

She pours herself a small refresh of tea. "Were you speaking with Roper as a potential consultant for the WEB?"

"Roper? Oh, Light, no," Lena says without thinking. "That was just… because I knew him, and we ran into one another and… the draenei anchorite we talked about, Paluuva, she said she knew somebody suitable."

Avrenne's brows raise. "The Anchorite suggested a suitable death knight of her own acquaintance? That is interesting. I myself knew Mr. Morningdew, when he was alive, a long time ago in Lordaeron." She does not give an opinion as to what she thinks of him now. She also does not mention her own version of Roper. She picks up her teacup once more to take a sip, her expression solemn, considering. "Ralaea has not struck me as easily intimidated, but you have known her longer than I. If she would be the sort to say no to a man, no matter the situation. I had assumed a long standing sentiment, but had not thought that Mr. Morningdew might have had some… other elements to the courtship." That might be a slightly overly diplomatic way to put stalking, but okay.

"I don't think I have to say again that I'm surprised she's marrying him, given what I knew of the situation. It was a whole story though, how she got from there to here. I still reckon he'll eventually…" Lena's gaze goes distant for a moment, then she snaps back to Avrenne with a smile. "The important thing is to not leave her alone in it, whatever you or I might think of Mr. Morningdew."

"Of course," Avrenne agrees, so immediately that it's clear she might have already decided this. "Even after this matter with the trial is decided, Ralaea is welcome to remain here. Siamus is not the type to withdraw his protection when it is still needed. Ralaea is still young, and if she were to change her mind, as a young woman might, she would have that protection to do so safely, no matter the man in question."

She sips her tea and looks over the cup at Lena. "I do hope you know that the same applies to you, Miss Coit. If you ever feel unsafe once more pending the trial of your own troubles, or find yourself in need of a place while under threat no matter how small, that you will not hesitate to come to House Fallon, particularly after all you have done for the Fleet."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Lena says automatically, starting to raise her own cup in reflection of Avrenne, but then setting it down instead. "It's good for Rae that she found you as a friend, and I do appreciate it. And I will ask for help, if I come to a place I know I'm up against more than I can handle on my own. But…" Lena looks down at the tea in the cup, considering her next words. "But I can handle quite a lot these days. I am a warlock, after all. And if there's anything more I can do for the Vice Admiral, for his fleet, I hope you all won't hesitate to say."

Avrenne allows that small smile. Yes, good. "I am certain that if the Vice Admiral has more he might ask of you, he will." Not a subtle man, Siamus. "I do hope the work has proven satisfactory for a woman of your talents, and your intellect. You must feel free to speak your mind on matters, particularly in offering your perspective. I understand there is still quite the bias against warlocks, for many reasons, but your opinion is valued."

"It is good of you to say that, Your Grace, and I do hope WEB will do a lot toward helping that bias." Lena smiles, taking another sip of tea. "If I can ask, what sorts of rights do you think the Ebon Blades ought to have?"

"I agree with Siamus on the matter. It says something of the values of the Alliance if we offer an appropriate amount of rights for those who would serve it, that we allow for a path towards putting this… unfortunate situation of those of former loyal Alliance soldiers and members into some sort of good. They are, of course, not the living. And to grant them that they are is to deny reality. We cannot have the dead owning property and titles for eternity, or reclaiming their places from the living who have faithfully carried on their duties.

"We must also consider those situations of widows and children who receive their deceased soldier's pension, that would end if that soldier, now a death knight, were restored legally. And to what purpose? What good does gold do for such a one as the undead?" It's a rhetorical question, and she moves a hand absently over her belly again, holding her teacup in the other. "No, let us instead give enough to allow for some sort of control over the trajectory of a potentially dangerous organization. After all, left to their own devices, they might slip deeper into some sort of warped morality. I agree with the same principles of the WEB in that way, applied to the Ebon Blade. Let there be enough of a connection to a right of existing that they are held to proper accounting of an authority, and given structure for their own behavior."

Lena listens attentively to Avrenne, nodding occasionally in an expression of agreement.

"So if not property or titles or money, what do you reckon they'd want out of all this? What did Mr. Morningdew ask for? Or Roper, or whoever else you've consulted with?" Lena seems to assume the Fallons have conducted some sort of undead survey.

"I understand in the case of Mr. Morningdew, specifically, marriage, for Ralaea." Avrenne drinks her tea. She doesn't sound as though she approves, even if she isn't exactly disapproving. "The dead cannot marry, for what was probably once obvious reasons, but for the undead it is not yet entirely clear. The rest seem to be of those rights that a soldier or ally of the Alliance might have, that they will not be discarded or used as disposable, afforded legitimacy within the structure. After all, as you point out, what sort of chain of command is there, and to whom do they answer, and who is answerable to them. And what recourse do they have if they feel they are mistreated, or deliberately set to failure by a biased commander, who rests certain that no one will call his behavior into account on their behalf?

"And I think it wise of us to consider how they turned against Arthas after such use by him, as I understand was the purpose of their deployment against Light's Hope. Thus, some protection is not an unexpected request, and perhaps best for our own protection of their nature, prone to revenge."

"I would doubt that the marriage thing is a really common want for the undead," Lena says with a slight frown. "Even Mr. Morningdew, with no title or property or money it's mostly a symbolic thing, right? As for the rest of it, sure, recourse, but that all seems oddly focused on protecting them from us. They're hardly wilting hothouse flowers, the Ebon Blades. If they're going to be in more contact with our soldiers, I'd hope there's also plans to help curb their nature in some way."

"Oh, most certainly, that is our goal, and why this initiative must come from our own. Theirs seems to be protecting themselves, and we must look to how we protect the Alliance and ourselves. As Ralaea herself pointed out, and as this trial has demonstrated, we must determine how we can hold them accountable for their actions, as we might any ally,and it is essential to the clarification of their rights. What they do, and do not have the right to do. Particularly when it comes to what is a reasonable limit to self-defense, and what can be considered legal provocation. They cannot be allowed to label things as they want. The living will decide what the lines are, as we have the most stake in the matter."

"On that, it… it does seem odd she's so certain that he's different," Lena says musingly. "Whether it's self-defense or not I'll leave the court to decide, but I've seen no evidence he's particularly different. Does he not have the Hunger or something?"

Avrenne's expression grows colder, her grip on her teacup tighter. "He most certainly does have the Hunger," she says and it's the first real hint of feeling in her voice, sharp and icy. Her lips press together, holding for a long moment. When she continues, she's modulated her tone to something more neutral. "He seems capable of some manner of… his former self. But he is altered. Ralaea maintains that he has good control over it, and that it 'bothers him' when he feeds off pain of those he cares about, which I can only surmise she knows from some personal experience. Perhaps he regrets it, but he is unarguably a death knight."

"It bothers him," Lena repeats, and her smile goes a bit thin. "I think a lot of fellows have a little bit of the hunger in them, though they hide it better when they're alive. There's something to be said about it being out in the open." It doesn't sound like she means something positive.

Avrenne looks like she agrees. She could leave it there, ambiguous, but she doesn't, adding her own assent. "One would hope that something would be heard as stay away, but I suppose one must account for sentiment clouding one's judgment. It is an easy mistake to make, no matter how intelligent or logical one is, to fall prey to it. One hopes one learns from one's own mistakes, but it is difficult to convince another in their own haze of emotion to heed the warning. We all imagine ourselves in unique positions, I suppose."

"Not always sentiment," Lena offers, "though I know that's one way to trap a girl. Still, if a girl can live through it, she can learn. What things you can compromise, and what you can't."

"Indeed." Avrenne's eyes are dark and steady on Lena. "And all one can truly do is one's best to ensure that a girl has what she needs to live and learn, if one cannot persuade her otherwise from her course." You know, like making sure her arms are healed up and she's got friends in her chopper sidecar.

"From what I can tell, it is sentiment for her," Lena shakes her head, like we both know how unwise that can be. "I'm just saying, a lot of things can cloud up somebody's vision. Whenever somebody else is holding something you need. Money, safety, respect, number of things… doesn't have to be love."

"Of course. You're quite right. Though at the least I can say that I agree that it does appear to be purely sentimental on her side. She doesn't seem afraid of him, at all. Now, anyway." Avrenne sighs, and sips at her tea. "But that is the one thing one cannot so easily provide an alternative for as money, safety, or respect, if what the other person wants is love, or a specific person."

"Mm," Lena nods in agreement. There's nothing to argue with — that is certainly true, if what one wants is a specific person. "I take it you are not prone to such mistakes?"

Avrenne's brows go up. "If you are referring to my previous fiancé, I admit freely that I am far from infallible, and when I agreed to the engagement I was young enough to assume myself too sensible to fail to see a course or man's character clearly." There's something colder in those eyes, a tension in her hands and around her mouth, a sting not yet entirely faded. "But in fact, it is true, that I let some sentiment of the heart influence a decision best made only with my head, and I mistakenly placed my trust in someone's professed feelings for me to stand as indication of his character, rather than evaluating him on a more objective scale. I nearly lost everything I had ever worked for, all that I had fought to preserve to one man's choices."

She turns her left hand over, looking at her — very expensive — wedding ring there, the diamond and sapphires radiant in their setting, and the coldness and tension melts into a pleased small smile on her face. "But I was most fortunate that my mistake led me to the Vice Admiral. He kept me from ruin, and provided me with all I have ever wanted, and not out of some impulsive emotion that might fade with time, but because of his own nature. There is no man more honorable, gallant, and loyal on his own merit than Siamus Fallon." Much as she might try to maintain that cool facade speaking of him so, it would be difficult for an observant person to miss the tone of her voice, the softer look in her eyes — the match might have possibly started unsentimental, but it certainly isn't now.

Lena can't perfectly hide her startle at the vehement response, but she smooths it over quickly, taking another sip of tea. It takes her another moment of thought, or perhaps calculation, before she speaks.

"As you said, the important thing is what we learn from our mistakes, right?" Lena says smoothly, and then continues a little more slowly with, "I… haven't always made the best choices in partners myself, either, though it was less a cloud of sentiment than… than a need for other things. There are things a person can seem to offer that make it feel worth the gamble, and then sometimes it turns out it isn't and you've got to deal with that as best you can."

She looks up, around the well-appointed library, and adds, "And once you've met with that, there's calculations a woman's got to make. Like, take tonight. Of course I trust the Vice Admiral's a terribly gallant and honorable man, or I wouldn't be here at all. Save that… and, well, that I'm a warlock, and we're really very… Well, okay, if one drops the entire context of my being here and who you and your husband are, one might worry at the isolation of an out-of-town estate, and the wealth and power, and how a girl can easily disappear and no one would ever even question where or why."

There. Reciprocity of sharing, right?

Avrenne's eyes flick to Lena and hold there, narrowing at the description of this former partner, who failed Lena in some fashion. Avrenne's tea is definitely getting cold, but that's fine. She's a portable heater of tea. Something softens further, a fellow sense of sympathy of some sort in her expression. "In the most hypothetical version of the situation, yes, one might, and needs must," she allows. "And I suppose that those sorts of necessary calculations of hypotheticals are also reason a girl might build her own web of safety for herself: a strong girlfriend, a trusted Company, a reliable teacher, an honorable employer. Those who would question where and why, and would not leave her on her own. It is most natural that a girl ensures her own safety.

"But it takes a particular strength of character as well that she herself would in turn be that person, who upon hearing of another girl's absence, would take it upon herself to learn the where and why, and persist in ensuring that she is not isolated in her circumstances of choices of partners. Truly, your own nature and choices are to be commended and admired, Miss Coit."

Lena looks startled again for another brief moment, and rests her own hand next to her cooling teacup. It is possible she is not used to people telling her that her choices point to an admirable nature, with the exception of that one time Captain Tyrrell said something similar.

"I suppose when you put it like that. I… I mean, thank you, Your Grace," Lena smiles again, with just the slightest hint of a nervousness touching on maybe you don't really know all the choices I've made. "As it is, of course, commendable for you people to see a girl in trouble and make space for her in safety, even if you don't fully agree with what she's up to."

In fairness, Lena doesn't know all the choices Avrenne's made, either.

"It always comes back to the same thing, doesn't it? What one believes one's choices and options really are, when one is in trouble. A person might make certain decisions, if she has no reason to believe she has another course available. And one learns not to trust too much in what people say, but what they do, how far the offer truly extends in action.

"And one must allow others to make their own decisions." Avrenne's eyes drop to her tea, solemn and, oddly, a little sad perhaps. "All one can truly do is make the offer, and ensure the other person knows the door is open, and remains so." She sets her hand on her belly again, a little differently this time, as if she's holding something there, and her chin lifts again as she meets Lena's eyes, that composure pulled tight. "But it is not my nature to force someone through that door. Only hold it open."

She sets her cup down, and adjusts her dress before rising — a little less elegantly without the use of a steadying hand — folding her hands in front of her. "I should see to Ralaea's treatment for her arms. She will remain in her room afterwards, though I expect she gets restless, and perhaps at times a little bored." It's only information presented, not a suggestion, and not an order. "Do consider if you might want a book to read, Miss Coit. You may take what you like and return it at your leisure, if you see something you might enjoy."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Lena says, rising with her as she stands. Then she adds, as if it's a common pleasantry, "I do hope her arms recover quickly, so she might help us all kill the Scourge."

As Avrenne departs, Lena drifts over towards one of the bookcases, looking over the spines in case she might find something interesting.

---

Later on in the evening, light footsteps sound in the Fallon house. Lena, still dressed in the dress she arrived in, walks quietly through the hallway, a small book held at her side. She makes her way to the door of Ralaea's bedroom, and simply stands there for some time, an unusually somber expression on her face.

Eventually, she reaches up to knock twice. Then she steps back, waiting. Maybe no one will answer. Maybe Rae's snuck out, or asleep, after all.

But Ralaea does answer the door, and when she sees who it is, there is no trace of surprise on her face. Rather than saying anything, she simply steps aside, allowing Lena to enter if she would like. The room is made up much like the other guest rooms, minus the tent consuming the entire left side of it. Aside from the tent, the room looks unused.

Lena comes into the room, glancing over the unused furnishings and the tent.

She waits until Rae closes the door before she says, with no judgment in her voice, "Miss camping in Northrend?"

Ralaea shrugs. "Nah, it's more like… I can't afford anything in here, so it doesn't feel right to use it. Besides, I don't want to go soft. Having a cushy bed while people are out there fighting a war I should be part of isn't fair."

"I get that," Lena says, stepping over toward the tent. "The first part. Makes me uncomfortable too, people giving me stuff when I can't give anything like back. But… you've got to think about what it is you're giving them, or at least that's what I do. For instance, I pulled a bunch of people out of the water, when we were trying to sail into Icecrown and things went wrong. That's a service to the fleet, right? Hard to figure out the right balance, but maybe it's alright to accept some things."

"That's just it though, I don't know why they cared enough to invite me here," Ralaea says, taking a seat on the floor in front of the tent. "You at least are working for them, but I tried offering to look after the horses and got… guest-zoned or something."

"Hm," Lena says, settling across from her on the floor. "Yeah, that'd make me nervous. So what are they getting from you exactly? Is it the death knight thing, that they expect you to help sort things out with your fellow in court so the Vice Admiral gets what he wants for the military?"

"I would've done that anyway. It's almost like…" Ralaea tucks her knees under her chin and glances away. "And… don't tell anyone I said this, okay? I mean it." She takes a breath before continuing. "You know the Lordship is Kul Tiran? And Lady Avrenne is from Lordaeron? It was like that with my parents, too. So sometimes… it feels like my parents reincarnated somehow, or… I don't know, some magic was involved? But I know it's not like that. Most likely."

"I won't tell a soul," Lena says, crossing her heart. "But maybe… maybe there's something to that? Maybe not magic, but… have you noticed how Lady Fallon talks about Lordaeron? You know I'm from up that way myself, and you've seen how they treat me, too. I don't know about Kul Tiras, except that the Vice Admiral was awfully interested when he first heard the name Westwind. Might be that they feel like… protective of people like you and me. People from places they loved, stuck on the outside of them. You more than me, since you've got both places in you."

"But if I just… accept all that, what if I start to feel like they really are my parents? Lady Avrenne isn't that much older than me, probably. What if…" Ralaea leans forward a little, whispering, "What if I accidentally called her 'Mother?'"

"I mean, given how she's been acting since I've been here, maybe she'd be pleased?" Lena lowers her voice to match Rae. "I don't think she'd take it as an age insult, anyway. What would you feel if that happened, though?"

Ralaea's face reddens a little, so she hides it behind her knees, pulling them closer. "It's… embarrassing. I'm an adult, I don't need parents anymore. And she's a noble so…" She leaves that line of thought, as though it explains everything. "It’s almost happened, you know, with the Lordship. I don't hear the Kul Tiran accent often, so whenever he talks, it's like… He sounds like my father, and I start wanting… praise."

"I think he has that effect on a lot of people," Lena says, curling up her own knees. "I don't think it's bad to want… people like that. People you can trust, who'll look after you, think of your good. I don't think wanting that's something to be ashamed of."

"You know I don't remember their faces anymore? My parents, that is. It hasn't even been that long, but for some reason…" She peers at Lena. "Do you remember? What your family looked like?"

"It's been almost a decade by now," Lena says, as if that's an answer, and she starts to turn away. But then she stops herself, and looks back at Rae. "I think so. I don't even know how to measure a thing like that, though, what I remember against what really was once. Sometimes I dream of them, and it's so vivid, but I can't keep… Mom and Dad, then Collin, Jered and Loyd. You'd probably be able to tell we were related, if you'd ever met them. I was basically the girl version of Collin."

"Well then Collin was awful pretty," Ralaea says with a completely straight face. It's unclear if she's joking. "All I've got are vague memories, no matter how hard I try. I think about them, and they're there, but when I try to look them in the eye, there's… nothing."

"He was, if you ask the other girls in town," Lena says dryly, but then her face grows more serious as she asks, "How long has it been, since you saw them?"

"The day the Capitol fell was… the last time." Ralaea hugs her knees closer.

Lena doesn't reach out to comfort Ralaea, possibly she's learned that's not welcome. Instead, she nods. "Life doesn't give us time to prepare, does it? Just takes people away before you even know you've said goodbye." She pauses. "Do you… want to remember more clearly? There might be… mind things that could help."

"Mind things… You mean magic?" Ralaea shakes her head. "No thank you. I already had a priestess mess with my head. Not an experience I want to repeat, especially since I can't really remember the experience."

"Really?" Lena looks curious, but doesn't press. "Sort of what I was thinking of. This priest fellow messed around in my head a little too, but I mostly remember it. I thought, maybe, if a person could sharpen certain memories… but maybe it's not worth the risk. Maybe we just got to go on with what we carry with us as it rests."

"From what I understand, I was briefly kidnapped, and had a magic collar placed around my neck that choked me whenever I tried to talk about certain things, but then it forced me to forget I was wearing it. Who knows what else the priestess did that I'm not remembering." Ralaea's expression has returned to its sullen state. "You should be careful with priest types too. Some of them are dangerous."

"Okay, yeah, not the sort of mind thing I was thinking of, then. That sounds awful," Lena frowns. "Who was it? Do I need to work at giving them a rough time? I can be mean, too, if I need to."

Ralaea shakes her head. "I don't know. Ben said he handled it, so I left it to him. It was a while ago, anyway. I think it had something to do with my arms, too, but I don't really… I'm not sure how it was related. My point is, be careful who you let use magic on you, because they can make you forget they did anything."

"If Ben handled it, then I reckon it's handled," Lena nods. "And I'll be careful. But the fellow I was talking about, I think he's alright. He was just trying to help, make sure nothing was stuck in my head after the Whisper Gulch, and see what it was that got at us."

"Stuck in your head? Like some sort of…mind parasite? Is that a thing? Can Old Gods whisper parasites at us?" Ralaea looks a bit spooked.

"Seems like no?" Lena shrugs. "Or at least he said they didn't, this time. Nothing lingered. You haven't heard the voices again, have you? I did, but it wasn't from the Gulch — it was from this other place, when we went down in the Nerubian kingdom… you might not want to go there. Can't imagine why you'd have need to."

"You heard voices in the bug pit?" Ralaea pauses to consider. "It is deep, I guess. Underground-y? Like a gulch except it's just a hole?"

"Yeah. They got hit by the Scourge on one end and the Old God on the other," Lena pulls her knees up tighter under her skirt. "Their civilization never had a chance. Now that was rough, though, down there. It wasn't just words. It had us… see things. And feel. Our friends turning on us. But it was all fake."

Ralaea shudders. "Glad I wasn't there. I don't know that I could've handled that. It was bad enough just as words."

"Yeah, I could've gone without knowing what it looks like when all my friends suddenly decide to kill me. But. It was fake. And they were just as shaken." Lena draws in a breath. "I hope your arms are better by the time the trial's done, so you can head back to Northrend. Will he be coming with you? To fight together?"

"Who, Harvey? Probably." Ralaea seems to relax, speaking his name. "He followed me all over when I didn't want him to, and he said we'd go after Kaela Mondragon together, so."

"Mm, that's fair," Lena leans forward a little. "Might be a good idea to warn your Cobalt friends he'll be about, so they don't get startled." And, you know, maybe attack him or something, she doesn't say.

Ralaea starts to agree, but something in Lena's choice of words causes her own to die before leaving her mouth. A moment passes in silence before she speaks again, slowly, almost timidly. "If you had a friend," she begins, "who loved someone a lot, but the person they loved died, and you later found out they became a death knight, one who wanted to make your friend a death knight with them, and your friend had finally started to move on and love someone else, but having their former love back might wreck all of that, not to mention be just… really painful, would you tell your friend about that death knight?"

Lena looks at Rae in concern. "This isn't about you, is it?" She considers the hypothetical in a solemn silence, thinking through the implications, before she answers. "If I were that friend, I would not want to know. I would just want them to disappear, to stay how I remembered them. So if it ever happens to me, and you find out, now you know. Different people are different, though, so I suppose it depends. If I were the one making the decision… I don't know. I suppose I'd have to consider what I knew of the friend, what I'd think they'd want me to do."

"What if…" Ralaea hesitates. "What if that death knight and his allies were actively hunting your friend? Would that…change your decision?"

"If I were the target, I still wouldn't want to know, but I suppose I would have a responsibility to know," Lena says, her brow furrowing. "For my decision, I guess I would have to tell them, gently as I can. But then, it's hard to say what I would decide in the moment, if I were actually faced with it."

Ralaea sighs, a look of guilt on her face. "I didn't tell her," she says. "Jenzelle. That's why she got captured. And… Bren was with her, and I don't know if you saw him, but he needs sticks to walk now, and the whole thing is my fault and I couldn't… face it so I ran away. I don't think I'm a very good sister."

Lena sits there in silence for another long moment, while all the pieces fall into place. Then she looks at Rae in sympathy. "In the moment, we've always got to make a decision. Sometimes if we got to do it again we'd make a different one, right? But they got rescued - they lived. So whatever kind of sister you are now, you can be another kind tomorrow, if you want." She raises one hand. "Me, you know, I'll always be the sister who ran, when the Scourge came. Better or worse, that's the end of it. I won't get to try again."

"Lena…a lot of people ran. And it's good they did, or we'd just have more of them as Scourge. I would've too, only…" Ralaea smiles, but it is a bitter one. "I told you, didn't I? How I did nothing but cry while everything was crashing down around me? I don't think I'd be alive if Kaela hadn't risked everything to drag me out of there. But I wasn't with Bren. I didn't even try to look for him, either, I just assumed he was dead, and fell in with the Scarlet Crusade. And you know how the Scarlet Crusade ended up. I guess what I'm saying is, that's a situation no one got out of without regrets, so…it's more like, you're not the sister who ran, you're the sister who lived, and that's important."

"We're both that, then, the sisters who lived," Lena says, shifting a little bit closer to Rae. "Regrets and all. And whatever Kaela is now, I'm glad she was there for you then. And… that you and Bren have a chance to build something new."

"How do you do that, though? Just go back and say, 'Hey, you were right, I really am stupid, sorry you're crippled now?'" Ralaea's voice contains a touch of frustration.

"There were some steps in between 'I didn't tell you a thing' and 'crippled', weren't there?" Lena says, tilting her head. "It wasn't a direct consequence, and I don't see anybody being stupid in the whole mess. But anyway, how about something like 'sorry I made a choice for you and seeing how things turned out, I should've chosen different?'" She frowns. "You could bring him a present, maybe."

"A present…" Ralaea ponders, relaxing slightly. "What if I… I can't afford it right now, but what if I take up some work…somewhere, and see if the Lordship will let me buy a horse off him? There's probably something I could do without full arm strength, right?"

"You know, I bet there's a chance the Vice Admiral'd let you buy the horse with an IOU," Lena says, considering. "Pick up some work as your arms get better. That way you wouldn't have to wait."

"Yeah? I'll think about it," Ralaea says. "I'd rather get the money doing work that's not risky, if that's the case, so I could for sure pay him back. Northrend isn't a safe place, and I don't want to die owing money. We were lucky where we were standing, at the Wrathgate, but that sort of thing could happen again, and then we might not be fine. It's the risk a mercenary takes."

"That's the risk, yes," Lena hums thoughtfully. "Though in that case maybe it's more important to handle the horse sooner rather than later. I'd rather die in war with something I meant to pay left unpaid than something I meant to mend left unmended." She shrugs. "I'm not even sure what a good horse for Bren would cost, I really just rent them."

"Well the ones here are Kul Tiran, and they're owned by a noble, so probably a lot?" Ralaea shrugs. "I guess you're right, just, I would like to be able to pay it off…"

"It's worth asking the Vice Admiral. Just… be ready not to look shocked if he says something like 'a good horse for Bren? Oh, for sure, wouldn't cost you a copper more than ten thousand gold, let's head on by your bank so you can pull out the money'. Nobles, right?" Lena giggles. "Might be worth checking with Eastvale, if he does say something like that."

Ralaea wrinkles her nose. "Ten thousand, huh? Bet Harvey had that much, before he died. His father definitely would have had a bank account in Stormwind too. That man was crazy. You know he had money buried in his yard?"

"Oh, that was just a guess on numbers," Lena waves it off. "Though sounds like if things go right with the House of Nobles, maybe you won't have to worry about an IOU. Did you dig it up, when you all went that way?"

"We did dig it up, but only to hide it somewhere else. There was a lot, and it might be a bit suspicious to just, show up somewhere with it? But we didn't want the Forsaken finding it." Ralaea smiles a little, remembering. "Some people have magic bags that can hold…large objects, I guess, but I don't have one."

"Might ought to talk to Lady Cressidha, she's good at enchanted bags. And I don't know… maybe folk wouldn't look too askance at somebody coming with money from Lordaeron," Lena shrugs a little. "Most of the records must just be a shambles."

"I'm not really an… enchanted bag sort of girl," Ralaea says, glancing at her misshapen bag on the floor just in front of the tent. She definitely means bag, there is no hidden meaning. "And maybe you're right, but if we had brought the gold back, we might've have added grave robbing or something to Harvey's list of crimes. Is that grave robbing, or just looting?"

"It was just a hole dug in a backyard, right? So I don't think there's any grave about it, is there? It's more a finders keepers thing? Even if it were, it's kind of negligible next to the murder," Lena shrugs. "I find that stuff like that, it's usually better to not ask and just take care not to mention it if you get in conversation with any Stormwind guards."

"Well yeah, it's just a hole we dug, but people died there, and graves are where dead people are, right? And even if they had been buried, they wouldn't have stayed there. But that's the thing, right, we didn't want anyone to ask us where the gold came from. Maybe we'll just… reintegrate it a little at a time. Or…" Ralaea sits up straighter. "Or I ask Harvey if I can use it to buy a horse off of the Lordship. He probably wouldn't care if I said it came from Lordaeron. Except… If he did, that'd be a problem, because he's powerful…"

"Hm, that's a trick. It's a tidy solution if your fellow's on board with it. But then you can't ask the Vice Admiral the question unless you already know the answer." Lena laces her hands together. "I could try to sound him out on a similar question, but I'd have to wait a bit or it'll be obvious."

"Can't you just ask him, 'if, hypothetically, someone retrieved some money lost during the fall of Lordaeron, would you accept it in exchange for a horse, or would you turn that person in?' There's no way he'd know you're talking about Harvey's money." Ralaea sounds completely confident.

Lena does not laugh. Really that might be the hardest thing she's done today. "I'm sure I can come up with a suitable scenario. Who knows? Maybe I'm about to go back to my old hometown and dig up treasure." She most emphatically is not, but who could possibly know that? "Just maybe I'll ask in like a week or so."

"Are you sure? If he suspects you, send him my way and I'll deal with it somehow. I mean in a bad way. If he suspects you in a good way, then that's probably okay. I think." Ralaea frowns, trying to wrap her head around what good suspicion might entail.

"Oh, I don't think there's any harm exactly. It's just a question. Only, if the answer is 'no way, I'd turn you in, that's grave robbing', I can just be like, well okay I won't. And then you can and not tell him about it. Perfect, right?" Lena smiles.

Ralaea considers. "Alright, that could work. I'll start thinking up some jobs and write out a list of where it all came from allegedly, so no one questions it."

"I think you don't want to over explain. I wouldn't say anything about where it came from unless someone asks direct. Anyhow, there's a big chance it's not even illegal, so I wouldn't worry at all right now." Lena grins. "So we got a good plan. And in the meantime you can always talk to Bren with horse pending, if you wanted."

"I'd… feel better with the horse," Ralaea says. Maybe so she can hide behind it.

"Well, okay. Either way." Lena nods, then hesitates. "If you need anything else, like… with the whole Harvey situation, or getting back into work, or sending messages or… or anything, you'll remember I'm a friend, right? You'll ask?"

"How about this." Ralaea scoots over to her misshapen bag and digs around until she finds her old Scarlet Crusade insignia. She holds it up to show Lena. "If I need something, and it's important, I'll mail this to you. I'm…not the best at letters, so it'll mean I want to talk in person. I'll try to write where I'm at, too, but if I don't put a location, that means it's an emergency and I didn't have time."

Lena nods. "I'll know what it means. And even if you can't write where you are, I'll find you. Or…. I can summon you?"

Ralaea hesitates, but nods. "If it's bad enough that I don't write where I am, you can summon me."

"Then I will. I'm glad I came to look for you, Rae." Lena reaches out one hand, an invitation to briefly clasp Rae's.

"I'm glad you came, too," Ralaea says, hesitating again, this time out of habit, before taking her hand, because she is not contagious. "Sorry if it didn't seem like it at first."

Lena gives her hand a little squeeze. "I mean, I understand. It's been a lot lately. But that's what friends are for, right? To be there, regardless."

"Thanks, and, the offer's open to you, too, if you need anything. I'm not much use right now, but I'll try my best to help. And maybe…" Ralaea studies Lena. "Maybe if he gets through the trial okay, you'd like to…meet Harvey? He went from stalking enemy to friend's partner in an evening for you, so I think maybe it'd be better for you to have your own opinions and not rely on what I've said about him."

"I will, if I need you," Lena says seriously, then hesitates befre answering the next question. Finally she says, "Yeah, I'd like that, I think. I mean, it turns out I do know one of 'em from life myself, like I said. Though maybe I overstated a little bit how well." Lena frowns for a moment. "Or understated, depending on your perspective. But yeah, I could try to meet Harvey, as a friend's partner."

"Harvey's not like Roper," Ralaea says flatly. "Roper you gotta worry about. He'll trick you, and use other people's voices on you, and he's sneaky. Harvey…is a bit more direct in many ways. A-anyway, I said I'd let you see for yourself. Thanks for agreeing. A lot of folks are understandably wary of him, but you can trust me on this one."

"That's sort of what I meant, about him. I don't think that's an undead thing, I think it's just who he is, really. But yeah," Lena smiles. "I'll aim to look forward to seeing for myself."