(2024-01-17) The Awakenings - Nightmares on Fallon Street Part 2

Details

Author:	Athena
Summary:	The War Against the Nightmare gets worse before it gets better, as the storm hits Fallon House, and at last, the sleepers awaken. 21k-ish words.
Rating:	M for Mature 17+

Arc: War Against the Nightmare

Chain: Siarenne

+ Show additional content warnings

brief innuendo, romance, romantic touching, kissing, some descriptions of injuries/blood/gore, characters in conflict

The day after the Sleepers began to walk, Fallon House remains tense and subdued. Siamus rode out in the early light to go down to Fallon Harbor and assess the situation there; he returned disheveled two hours later and dispatched two of the three shipwrights who'd come up with Croft last night to go back and lend a hand against the sleepwalkers there. The household was instructed to continue sleeping in shifts, and that those whose turn it was to sleep should be locked in their rooms with someone posted outside to let them out when they woke.

Assuming they woke.

The ordinary rhythm and life of the household is at a standstill.

Except for the food. There is an abundance of food. Cook has nothing to contribute to a crisis but cooking, and so she does it grimly and with a vengeance. No one bothers to arrange anything in the dining room; the kitchen is open to anyone who wants tea or coffee or a million food.

The occupation of Phoebe and Otto is left to Avrenne and Priscilla.

Priscilla sleeps most of the day and wakes up at 4 PM with way too much energy. She eats a late breakfast, a late lunch, and an early dinner, with her compliments to the chef.

Avrenne obtained a short late nap, another short late nap, and a short early nap, under the watch of Siamus. She has managed to nibble enough food to avoid having anyone sent to sit on her, but only just barely.

Finley gets one sleep in, waking with a scream that startles Sir Somer posted at his door, but otherwise carries out his part and duties under his Butler Mask. In quieter moments, he looks as though he's seeing a ghost, and he's lost the will to scream in terror, resigned to the horror.

Otto sleeps the night through, and spends most of his day carrying food or flowers to people and presenting them shyly, for their nerves or because, as he observes in a wispy voice, they looked sad, and he's hoping this tart or cake or cookie or tiny tea sandwich or flower, etc will help them.

Sophie spends most of the day in her room, sleeping or not. Sir Somer is a frequent guard of it, holding position as long as it's needed.

As the very long afternoon stretches into a weary evening, Siamus, Finley, Emerine, and the shipwright called Tarrant are on guard shift in the east corridor. For now, all is quiet.

The evening finds Avrenne with the children in the games room, a blanket on the ground with food arranged like an indulgent indoor picnic — complete with flowers in a little vase — that the pregnant woman is mostly ignoring, as Otto listens very intently to Phoebe describing how to play a game devised by a four-year-old. It is one only she can win, because obviously she has powers over space and time in this, and Otto does not, but he seems to be very willing to not only play this game, but expand upon the all-powerful Phoebe.

Miss Curran appears in the doorway of the games room, her hands clasped primly in front of her, and surveys the scene. Her gaze goes to Avrenne and she smiles and nods a greeting.

"Miss Curran," Avrenne greets back. Her hands are clasped calmly together over her belly, and despite the smudges under her eyes, she has that Every Inch A Duchess to her once more, hair up properly. It might be noted however that she is wearing a dark red and black dress that of all her current options available at this point in her pregnancy is very easy to move in, a dress that she could run in if she had to, and not need to cut it off her if all she can do is lift her skirt up and run.

Miss Curran moves quietly into the room, flicking a glance at the children. "I'm just making the rounds," she says quietly. "To see whether everyone's well. Are you well, Your Grace?"

"Very well, thank you," Avrenne answers. She seems it, assuming one is willing to account for the Circumstances that have left everyone exhausted.

The children ignore her, because they've come to the point in the game where Otto is asking for more details on how Phoebe rules the universe. It is not a question, obviously, of if she does, he's just curious as to her specifics of this management, all of which so far sound very reasonable to him. He adds in only a note that they cannot take stars from their place, because of sailors and their ways home. He makes it clear, however, that borrowing them is allowed.

"How is the household?" Avrenne asks in return, keeping her voice as soft and low as she can. "Any notable changes?" This is the polite way of asking if any of the men have come down with the vapors and/or feelings that they're pretending don't exist and are actually struggling with, as men do.

Miss Curran shakes her head. "They are holding together," she says. "Mr. Boutille and Mr. Croft are not taking the situation well, but they are doing as well as can be expected of either. Lady Moore is doing a lovely job to keep people's spirits up. Lord Fallon should be induced to rest more soon, if he will. He will likely not."

She glances at the children and then back to Avrenne. "May I get you anything?"

Avrenne's eyes flick to somewhere in the room — it may be a direct line to wherever she thinks Siamus is at this particular moment — and then back to Miss Curran. "Mm. If you would be so good as to perhaps go to the kitchen and send Priscilla up here with some small treat for the picnic, I will see how Siamus is doing." Read: Attempt to persuade him to rest again. Will she succeed? Who knows.

Miss Curran smiles faintly. "Of course, Your Grace."

Down in the kitchen, Priscilla is at the sink, scrubbing away at a pan, the sleeves of her fluffy pink sweater and the shirt underneath both rolled up past her elbows. "My sister Lucy used to demand all her food be cut into shapes when she was little," Priscilla is telling Cook. "But then she would add on 'please' to her orders. Like," and she puts on a childish voice, "Remove the corners at once!… Please?"

Cook cackles delightedly at this anecdote.

Miss Curran, in the doorway, clears her throat. "Lady Moore, Mrs. Cook. I'm sorry to interrupt — Lady Fallon was wondering whether you could come to the games room, Lady Moore, and look in on the children? Perhaps with a treat from Mrs. Cook?"

Cook wipes her hands on her apron and turns to look pointedly at a kitchen table laden with treats.

Priscilla goes, "Oh, certainly!" and wipes her hands dry on a towel. She leaves the pan in the sink to soak. "What does Phoebe like?" she asks as she looks over the treat table.

"Oh, shelleterweet en thisun," says Cook, indicating neat rows of butter cookies sandwiching raspberry jam. She reaches into a cupboard for a little oval serving dish.

"Ooooh." Priscilla pops one of the cookies in her mouth, chews, and says, "So would I," with a faint giggle.

Cook beams and loads the dish briskly with a mountain of cookies.

"Thank you, Cook." Priscilla accepts the dish, smiling at her. "Miss Curran, would you like one?"

Miss Curran flicks half a glance at Cook and then smiles at Priscilla. "Lovely, thank you." She selects a single cookie and puts it in her pocket. "I'll let you carry on, then? I was going to see to Lyra and Moirin."

"Of course." Priscilla heads off to the games room. The dish has one cookie missing from the top of the display by the time she arrives. Where did it go? Who can say.

It's not like Avrenne is either an expert in cookie displays or mountains, so she is unaware of this missing cookie. She rises to a stand at the sight of Priscilla and the cookie mountain. "Priscilla," she says by way of greeting.

"Avrenne," Priscilla says, smiling. "Still not hungry?" She kneels down by the picnic blanket, setting out her offering for Phoebe and Otto to notice.

Avrenne looks like she's about to answer it with her usual rotation of deflections like, not at the moment, I'll eat more later, when some thought gives her pause. Hmm. Yes, but, negotiations. She leans a little closer, a hand out. "Perhaps one cookie," she says. And then she can maybe eat it in front of Siamus, proving that she is being very good about this whole eating thing, and perhaps he might consider also taking care of himself? Maybe she'll even eat more while he's resting, who knows.

Priscilla passes her a cookie. "Very good. Phoebe, Otto, would you like any?" She dares risk interrupting the children at play. But it's for a good cause. The good cause is cookies.

Otto pauses, looking at Priscilla with a small, shy smile because she called his name.

"Would you like a cookie?" Priscilla nudges the dish towards him a little.

"Yes." Otto leaves the game to get a cookie, without explanation to Phoebe, but he might assume she understands. It's for a good cause.

Avrenne meanwhile sets a hand out — not the one holding her own cookie — to Priscilla, not quite touching, but in her Aura. "If you would not mind remaining here for a little, I should like to speak with Siamus."

"Because you miss him?" Otto asks, as he sits down on the picnic blanket, selecting one (1) cookie, to hold in both hands.

Avrenne gives Otto a small smile. "I would like some of his conversation, yes." Otto just nods at this. It makes sense to Otto. He understands.

Priscilla gently pats Avrenne's arm. "I don't mind at all. I'll keep them company."

Phoebe flops sideways on the blanket to help herself to two fistfuls of cookies, as is her due.

Avrenne speaks directly to Phoebe, as if she's a young lady as well. "Phoebe, do remember to listen to Priscilla while she is here. And keep in mind, if you do not eat the cookies too quickly, you will not have too many, and your stomach will not be unsettled later." It's not a direct order, so much as an if-then statement of action and consequence that Avrenne trusts this small child will take into proper account. It's a method. She then addresses the room at large. "Do recall that bedtime is at 8pm tonight, exceptional circumstances notwithstanding." With that, she sweeps away, needing to give no further explanation of her doings, or when she will return. She is a Duchess. And she has a cookie to eat in front of her husband, wherever he is.

Phoebe looks after Avrenne, and then looks directly at Priscilla and puts two cookies in her mouth at once. She will face God and walk backwards into Hell.

Priscilla giggles. She puts a finger to her lips. Shhhh. Priscilla isn't going to tell.

Phoebe gives Priscilla an alarmingly good version of the Sintha Smile. Crumbs fall out of it.

The secondary purpose of the picnic blanket is to catch the crumbs. All is well. Priscilla is here to intervene if Phoebe starts choking. She is not here to parent this child. She's being the cool aunt today.

Avrenne can hear the eastern corridor before she reaches it; at some point, Siamus and Tarrant began to sing shanties — possibly for entertainment or camaraderie, possibly to keep themselves awake.

Siamus is seated in a chair, his legs stretched out before him, a flask of hot tea in hand as he sings.

Oh, we'd be all right if the northern waters clear
We'd be all right if the northern waters clear
We'd be all right if the northern waters clear
And we'll all hang on behind.

And then Tarrant, standing propped against the wall with his arms folded, joins his booming bass voice to Siamus' clear baritone for the chorus:

And we'll roll the old chariot along
We'll roll the old chariot along
We'll roll the old chariot along
And we'll all hang on behind.

It is the song Avrenne knows as "Proudmoore's Blood," but at present a cleaner and less raucous version of that shanty, possibly out of respect to Ladies In The House.

Emerine, seated cross-legged on the floor in the hall outside of Ralaea's door, joins in on the chorus each time, but never supplies any verses.

Finley joins in on neither, standing with his shoulders tight and hunched over enough to take a good two or three inches from his height, arms crossed and face guarded by a blandness nothing else of his body language suggests is real. Either he doesn't know the song, won't sing, or can't sing.

The song gives Avrenne pause for a moment, halting as she listens to this particular shanty, checks it against the internal Siamus Song Mood Ledger, and spares a brief moment of a sigh. She knows that feeling, Vice Admiral. Her head goes up, her shoulders fixed into proper place, and she strides down the corridor with her cookie held delicately between her fingers. When she gets within range of sight, her other hand goes out in a gesture to not get up, not come to attention at her presence, as she lends her own voice in a dark soprano like a gold and black thread to the latest chorus.

Emerine stands as soon as she hears footsteps, so the gesture to stay seated comes too late for her, but it was probably for Siamus, anyway. She nods in greeting.

Siamus sits up alertly at his wife's approach, and when she joins the song he smiles at her; his gaze remains dark and weary. As the chorus comes to an end, he does not take up the next verse, but does in fact rise to his feet.

Tarrant has already straightened from the wall respectfully. He is not wearing his cap anymore, so there is a slightly awkward moment's gesture when he reaches for the cap to remove it and discovers it is already removed. He runs a palm self-consciously over his close-cropped hair instead.

"Your Grace," Siamus greets Avrenne.

Avrenne reaches out her hand to him, palm down. It's ladylike and not at all just an excuse to hold his hand for a moment or two. "Vice Admiral." She flicks her eyes to Emerine, Finley, and Tarrant inclining her head in a gracious nod of acknowledgment of their guarding. "Sentinel Nightvine. Finley. Mr. Tarrant."

Siamus accepts Avrenne's hand; he lifts it to kiss the back of it lightly, and then does not release it.

Tarrant looks like he can't decide whether to be alarmed or flattered that the Duchess knows his name, and settles on looking painfully shy instead.

Don't worry, Tarrant, she isn't looking at you anymore, her attention returned fully to Siamus. Her fingers have closed around his, holding onto him, no warmer than they should be.

"The children are well?" Siamus asks Avrenne. "And Lady Moore?"

"Yes. We have been having a picnic, inside the game room. Priscilla brought dessert, and after they are finished, they can ready for the night. I thought I might use the time while they are occupied to take a turn about the house." You know, stretch her legs, go directly to her husband, so she isn't taking this turn about by herself, goodness forfend. It's an excuse as old as proper manners to give sanctioned reason for couples to walk together. "The baby seems to enjoy the movement." Oh yes and it's also for The Baby, not for the Duchess, who is Above Mortal Needs like walks.

"Shall I walk with ye a way?" Siamus offers solicitously. So the lady doesn't get lost, or accidentally give birth on the way, or something. He glances at Emerine: U got this handled?

Emerine nods. She's got this handled.

Finley doesn't nod, but also he wasn't asked. He definitely does not have this handled. He does however narrow his eyes at Avrenne, watching her too obviously, too closely, with suspicion. He doesn't know what she's up to, but he does know her well enough to know that Avrenne doesn't come to get company for a walk unless she has a reason for that company. Sus.

Avrenne ignores the stare of her gentleman ward slash temporary butler, her eyes on Siamus. "That would be most appreciated, Vice Admiral," she says, as if they were a recently formally engaged young couple under the watchful eye of their chaperones. She shifts elegantly to his side, ready for her escort to walk along a hallway, as a lady who doesn't travel places all by her lady lonesome.

Siamus offers Avrenne his arm, and they proceed formally down the hall.

Tarrant looks after them dubiously.

As soon as they are reasonably out of earshot, at least by Avrenne's estimation, and with a lower voice she says, teasingly, "I don't believe I have heard those verses before. The ones I have heard do give an interesting list of preferences for a man in a moment of rest. I don't suppose while we walk that we might consider a few others of options of our own that might not do a man any harm?" Some of those might tire a lady though.

A hallway back, Emerine's ears twitch, like she's trying to pick up on a distant sound.

"Oh, I could sing ye verses ye'd never dare to think of, Your Grace, but I don't like to make anyone blush." He leans toward her conspiratorially. "Tarrant has a delicate sensibility, ye see."

"Poor Mr. Tarrant." Avrenne's tone is too playful to hit the note of true chagrin, and she presses in closer to him, her head tilted up to show the long line of her throat. "But now I find myself curious, Vice Admiral. Perhaps we might find a room and close a door, so you might satisfy my curiosity, and you might see if you can make me blush, and if you perhaps like it a little after all." We know he can, and he does. She uses that particular moment to raise her cookie up, and places it in her mouth in a very deliberate way, closing her mouth over it in a way one does not ordinarily politely eat a cookie, fingers delicately stroking her lips, for crumbs maybe, or maybe in suggestion.

Siamus does not come abruptly to a halt, but there is a hitch in his stride that suggests it was a definite momentary impulse. He is staring at her with fascination, and no little sudden heat in his gaze. "If we —"

And then he straightens sharply, his eyes widening with shock as the Archdruid's words reach out.

I am Malfurion Stormrage. There is a war going on, but it is not on a conventional battlefield. Instead, it is in the minds of your loved ones, and in their dreams. You see it now, in those trapped in nightmares they can’t escape, lashing out now in desperate terror. This war cannot be fought in the streets of Stormwind or Orgrimmar or anywhere in the physical world, because there your combatants are only the people you love.

It can be fought in the world of dreams. That is what I ask you to do. Accept this invitation, and fight the Nightmare within the Emerald Dream itself. What I ask of you will require trust, but in this moment you must abandon what you cherish, if you are to save it.

If you choose to trust me, then you must do this: secure yourself against those who are trapped in nightmares, and… go to sleep. I will bring you here.

Avrenne does not choke on her cookie through nothing more than a combination of luck and rapid comprehension, the shock passing quickly. She chews automatically as she listens, her eyes staring without seeing, focused inwards, listening intently as she does. As it comes to a close, she looks at Siamus, and it's barely there long enough to register on her face — something younger and wide eyed, a touch of fear, a glimpse of a young woman at the Fall realizing she is alone — before he can see her pulling it all back, steeling herself, preparing for what she believes is to come, the unassailable Duchess once more, ready to hold fast and hear his decision to stay or to go. There is no question of where she will be — she has chosen to be the one who stays behind, where it is safe, the designated survivor.

Siamus stares down at Avrenne.

There are brisk footsteps from the end of the hallway, and he looks sharply in that direction. Miss Curran is standing there, her hands folded before her. "I am going now," she says.

Siamus nods slowly at her.

She lingers, apparently waiting for something, her brows raised mildly.

Siamus looks down at Avrenne again, and then back to Miss Curran. His decision was made, really, by a single word in Malfurion's speech. "I — Annai, I can't. Abandon. I need to stay wi' these. And be sure our sleepers are — I can't go."

Miss Curran shows not the least flicker of either surprise or disapproval. She nods blandly and vanishes again.

Avrenne is staring up at Siamus as he speaks, at his decision — she does not even seem to notice Miss Curran's leaving — and maybe we can blame the pregnancy again for the tears gathered there in her dark eyes, the tremble around her lips, and yes, even the way she forgets her formality and composure to throw both arms around him, holding onto him in a desperate, grateful embrace. Hormones, exhaustion, etc, etc. Maybe it's a little sentimentality as well.

Siamus extracts an arm from Avrenne's embrace to wrap it around her in turn, wordlessly. He makes a gentle shushing sound and kisses the top of her head.

"I can't leave ye or the child to… this," he says, low-voiced. "I'll no' leave my people to face this on their own."

Avrenne holds on tighter, pressing into him, before her arms go up around his neck, her head tips up to look at him with shining gratitude, and she goes up on her tippy-toes (admittedly a bit less gracefully than before, with the awkwardness of her belly), pulling him down to meet her for a kiss. She doesn't seem, at this particular moment, to be especially concerned if she might be observed kissing her own husband in her home. And besides, at the moment, she tastes like cookie, as a treat for morale.

Siamus does not even require cookie-flavored inducement to kiss his wife, and returns her kiss now ardently. He draws back to study her solemnly. "Annai will see to it, and… others like her. We'll trust in that, for now."

He lifts his head to look back the way they came. "We should see if any of the others — what the situation is."

Avrenne gathers her composure, as she lowers herself back down, smooths her hands over his clothing, as if they've been unsettled by this sudden burst of sentimentality. "Of course. We shall need a count of those who will go, and be sure to place them safely away, should it fail or if they turn." Back to business. Additional kissing will have to wait until later, assuming there is one.

In the Eastern Corridor by the Sleepers

In the corridor, Finley's jaw drops, and he clutches at his head in absolute terror, a scream caught in his throat as a choked sound, and only the fact that he was standing up against a wall stops him from falling over to his knees. "No, no, no," he says hoarsely.

Tarrant has put a hand to his own forehead and is staring blankly in astonishment, but at Finley's protest his attention sharpens to the here and now again. He crosses to the young man. "'Ere, lad," he says. "'Ere, steady on now. We'marigh'." He lays a beefy hand on Finley's shoulder and peers at him with concern.

Finley looks at Tarrant with his eyes wide enough to show the whites around his irises, breathing like he's sprinted too long, a horse ridden too hard too fast, and croaks out, "You heard it too? Is it… do you feel any — compulsion or — " He looks for Emerine. The elf can explain maybe. Someone explain this to him, tell him if he's about to go suddenly lie down and sleep against his will, bidden by this witchcraft druid magic.

Tarrant also looks at Emerine. Is she a witch? Elves probably know about witchcraft shit, anyway.

"Ah." Emerine tilts her head at Finley. "Malfurion Stormrage is a trusted leader of our people. I have not heard him speak in a long time, but I do remember how he sounded. That's him. There's no compulsion. This is how the sleepers will be saved."

Finley just shakes his head at Emerine, a little too fast to read as calm decision. No, no way is he going to trust some guy talking in his head, no matter who this guy is, or what he sounds like. "No, no I have a bad feeling about this. This doesn't feel right." That might be the trauma and the exhaustion talking, twisting an instinct, or maybe just a mortal man's imperfect compass to know what is and isn't dangerous. Either way, Finley is going nowhere.

"Okay. Okay. Hey, listen." That's a lot closer to what Emerine usually sounds like, rather than saying things like 'a trusted leader of our people'. "We've got a job to do here, and we're going to do it, and our job is to stay awake and guard these folks. If you fall asleep it's gonna be because you're bloody exhausted, not because of anything Malfurion did to you. You want more coffee?"

Finley straightens a little. "Yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea. We could get more coffee." And never sleep again maybe, that also is sounding like a really good idea to him right about now. He looks at Tarrant. He's not going into the witch magic prison, is he? He's gonna stay and have coffee and never sleep again, right?

Tarrant nods equably first at Emerine and then at Finley. The elf knows what's up. "Aye, we'm stainrink coffeen'wartchem."

In The Games Room

In the games room, Otto pauses in eating his cookie. "Oh, no, thank you," he says politely to Malfurion, and takes another bite. He does not want to fight a nightmare in the Emerald Dream, but he appreciates Malfurion asking him nicely. "Would you like a flower?" he asks, presumably, Malfurion, who doesn't answer. It's probably for the best, since these are picked and therefore technically dead, and probably not a druid's favorite.

Priscilla, meanwhile, is stuck at a picnic babysitting one child and one adult. She looks around for a clock. Is it Phoebe's bedtime yet?

Phoebe, Queen of All Time and Space, has declared it a No-Bedtime Night, she's pretty sure that's what Avrenne agreed to earlier.

Moirin, white-faced, appears in the doorway of the game room. "Did — begging your pardon, Lady Moore. Did ye hear — there was a voice? Me and Lyra — ?"

"Oh! Yes. Yes, I did." Priscilla smiles and gets to her feet. "Are you alright?"

Moirin takes a deep breath and straightens a little. "I — yes, my lady. We only didn't know — Lyra was a bit frightened, my lady. But I said it's nowt to do wi'us, I said so."

Her gaze goes to the pair on the picnic blanket. "Shall I take Phoebe for bed, my lady?"

Phoebe hastily stuffs another cookie in her mouth and glares at Moirin.

"Will she fight in the sleeping war?" Otto asks. It might not have occurred to him that Malfurion probably did not ask a four-year-old to come to war. He doesn't know what the criteria is, and how much the Queen of Time and Space might help. He looks at Phoebe. Maybe she will go to bed and fight the nightmare.

"She will do no such thing." Moirin eyes Phoebe sternly. "She'll brush her teeth and go to bed and have a story if she's good."

Priscilla chuckles. "Phoebe, five minute warning. And then it shall be time to go brush your teeth with Moirin." She looks at Otto. "I think I might like to fight in the sleeping war," she says, considering. "What do you think, Otto?"

"Me too!" says Phoebe immediately, and collects two more cookies. Provisions for the war.

Otto blinks at her. "Do you want to take my sword with you? It will stay a sword, Avrenne said so."

"Oh! I should take my own sword, I think, but thank you for the offer, Otto." Priscilla pats his floofy head gently. To Moirin, she says, "I don't believe she heard a thing when Otto and I did." She tilts her head towards Phoebe. "She'll be quite safe."

"Okay," Otto says to Priscilla and he nods. "She's invincible, too," he adds, helpfully, to Moirin, as he stands up, and starts walking away at a meandering sort of pace. Where is he going? Maybe to get his sword. Or offer his sword to someone else. Maybe he's taking a turn about the house for his health. Who knows?

Priscilla brushes off her sweater. "Where are you going, Otto?" she asks, following him. She looks at Moirin, looks at Phoebe, and nods.

Moirin goes across to the blanket to scoop Phoebe up and carry the protesting child off.

"Siamus said we have to sleep with a guard at the door. If you're going to sleep, you'll need a guard." And so Otto is either going to find one or maybe be one, it's unclear from his soft voice.

Priscilla nods. "Yes, that's right. I'm going to tell Avrenne, first, and get my good-night hugs."

That makes Otto stop. "Do you want mine now, too?"

Priscilla smiles and holds her arms out to him. "Yes, please!"

Okay, Otto can do that. And then they can get Priscilla's guard and her sword. Maybe a flower to bring to the druid, for morale.

Priscilla gives Otto a big hug and then continues down the hall to go find her friend. And her friend's husband, who is sort of also her friend. She's working on it.

In the Eastern Corridor

Her friend's husband is escorting her friend back down the hall the way they came, toward the sleepers' cells rooms and the trio still on guard there. He has dispensed with the public show of formality, though, and still has his arm firmly around her.

He surveys the trio of Emerine, Tarrant, and Finley. "We're all staying?" he verifies.

Tarrant nods. "Aye, sar."

"I got a job to do here," Emerine says, nodding towards Ralaea's closed door.

Siamus nods his approval at her. "Good. Aye."

Finley looks relieved to see them both, and nods. He is going nowhere into the unknown nightmare place by invitation of disembodied voice man. He is content with his job at Chipotle, thank you.

Avrenne has a hand over Siamus' on her, her body turned slightly, leaning into him. She looks a lot smaller than she did before. She either shrunk or just misplaced her glamour for the moment.

"Burren and Vane were sleeping, wi' Croft and the priest to look over them. I'm going to see what's come of the lot of them, if they're still asleep or with us. Perhaps ye should look in at Lady Moore and the children, and Moirin and Lyra, mo ghrá?" He looks down at his Duchess. "And we should post someone by Miss Curran's door, probably."

On cue, here comes Lady Moore, walking through the hall with an air of determination. She has clearly made a decision and she is about to be stubborn about it.

Avrenne looks back to where the children were, and sees Priscilla on her way. "Oh, goodness. Priscilla has made a decision and she will be stubborn about it," she says in a low murmur to Siamus, and she straightens up, clasping her hands together in front of her, raising her brows at her friend.

"What's that mean, 'mo ghra'?" asks Emerine.

Siamus flicks a distracted glance from Lady Moore to Emerine.

"Miloov," Tarrant supplies helpfully.

"In which language?" There's genuine curiosity there, but Emerine is asking Tarrant now.

"Es auld Kul Tiran," Tarrant tells Emerine. "Bakennadeeadrust anoll."

"I'm off to fight in the sleeping war," Priscilla announces. "Which room would it be most convenient for me to sleep in?"

Siamus surveys Priscilla. He looks down at Avrenne, and then back at Priscilla. "If ye must," he says, "I suppose if ye'd take the room direct across from Miss Curran's, we could station one guard for the pair of ye?"

He looks at Avrenne again. Was he supposed to put up more of an argument?

Avrenne glances up at him, a small smile of solidarity on her face. Avrenne would never have him waste time in an inefficient and ultimately futile argument. Goodness knows Avrenne isn't going to make the attempt either. Straight to the problem solving and efficient guarding choices; she approves.

She returns her attention to Priscilla. "Phoebe and Otto?" Avrenne asks.

"Moirin's putting Phoebe to bed. Otto…" Priscilla pauses. "I believe he's gone to Sir Somer. He didn't seem scared at all."

Avrenne's expression freezes for a moment, and she reaches out to Siamus with one hand, as if to steady herself. "He isn't – " she starts. She doesn't seem to be able to finish that horrifying thought.

"He isn't going," Priscilla reassures her quickly. "I heard him tell Malfurion 'no thank you'. Out loud."

Siamus's lips twitch at this information.

He turns to Finley. Get a job, son, you'll feel better. "Boutille, would ye go to Sir Somer and find Otto, and make sure they're both with us? That Otto is, at least. But tell Sir Somer I'd be obliged if he'd stay with us, to guard Miss Mercailles."

Finley already feels better. Yes, good, no one go into the Nightmare Land, his gut feelings say glurble-burble about it. He nods sharply. "Very good, sir." He strides off.

Avrenne looks more relieved than anything because her baby grown ward is not going to the War, but there's still a faint smile on her face. "Well at least he recalled his manners," she says. She reaches that hand out now to Priscilla. "Priscilla, do be careful. You must promise that you will come back. If it proves too dangerous, you must consider a retreat."

Priscilla takes Avrenne's hand, clasping it carefully in both of hers. "I won't really be going anywhere, I'll just be dreaming." She smiles. "I shall let nothing stop me from coming back, I promise. It's a war of dreams — who better than an artist to fight in it?"

Siamus glances at Avrenne dubiously. Priscilla has seen what's up with the Sleepers, right? "Be careful, aye?" he echoes.

Avrenne probably has some Opinions on who she thinks might be better suited for a war, even one only in dreams, but she keeps them to herself. "Miss Curran will be there. If you can, do try to find her." She presses Priscilla's hand with her own. It's like a hug. Or Priscilla could get in there for a two for one special while the Fallons are still linked up.

"What an excellent idea. I shall, if it's that sort of environment." Priscilla goes in for the double Fallon good night hug, fearless.

Siamus is not a hugger, as a rule. But you know what? Fuck it. He's not letting go of Avrenne, and he is accepting a hug from Lady Moore. Let's all live our dreams, shall we?

He pats her courteously on the back. There there. Charming hug, much obliged.

Avrenne is a motherly sort of hugger, with notable married exceptions, and she pats Priscilla as well, like she's a much younger woman and Avrenne is here to just send off with the bedtime hug, check, check. She releases Priscilla, straightening, and we are ignoring the little bit of over brightness in her eyes; she's just glittering with pregnant health. "I will see to Lyra then, and check with Moirin and Phoebe. We may want to delay her bedtime, just in case there is some indiscriminate magic at work for any who sleep now as having accepted the invitation." Avrenne certainly doesn't know. She's not a dream expert.

"There won't be," Emerine says with confidence. "She's just a child, he wouldn't pull anyone unwillingly."

Avrenne flicks her eyes to Emerine. Mm, well. A kaldorei might know the most of anyone else in that corridor. She gives Emerine a gracious nod.

"Good night, everyone!" Priscilla says with way too much energy for someone who is about to try and go to sleep. She breasts boobily down the hallway the way she came for about four steps, stops, and asks, "Where is Miss Curran's room?"

As Priscilla comes to a stop, Avrenne touches Siamus one more time, lightly in a little grounding touch, and moves to step forward. "I'll show you," Avrenne says. She's got to go that direction generally anyway.

"I'll send Burren," Siamus calls after them. "For a guard." And then he turns and sets off on his own mission to collect the three footmen and the priest.

Some Hours Later

Some hours later, Siamus has had a guest suite on the northeastern side of the house — not far from the east servants' corridor — unlocked, dust covers whisked off furniture, a fire built in the hearth. Sleepy Phoebe has been collected by Moirin and installed in a trundle bed in the bedroom; the bed itself remains free for anyone who wishes to lie down in relative privacy. (That is, the privacy of sharing a room with a four-year-old, with a dozen people in the room immediately outside.) Cook and Lyra have brought up tea and coffee from the kitchen, as well as trays of sandwiches, flaky hand pies filled variously with fruit or meat, and cookies. Casker John retrieved from the games room a checkers board, which he set up on a tea table near a window, and he and Croft are currently bent intently over it.

Burren has been dispatched to guard Miss Curran and Lady Moore, and Vane and Thredd the groom have taken over for Finley and Siamus, joining Emerine in the east corridor. Sir Somer is on patrol between the east corridor and the refuge.

Moirin and Lyra are sitting together in a corner cradling cups of tea and murmuring; Lyra's head rests tiredly on Moirin's shoulder. Cook sits nearby with a basket of knitting, at which she works with such ferocity that she might be knitting a noose or something. She brought a cleaver up from the kitchen with her in the pocket of her apron, and no one argued with her about it.

Siamus, having given the group a brief, confident talk about how this is all merely precautionary, only for this evening, the druids know their business, is now pacing restlessly from the fireplace to a window and back again, carrying a book he's not even pretending to read. He has left at least three cups of tea on various bookshelves around the room.

It will surprise likely no one by now that Avrenne knows where all three of them are. At the moment, however, she is sipping at her own tea — which remains hot — a pot of it next to a plate of a sandwich, a pie, and several cookies that Avrenne has been obligingly nibbling at, sitting with practiced elegance in a very straight backed, if plush, chair, looking through calculations of projected investment returns of common Azeroth metals based on previous years fluctuations, as comfort reading. She may or may not be doing calculus in her head, paused only briefly to watch Siamus from time to time with an unavoidably soft expression, and at times, Casker John and Croft's checkers game, with a much more calculating expression. She might also know where all their pieces are and were and the angles of the potential movements after. You know. Avrenne soothing things.

Finley is a silent ball of jittery leggy bounce in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, and yet another cup of coffee in one hand cradled next to his chest. Otto is nearby, placidly staring off into space, daydreaming, and doesn't seem frightened. This is now the normal.

Sophie has joined Cook in the crafting section, working on embroidery, her eyes staring straight ahead, as she selects colors based on tags with small holes punched into them for feel, and places her stitches in a similar manner, by feel, the speed and neatness of them speaking of long skill even if now she lacks precision. The embroidery is not recognizably anything itself — birds? flowers? artistic blobs? — but those who have seen Avrenne's dresses will recognize now the hand that has done them.

The night has worn on uneventfully — seeming uneventfully, to those in the waking world, at least — when Siamus turns from the window at last. "Tarrant," he says. "Let's you and I relieve Vane and Thredd. Boutille, take over for Sir Somer, aye? Let the man sit for a time and have a bite to eat."

Tarrant nods affably and brushes pie-crumbs from the front of his shirt before heaving himself to his feet. Siamus lays his unopened book down on a random bookshelf, and the two of them have just started for the door when —

in the east corridor, there is an ear-splitting scream of rage and terror from behind Catrin's closed door.

Something heavy begins to ram rhythmically into the door of Shine's room, shuddering the doorframe.

There's an ominous thud against the wall of Daisy's room, and banging, two balled fists hitting against beautiful wallpaper, over and over, with increasing urgency.

Finley has just put down his coffee, a shudder going through him at Catrin's scream, when Isla's own high pitched voice echoes in a shriek through the corridor with nearly Avrenne levels of terrifying loudness, and the sound of a body hitting the floor, and then another shriek. "Isla — " Finley gasps, and he looks as though he might bolt, right then and there, either to her or away, it isn't clear from his body language just yet.

Otto darts under the closest table. No, thank you. He does not like the screaming or banging.

Sophie's hands shake on her embroidery, and she nearly stabs herself, her face as white as a sheet.

Avrenne holds still, a fixed point of enforced calm, closing her ledger slowly like she's just been mildly interrupted by a bell sounding outside, looking to Siamus without urgency or panic in her manner, as she rides out the fresh wave of terror.

Lyra has dropped her teacup, spilling tea down the front of her dress and across the carpet; she seems oblivious to this, and is clinging to Moirin. Croft and Casker John are both on their feet, the checkers game hopelessly jostled. From the bedroom, Phoebe lets out a quavering wail, and Cook calmly sets down her knitting and hoists herself up to go and see to the little girl.

Siamus stands for a moment transfixed, gazing outward at the corridor, his expression concealed from those in the room. When he turns back to look at them, he is perfectly calm. "Boutille," he says. "I need ye to stay here wi' Her Grace, aye? Croft, Sir Somer, see to Otto and the ladies. John, you’re wi' me and Tarrant." He does not wait to see if these instructions are obeyed before he turns and heads out into the hallway.

Tarrant and Casker John are indeed at his heels, mutually grim.

Finley nods mutely, looking at Avrenne less like he's there to stay with her to guard her, and a bit more like a man emotionally clinging onto a wooden board having been tossed overboard by a sudden wave.

Sir Somer rushes first, after a glance at Avrenne, to Sophie's side, speaking to her quietly, his hands going over hers to steady them. Otto remains under his table, curled up in a ball.

Avrenne takes in the room in flicks. "Finley, will you let Otto know he can come out please," she says, as she rises to a stand, handing out a task like a rope to the ship. Finley nods, breathing shakily as he kneels down like a man twice his age, holding out a hand to Otto.

Avrenne herself crosses the room to Lyra, sweeping smoothly over the rugs, her expression composed, but not unkind. "Lyra, might I help you with your dress? It will only take a moment." One hand is held out to her side, palm down and flat, the fire magic coming all too easily now. There's a brief steam of liquid from the carpet, and then the tea is gone. She looks at Lyra, and the tea on the front of her dress, waiting for assent.

Lyra, having seen the recent aftermath of Avrenne's nightmare, gazes up at her with huge, apprehensive eyes. But when one's employer who is also a real, live duchess and maybe-witch asks if it's okay to set you on fire, there's really only one answer that seems acceptable.

"Yegreece," Lyra assents in a tiny voice.

It's nothing so dramatic at all of actual fire — Avrenne turns her hand at the wrist, palm towards Lyra, there's the faintest steam as the water is lifted off, and then it's over, her dress is dry. The Duchess reaches out to touch Lyra on the shoulder gently, with a motherly sort of poise. "There. It will be all right. We shall wait out the storm."

Lyra stares down at the front of her dress, touches it uncertainly, looks up at Avrenne and nods meekly. "Aye, Yegreece."

Moirin, her arm around the younger woman's shoulders, squeezes her tightly. "That's right. We wait out the storm. No safer place for that than wi' Fallons, aye?" There is a veneer of false bravado on her tone, a little too much heartiness, but Lyra doesn't seem to hear it and nods again, relaxing a further degree.

Avrenne smiles at Moirin. "Precisely." Her tone is more practiced, hitting the note confidently, as though she has no doubt whatsoever. She straightens, and examines the room.

Finley has taken up position on the floor next to Otto. He is just there providing support, he is not cowering as well, obviously. Otto is holding Finley's hand, and has buried his face between his knees pulled up tight against his body. When Avrenne's eyes land on them, Finley shakes his head wearily. They're fine. They'll just sit here like this for who knows how long.

Sir Somer still has Sophie, both of her hands now between his, speaking in a low voice to her, shaking his head to something she's said in a tight, fearful whisper. "No, no, it won't come to that," he repeats.

Something about those pairings in particular send a flicker of a shadow across Avrenne's face, before it's gone. She turns her head and moves with that sweeping elegance to the jostled checker board, and begins to carefully, and calmly, as though this were any other evening, set it back to right, pieces in the exact places they were moments before. She may be a witch.

Croft has been standing by helplessly to this point, unsure what to do, but seeing Avrenne reset the checkers board seems to reset something in him as well. He goes to the table to pour a fresh cup of tea and bring it to Lyra, picking up the dropped cup as he goes, and then puts his head in the bedroom to check on Cook and Phoebe.

In the east corridor, shortly after the screaming starts, Lady Priscilla Moore heads towards the sounds. She is wearing that fluffy pink sweater over a pastel green nightgown, and her sword belt over that, with an actual rapier as opposed to one of her fencing foils. She walks briskly, with way too much energy to have just woken up. "What's going on?" she asks the guards.

Emerine is standing at the ready, looking like she might have to help deal with Shine in a moment.

There is a faint thud against the wall behind Emerine. It's possible the Ralaea zombie has discovered … rolling.

Siamus, Tarrant, and Casker John are all converging as well from the Refuge Room. Vane and Thredd are standing alertly in the middle of the corridor, looking from door to door like they're waiting for one to explode open. Thredd has his fists up like a man with a lot of self-confidence; Vane, perhaps more sensibly, has an actual pistol.

Or perhaps not more sensibly. "We're no' shooting anyone, is what's going on," Siamus snaps, half at the footman and half in response to Priscilla's question. "Not unless it's life or limb. Those are our people in there." He turns to Priscilla and stares at her for a moment. "Are ye — is it over?"

If she's out here because the Dream War is over, and this is what the sleepers are doing now, that seems… bad.

"I couldn't sleep," Priscilla says, frowning. "I have a feeling the sleeping war is happening without me." She sounds genuinely frustrated about this.

"Ah." Siamus is audibly relieved. Not because they're having a war without Priscilla, but because hopefully there is still a war. "Well. It was good of ye to try."

Shine's door slams and shudders in its frame again. Tarrant jumps back.

"He can't get out," Siamus says. "The doors are — "

Another slam.

" — solid," he finishes, and eyes the doorframe warily.

Catrin screams again. In the Refuge Room, Phoebe cries, "Mama!"

At Phoebe's cry, Avrenne sets a piece down on the checkerboard, and is off moving quickly to get to Phoebe, ready to pick the child up and hold onto her. She has that calm composure drawn firmly around her, an eye of the storm.

Daisy's pounding against the wall increases in intensity, and it sounds worse now — there's a wet, meaty tone to it as though she has started to break her own skin on the walls and is still going through the blood and pain.

Isla has also discovered rolling. Probably not intentionally. She screams into the carpet, adding to the cacophony.

"If he does get out, what's the plan?" Emerine asks Siamus.

Siamus stands and considers this in grim silence. "You, Tarrant, and I subdue him. We'll —" He looks at Thredd. "Go and get rope and horse blankets. We may have to bind him as well." Burrito, he means. "And if that fails…." He's silent again for a moment. "Vane shoots him." He looks over his shoulder at the footman wearily. "Try not to shoot to kill."

Vane nods once. Thredd is already jogging toward the back stairs to obey his lordship's command.

Casker John goes to Daisy's door and tilts his head. He looks to Siamus. "The girl is hurting herself," he says.

Siamus stares at Daisy's door. "If she keeps it up — if she keeps it up, we'll have to intervene, I expect. I don't like the thought of them doing themselves harm."

"Dinnike athortve doonussarm," Tarrant observes. "Leedies an' littluns aboat."

Emerine nods.

"Can I help with anything?" Priscilla offers with a sigh. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep through this even if I could fall asleep."

"I don't think any of them could do us real harm — certainly not like Catrin did herself — except for Shine and Miss Westwind." Siamus glances at Rae's door. She's still a burrito in there, but that does not mean her teeth aren't ready. "Even if they're no' moving mindless as before, Isla, Milla, Daisy… I think the pack of us ought to be able to handle any of them. Costentyn's the one worries me right now."

Siamus has probably never used Shine's first name in the presence of any of these people, a few of whom might not know who he's talking about.

"Even in his case, there are enough of us enough on our guard that I don't expect he could do much real harm before the lot of us got him down. It's no' like —" He stops there abruptly.

It's not like plague, is what he does not say. Because, really, at the moment, do they know it isn't?

He turns to Priscilla. "In my office," he tells her, "the lowest map-drawer in the left hand bookcase. Open it. It's no' maps — there's a box inside wi' a sabre, a pair of pistols, and a box of shot. D'ye know how to load a pistol?"

"I do." Priscilla visibly perks up at being Assigned A Task.

"Good." He nods to her. "Load them, bring them here. I'll have one — give the other to Avrenne if ye can do it discreetly, so as not to frighten them in there. Tell her she won't need it. Just a precaution." He pauses. "Bring the sabre as well."

"Will do!" Priscilla smiles at Siamus and bustles off to handle her Task.

Assignment thus assigned, Siamus turns to consider Daisy's door again, even as Shine launches a fresh assault on his own. He glances sidelong at Casker John. "I'm inclined to see what state the lass is in, and whether we can keep her doing further harm to herself. Are ye with me? I don't want her loose — when Thredd's back wi' the blankets and rope, we'll go in wi' her and close the door."

Casker John nods. "I'm with ye, aye."

Siamus nods back at him curtly. "The rest of ye stay out here in case of trouble. Vane, ye stay on Shine's door in particular. If ye have to —" He winces as the door rattles again — "If ye have to, fetch something out of the room where we put the furniture, and lay it across for a barricade, just for peace of mind."

In The Refuge Room

Back in the Refuge Room, Phoebe is snuffling noisy tears, clinging to Avrenne's neck. "Mamaaaaa," she moans.

Croft has run out of other things to keep himself busy and is now tidying the room almost frenetically.

Avrenne walks with Phoebe, taking a turn about the room — like tea, what can't this fix? — making soft shushing noises in between little snippets of comforting phrases. Some of them may be slightly above Phoebe's paygrade of comprehension, but they are accurate statements as Avrenne understands them, such as, "Your mother is just detained in the Emerald Dream, and there are many people working very hard to get her back home. Druids and very possibly dragons," which for some reason has Avrenne look in a direct line to Miss Curran's room, "And you are not alone here. We are all here, and we will keep you and your mother as safe as we can. We won't lose anyone. Shh, shh, shh." How soothing her words might be for Croft as well remains unknown. She is focused mostly on the child.

Inside Daisy's room, the pounding continues, growing desperate. It's still in the same place — pointed in a line towards where Miss Curran sleeps, as if Daisy is trying to just Kool-Aid man her way through the walls to the nearest sleeper. There is no regard at all for her well being, willing to sacrifice her hands to accomplish this task. She and Avrenne are definitely related.

Thredd comes jogging up the back stair again with a coil of rope over each shoulder and an armload of heavy woolen horse blankets.

"Brilliant," says Siamus. He relieves the groom of a coil of rope, and takes one of the blankets to pass it to Casker John. The two of them look like they could be going on some kind of picnic/spelunking expedition together. "Would ye go and get the keys from Finley?"

"Aye." The laconic Thredd sets down the rest of his burden and heads for the Refuge Room.

Finley is still under this table with Otto, who is not moving out from his shelter or his protective ball. When he sees Thredd, Finley looks up, his expression guarded but a hopelessness to his eyes. He's pretty sure they're goners, or going to lose the sleepers, and he's started to resign himself to that fact.

"Fenlay. Dyevveh kayz, ir?" Thredd asks him politely. "Fallon wassum."

Finley stares uncomprehendingly at Thredd. "…What?"

Thredd looks around for someone who speaks proper Kul Tiran.

"Do you have the keys there?" Moirin pipes up. "Lord Fallon wants them."

Lyra shares a look with her brother. Mainlanders.

Finley nods to Moirin, a slight flush to his cheeks and a bit of a bristle of his shoulders, but it takes him no time at all to reach into a pocket and hold out the keys to Thredd, separating out a few of them. "He'll want these ones," Finley says, his Lordaeron accent just a touch stronger than usual, maybe out of embarrassment.

Thredd nods courteously. "Aye'n. Thankee." He accepts the keys carefully and heads back out into the hall, where he offers them out to Siamus. "Sessee waneezins," he says.

"Aye," says Siamus. "Thank ye kindly." He takes the keys from Thredd, and hands them immediately to Casker John, taking the horse blanket from him in trade. "Ye'll unlock and let us in. I'll get hold of the lass and bundle her up as best I can, and ye see to what healing she needs. Aye?"

Back in the room, Croft casts a look of Lordaeronian Fellow-Feeling at Finley.

Finley's own look back has a twitch of a smile, the shoulder bristle lessening a little. He sighs heavily, sits back more, and listens to the sounds of the zombies sleepers try to claw their way out to kill them all with the grim acceptance that they're probably all going to die soon, and he's stuck holding onto his sort-of-brother's hand instead of going out with a bang in a closet or something.

Emerine watches Daisy's door curiously. "She's not hitting her door, she's hitting a wall."

Siamus steps back and considers this, looking from Daisy's door to Shine's across the hall.

Shine is throwing himself faster and more furiously into the door now; the crash and shudder has a near-drumbeat rhythm to it. Siamus listens a moment, then steps down the hall to tilt his head before Rae's door. He listens for a moment to her thudding against the wall.

"I don't think any of them knows what they're doing," he says. "They're still sleep-blind. John, are ye ready?"

Casker John nods, poised at Daisy's door.

"Go," says Siamus.

The priest fits the key and turns it, pushing the door open and stepping away from the opening in the same smooth motion. Siamus is there immediately, sliding into the gap, armed with a horse blanket and a coil of rope.

Priscilla arrives to deliver a pistol and a saber and finds Siamus occupied. "Should I just leave these with someone?" she calls.

Over his shoulder, distractedly, Siamus calls back, "Keep the pistol. Tarrant, blade."

And then in an utterly different tone of voice, he says, "Daisy, lass …." and moves forward cautiously, shaking out the blanket. He vanishes into the darkness of the room. Casker John steps in behind him and shuts the door.

Priscilla passes Tarrant the saber, tucks the pistol into her purse, and strolls back to the room where the others have taken shelter.

As she approaches, she calls out before she can even be seen: "I couldn't sleep."

Avrenne leans out into the hallway, still holding onto Phoebe, brows raised. "Not at all?" She flicks her eyes to the doors of the sleepers. "Mm."

"Not at all," Priscilla says with a heavy sigh. "I tried for hours. Hi, Phoebe. Everyone's being so loud, aren't they?"

Phoebe, her head tucked on Avrenne's shoulder and one little arm around Avrenne's neck, gives Priscilla an Are you kidding me right now, lady? look and snuffles loudly, hiccuping. Her face is wet and smeary and she is clinging to Avrenne like the world's most miserable barnacle.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry." Priscilla gently pats Phoebe's back. "Avrenne, Siamus wanted me to bring you something." She pauses, looking at Phoebe.

Avrenne sways a little in place in an idle way, since her turn around the room has been delayed. Her hands are a bit full of child at the moment, but she flicks her eyes from Phoebe to Priscilla. "It isn't food or tea is it? I will sit down and rest again, but now is not the most opportune moment for another cookie." Her tone is a little dry.

Phoebe lifts her head at the mention of cookies. Is it not? Is it not the most opportune moment for another cookie?

Avrenne's brows raise at Phoebe, and she regards the child with that look of hers like she's very willing to listen to another perspective. "Do you want another cookie, Phoebe? These are exceptional circumstances." And therefore, allowed.

Phoebe nods at Avrenne, her eyes huge and soulful. She is but a poor tragic waif, won't someone think of the poor tragic cookieless waifs?

"No, it's… you seem to have your hands full, so I suppose I can just keep it in here until you've got someplace to put it." Priscilla wiggles her purse.

Avrenne looks at Priscilla's purse, back up at Priscilla, and then at Phoebe. Mm. "Very well, you may tell Cook that you have permission to have a plate of cookies, but," she says, very seriously to this four-year-old child, as she moves to set her down on her own feet. "If you have cookies once more, then you must brush your teeth again before you sleep, or you shall run the risk of ruining your teeth." There. Consequences described. Surely that will work.

Phoebe turns and runs zig-zaggily toward Cook's last known location.

Priscilla gives Avrenne an approving nod and steps into a part of the hallway where she isn't visible from inside the room. "He wanted me to give you one of his pistols," she whispers. "Just in case. But not to frighten everyone. Honestly, I think you'll be better off turning them into sheep should it come to that, but I don't know the specifics of that consequence. It's not loss of appetite, isn't it?"

"Nausea, rather severe, builds with each successive one. The real problem is I can only do one at a time, and I have to hold it, and only for 15 seconds per casting," Avrenne answers, a little distractedly, a frown on her face deep enough to cause a few faint lines on her forehead, as she leans in closer to Priscilla, lowering her own voice to a whisper. "A pistol? Goodness, what would I even do with it? I have never fired a gun in my life. I know the general concept, of course, but I'm not trained. Besides, I don't need a weapon." A pause, a lifting of her brows, as she looks at her hands. "I am a weapon. But I suppose if I'm meant to simply hold onto it for an emergency…" She examines her dress. Where is she meant to put it?

Priscilla chuckles. "That was rather my thought too. I ought to teach you, one of these days, I bet you'd have stellar aim." Priscilla pats Avrenne's arm. "Would you like me to just come sit with you and just keep the pistols in the purse?" Wait, now there's more than one pistol. They're multiplying.

"Goodness, Priscilla, how many pistols are you carrying?" Avrenne whispers, as she automatically links up her arm with her friend. "This isn't one of Lady Lucille's purses is it?" You know, a massive arcane space that's just an arsenal inside.

Priscilla laughs. "Just the two. They're both from Siamus. He had me fetch them."

Avrenne just looks at the purse again. "Dare I ask if there are any explosives or one of those jack-in-the-boxes spring dummies, or are two pistols and two swords between you and Sir Somer the full accounting of our available weaponry?"

"For this room, yes." Priscilla whispers even more quietly, "Rae's guard seems the sort to have more knives than any reasonable person ought to."

"Mm." That's Avrenne for, does she potentially have too many though? Avrenne's account for how many knives a person should have might be pretty high, given the Circumstances. "Well, I am sure Siamus has made sure they have their necessary defenses, and we will…hold onto ours, I suppose."

Her eyes evaluate the room, the door, the situation, and her voice is very quiet. There's something a little cold about the calculations that are going on. "We'll want to stay within the room, if anyone gets past the others. A bottleneck from the corridor, and even better if we can halt them at the door to bar the way for any additional attack should they be…no longer themselves." That's the Fall of Lordaeron talking, of thinking ahead of if there may be nothing left of the sleepers at all. "Let us hope it does not come to that."

"Mm." Priscilla leans her head closer to Avrenne's. "It'll be alright, Renne," she says. "And if it isn't, I'll help you protect everyone."

Avrenne gives Priscilla a tiny smile, and pats her arm. "I know. Nothing will be like before," she says, her head turning to look in the direction she last knew Siamus to be. "I have faith in that." She tips her chin up, facing forward, and sweeps them both further into the room.

Siamus and Casker John have just emerged from Daisy's room, none the worse for wear — there are several soft smears of blood on Siamus's shirt, but none of it his — and Casker John is locking the door again when there is a sound of running feet. All eyes in the hall turn.

Miss Curran is coming down the hall at a most un-Miss-Curran-like pace. She is barefoot and without her spectacles, and her unpinned hair is a long, wild curtain.

At the sight of the guards ahead she slows and visibly pulls her Miss Curran composure back on. Except for shoes and hair; those can't be helped.

Emerine's attention snaps to Miss Curran, and she stands up very straight.

Avrenne tenses at the sound of running in the hall, but all she does is lead Priscilla to the bookshelf to collect one of Siamus' teas to reheat and probably drink herself now. She still knows where the other two are, it's fine.

"You're all right," Miss Curran says to Siamus. She sweeps an assessing look over the others in the hall. "And Lady Fallon? Lady Moore? Are the sleepers secure?"

As if to demonstrate his current security, Shine rams into his door again. It's a wonder he hasn't dislocated his shoulder by now. Maybe he has. Down the hall, Catrin claws furiously at her door; someone bangs frantically on the wall of Milla's room.

"Ah," says Miss Curran.

"Yes, yes, and yes," Emerine rattles off. "No one's broken out yet. What's happening in the Emerald Dream? Has Ysera been found?"

"Found, yes; freed, no. Not yet. The battle still rages, but dreamers — those of us fighting — began vanishing unwillingly. The Nightmare has moved the sleepers to attack those in the real world who are trying to fight it in the Dream. I wasn't — certain, so I returned to be sure you were all well."

Emerine looks pleased. "That's good progress," she says with confidence.

"We were making remarkable progress. I shouldn't have quit the field, I expect. I suppose I might go back — are there other dreamers in the house? Are they protected?"

Siamus shakes his head. "It was you and Lady Moore that went, and she couldn't sleep."

Emerine gestures to her. "Just you, Miss… Curran?" Has she remembered the name right?

Apparently she has, because Miss Curran only nods. "That's something. I expect that without nearby targets, they won't be quite as focused."

Siamus's expression changes and he looks at Emerine. "It was the wall. That Daisy — she was after Annai. They were all after Annai in particular."

Tarrant looks around them at the locked doors, the noises sounding from behind them. "Eysnogibmup," he observes. "She'mawake but eymstell roiled."

Emerine goes, "Annai?" Again, she looks at Miss Curran for confirmation.

"Yes," says Miss Curran. "Annai Curran." Her tone is so polite and unruffled — despite circumstances and appearances — that there is practically a silent Pleased to make your acquaintance on the end there. "I imagine they're still being compelled to find dreamers; if no one in the house is dreaming, they'd simply be driven farther afield."

"They're harming themselves," Siamus says wearily. "It can't go on. We can't manage them all well enough to protect them from themselves and protect the rest from them for much longer."

"White Lady willing, it won't be much longer," Miss Curran says.

"Emerine Nightvine." Emerine nods respectfully and steps back to her former spot in the hall across from Ralaea's door, crossing her arms over her chest.

Miss Curran smiles at Emerine. "Now, then, I expect we ought to — "

Siamus startles and then tenses, standing perfectly still with his head raised and expression distantly intent, like a man trying to catch the far-off sound he heard a moment ago.

Emerine raises a long kaldorei eyebrow at him.

"Something's coming," he says. "The sky —"

"Oh," says Miss Curran, abruptly white-faced, and puts a hand on the wall as if for balance. "Oh. They're — do you feel — " She looks wide-eyed to Emerine.

Tarrant, Vane, and Thredd mill uneasily. Casker John waits patiently with his hands folded before him.

"Secure them," says Siamus sharply; it’s unclear whether he means the sleepers this time, because he strides at once for the Refuge Room.

Emerine moves instantly to Miss Curran's side and lays a steadying hand on her shoulder, ready to catch her should she faint or otherwise fall.

Avrenne's head turns differently at the sound of Siamus' footfalls in the hall, and she moves to face the door, setting the (now mostly empty) teacup back down on the bookshelf. There is, as before, an enforced calm to her, as she stands straight and tall Avrenne-sized, like she's posing for a portrait of a military commander in uniform within a personal quarters.

Otto huddles tighter into a ball, making an uneasy sound, as he lets go of Finley to cover both of his ears, scooting deeper under the table. Finley uses the opportunity to, rather than comfort the younger man, rise to his feet, looking to Avrenne. What's he supposed to do now? Finley's like twice Otto's size, he's not fitting actually fully under that table comfortably.

Sir Somer rubs a knee, as if it's suddenly aching, a frown on his face. Sophie reaches out a hand to his shoulder in response. "What's going on?" she asks him quietly, a quaver to her voice.

"I don't know," Sir Somer answers, looking up and around the room, his eyes falling on Avrenne as well. It's who he knows to look to for answers, but he's not sure she has them.

Priscilla steps curiously out into the hall to ask the same question of an approaching Siamus: "What's going on?"

Siamus puts a hand on Priscilla's elbow to usher her back into the room almost without looking at her. His gaze is fixed over her head, searching for Avrenne.

As soon as he spots her, his manner shifts, and suddenly instead of tense urgency he is back in calm command mode. "Everyone sit for a moment, if ye can, please. There's — a storm coming." The fractional hesitation tells anyone who knows Siamus well that he's not entirely sure storm is the word he wants for what's happening or about to happen, but it's the best one he's got. "You're all safe, and the sleepers are secured."

Never mind about the blood on his shirt; it isn't his.

(Nor, a very subtle ear might note, does he make any promises of continuing safety; safety is present-tense only. Whatever is about to happen is anyone's guess.)

Priscilla allows herself to be steered into the room. At the command to sit, she looks around for her available seating options.

In the hallway, Miss Curran — still braced against the wall — says to Emerine in a half-whisper, "They've been pulled — they're being pulled together. The Dream and — " Her eyes are enormous. "Can you feel …?"

Finley does not have to be told twice; he sits back down with a thud, and squishes himself under the table with Otto, pulling the smaller man to him, covering Otto as best he can with his own body. Otto makes a high pitched whine of a sound, burrowing into Finley's shirt.

Sir Somer does the opposite, as he stands, one hand on his sword, the other still holding Sophie's, readying to stand between whatever is coming and those who will be sitting.

Avrenne's expression briefly brightens with relief at the sight of Siamus — then tenses at the sight of the blood on his shirt, as she minds it, or at least notes it for later — before she frowns in thought at his words, and the pause. She might have been about to obey orders, to sit, but first her attention goes out, eyes unfocused as she attempts with some other sense of the arcane to feel what is coming.

What Avrenne soon realizes, judging by how she pales and how her eyes go wide on a sharp inhale, is that it is most certainly not an ordinary storm. Her arcane focus is elsewhere, on this storm, her eyes unseeing what's in front of her, but she doesn't need to see to know where Siamus is at the moment, and she reaches out with both hands to him, stepping towards him with the instinctive need of someone seeing danger approaching and seeking out her safety and shelter, her harbor in a storm.

"Tides have mercy," Avrenne swears, her noble Lordaeron accent crisping the words in clear enunciation. "What in the world is that?"

Priscilla pauses at the sight of Avrenne's hesitation, taking a step towards her friend. When Avrenne reaches, Priscilla holds a hand out, continuing to walk towards her.

Emerine's ears have gone into Danger High Alert alignment. "Fuck, that isn't supposed to happen. It can't."

Miss Curran shakes her head at Emerine, wordless and wide-eyed.

In the room, Siamus sees Avrenne reach for him and goes to her at once, pulling her against him. He does not mow Priscilla down in so doing; he does not really seem aware that Priscilla is moving in the same direction, focused as he is.

"Everyone," he says in a voice of Maximum Calm, "please, just sit, and we'll —"

He flinches, his hold on Avrenne tightening, and looks toward the window. A heartbeat later there is a CRACK like the sky itself has just been split asunder, and the house seems to shudder to its foundations.

Two breathless heartbeats later there is a second profound, nearly earth-trembling rumble as the thunder rolls again. This time, though, its voice is that of thunder: ordinary, identifiable thunder, though magnified tenfold. And then the rising roar and hiss of sudden wind and a sluicing downpour of rain. Somewhere nearby, an unsecured shutter bangs.

Priscilla jumps, pressing a hand to her heart. "Oh, when you said there was a storm coming, you meant immediately," she says, and flops into a chair by Otto's hide-under table. It seems to have genuinely startled her.

Avrenne shrinks two inches, curling in under Siamus' embrace, forming a protective little ball around her belly as much as pressing harder into Siamus' shelter. Her eyes are still open, her sight secondary to what she's trying to feel going on around them, but her hands that had been warming have grabbed onto Siamus' shirt, and rapidly cooled. She's safe, and she knows it, she just doesn't know what's happening.

In Daisy's room, Daisy stops struggling, opening her eyes slowly, staring up at the ceiling uncomprehendingly. She has absolutely no idea where she is, or what is going on, her eyes wide and her breath speeding up as panic sets in.

Isla ceases her attempts against the rug, and rolls over. As she recognizes where she is — the HAUNTED ROOM — she gasps with sheer delight, clasping her hands to her chest with an excited squeal, and full body wiggle, feet kicking lightly at the rug. This may very well be the most exciting thing that has ever happened to her and she cannot wait to tell Finley everyone! SHE KNEW IT WAS HAUNTED!

Phoebe lets out a wail like she's in a volume contest with the storm. Lyra's face says she was thinking about doing the same thing but is clinging to the threads of her 19-year-old dignity.

Siamus, as if in a trance, gently lets go of Avrenne — a moment's reassuring hand on her back first — and crosses to the window. He stands for a moment staring out into the dark, the water lashing against the glass, and then, oddly, he unlatches the casement and opens the window.

The wind snatches the casement wide against the hinge at once. "Shhhh, shhh shh," says Siamus, and puts his upturned palm out into the rain, turning his face upward.

There is the sound of someone trying the knob of Milla's room, and then a hesitant knocking from within. "Hello?" calls a quavering voice.

Avrenne heads straight for the screaming child as Siamus moves to the storm, a similar "Shhh, shh, shh," from her, as she reaches out to pick Phoebe up, her head turning at the sound of Milla's voice.

In the hall, Miss Curran straightens. "Done," she says, and her eyes are aglow. "It's done. It's over." Impulsively, she hugs Emerine. Shh, don't tell anyone.

Emerine hugs Miss Curran right back, possibly lifting her an inch off the ground in the process before setting her right back down. "You did it!" she says, very pleased. "Keys! Who has the keys now?"

"The keys — oh." Miss Curran looks around, drawing her composure up again. "The Vice Admiral, I imagine."

"No," says Casker John, and holds up the ring he'd used to unlock Daisy's door. "I have them. I'm afraid I don't know which is which."

The footman Vane, who has managed throughout the last ten minutes to look like this is a pretty typical Tuesday for him, steps forward wordlessly and takes the keys from the priest, handing him his pistol in trade. Casker John stares blankly at the pistol as Vane turns away to begin unlocking sleepers' doors.

"Whooooof," says Tarrant emphatically, and leans against a wall. Thredd nods at him.

"That one first," Emerine says, pointing to Shine's door. "He probably needs healing."

Vane moves expressionlessly to Shine's door and opens it.

The one-eyed footman is sitting in a huddle just inside, clutching a grotesquely dislocated shoulder, his arm hanging at an inhuman angle. Much of his right side is bruised and battered, his lip split, his knuckles bloody. He stares up at Vane and tries to form rasping words.

"Here, now," says Casker John, who hands the pistol to Emerine in passing as he goes to the room. "Here now, that's all right. Let's see to ye, aye?" He kneels down beside Shine and the room brightens with the soft glow of the Light.

Emerine receives a free gun. She sets it down gently in the hallway, unattended, for its owner to collect it, and moves to Ralaea's door to wait for Vane to unlock it.

Vane, after a glance at Emerine, moves accordingly to unlock Rae's door.

Compared to all the thumping and screaming of before, Ralaea's room has gone almost eerily silent.

Emerine lets herself inside Ralaea's room, pulling the door shut behind her, and turns on the lights.

In the Corridor Near the Refuge Room

Avrenne moves with Phoebe to the doorway, glancing down the hallway to Miss Curran and Emerine. "The sleepers — they're awake?" She asks.

Miss Curran, quite thoroughly composed now despite the bare feet and wild hair, turns to Avrenne, "Yes, Your Grace. They are. All's well, now."

"Nartall," Thredd observes. "Sbloody mess, epreestealenim noo." He nods toward Shine's open door.

"Ah," says Miss Curran. "Yes. I expect — there will be some injuries that require seeing to."

"Of course," Avrenne says, as calmly and succinctly as though they've simply confirmed the hour of their arrival for tea. She turns her attention to Phoebe, sweeping briskly back into the room, her manner of one not to be questioned, she is An Duchess, thank you very much, and she is quite sure she outranks a Queen of Space and Time, somehow. "Well, then, I suppose we must be sure to make a plate of things for your mother for when she arrives. I expect she will feel much better after she eats. Do you know if she prefers a pie, or a cookie, or should we simply put both and let her decide, and you might have whichever one she doesn't want?"

Phoebe snuffles tearfully, clinging to Avrenne's neck. She pries one hand loose reluctantly and points to a pie.

Siamus turns away from the window. He is now half-soaked with rain, his bloodstained shirt plastered and his wet hair draggled in his eyes, but he looks strangely exhilarated, as aglow as Miss Curran was moments ago. He rakes his hair back, gazing at Avrenne. "They're awake?" he asks her.

Croft, who had seated himself in a huddle on the floor across from Moirin and Lyra, looks up sharply at Avrenne, hope blazing painfully in his gaze.

"They're awake," the Duchess declares, with all the regal gravitas of a queen, the small child in her arms and her giant belly notwithstanding. She's just The Queen Mother, it's fine. The look she gives Siamus is briefly not entirely composed, her eyes darker and warmer with interest, and takes an involuntary step towards him before she recalls her task. Yes, pie for Catrin, yes, ahem. Serious Duchess. Other thoughts later.

Meanwhile, the rain-soaked Siamus looks bright-eyed around the refuge. "Everyone's well?" he asks, and begins to make his way around the room, checking on people. "Lady Moore? Miss Mercailles? Lyra?"

"If they're awake… yes!" Priscilla stares at the window which Siamus just opened for some reason, as if she can't quite figure out this logic behind his choice. The rain will get in the room. It's even louder and more likely to scare Phoebe again. Why this.

Sophie turns her head a little wildly at her name, unable to locate Siamus in the wake of the sounds of so many people, but Sir Somer takes a knee in front of her. "It's over," he tells her. She exhales shakily, nodding not entirely close enough to Siamus' direction.

"Yes, milord, I'm…I'm well," she says, a little quietly.

Finley emerges next to Priscilla — blinking up at her. Oh, hey. "Scilla," he says, and he sounds relieved to see her. "I can't — " He looks around for Avrenne, who is busy with Phoebe, assembling a plate for her mother slowly but surely. He sighs and turns his head up to her. "I can't get Otto to come out, can you…I don't know. Talk to him?"

Priscilla smiles at Finley. "Of course. Why don't you go check on Isla?" Once Finley has cleared the way, she crawls under the table herself.

Finley snaps to attention. "Isla," he says, and he's off like a shot from a loaded pistol left in the hallway, running for her door.

Otto, meanwhile, is in a tiny floof ball, shaking a little, and he does not want to come out, no, no thank you, this is not fun, this is not okay. There is rain and thunder and people yelling and everyone is talking all at once and Otto can't understand it all with everyone talking over each other.

"Otto, I'm here now," Priscilla says, scooting closer to him so she can gather him up into a hug.

Otto accepts his hug, but he doesn't say anything in return. He might not have fully processed Priscilla's words, or understood their meaning, but he does understand hug.

Moirin — who will, after all, have the job of cleaning things — makes an exasperated noise and gets up to shut the window.

Priscilla sighs with relief as the window is shut. She doesn't try to urge Otto out from under the table, she just holds him, rubbing his back gently.

Isla’s Room

Isla is still inside her room, listening to the Spooky sounds coming from maybe The Beyond! She can hear voices through The Veil! This may be the best day of her life. She has skinned and bruised her knees but this is too much like her normal life to register as weird.

Vane unlocks Isla's door. Time to cross back through the Veil to real life, kiddo, sorry.

Isla squeals with excitement as the door handle jangles! She is ready for the ghost to communicate with her.

Instead, what comes barreling in is Finley, breathless despite the only very few steps it would take to get to her room, slamming open the door like he's never had a Butler Class in his whole life.

"Oh, Lee, look! Look, she — " is as far as Isla gets before Finley's swept her up into a hug, and no, he is not crying, he got rainwater on his face from earlier before Moirin shut the window, that's all. He's shaking because he's, uh, hypoglycemic or something. I dunno. An Excuse that is definitely not crying. Isla is bewildered, as she pats Finley back, trying to get a good look at him. "Lee? What's…what's wrong? I'm fine! The ghost didn't hurt me, she just took me, but I'm still here." If any of that makes sense to Finley, he doesn't show it, he just holds onto her and doesn't let go.

Inside Ralaea’s Room

Ralaea, still in a bundle, is standing upright, pressed back against a wall, glaring at Emerine. "Here to finish the job?" she asks, all but bristling with hostility.

"No," Emerine says, leaning against the door and crossing her arms. "I'm here to explain that you're awake now, and what has been happening while you were asleep. Once I know you know where you are and what's happening, I'll let you out."

There is clear confusion on Ralaea's face, but the hostility does not immediately disappear. "If you're not here to kill me, then untie me and give me back my runesword."

Emerine laughs. "You've never had a runesword, Rae. You're in Fallon House. You fell asleep and you've been trapped in a nightmare for days."

"I'll buy the trapped in a nightmare part," Ralaea says. "But this isn't where you say it is. Your employer wants something from me."

Emerine's tone is calm. "You're in the East Wing. This isn't your usual room. We took most of the furniture out so you wouldn't hurt yourself or anyone else, because you and everyone else who was sleeping started getting violent all around the same time. Once you're calm, you can walk around the house and verify that information. For now, look at what you're wearing. Is it familiar to you?"

Ralaea pauses to look herself over, checking conflicting information in her head. "The sheet?" she asks at last. She is, after all, still wearing a burrito.

"That blanket was from the bed in your room. I don't believe you were sleeping in it, because you had your tent, but you might recall the pattern, perhaps. Siamus and I had to bundle you up so you didn't hurt us or yourself." Emerine holds her hands up. "If I come remove the sheet, will you remain calm?"

"If I say no, you're just going to leave me here," Ralaea mutters. "Fine, take it off."

"I told you that I'm going to let you go," Emerine says, shaking her head. She approaches carefully. "You mentioned a runesword. Were you dreaming about Harvey?"

"Harvey…he died a year ago," Ralaea says. "The runesword is mine, and I'm not going to forget about it because you think I should. I just… I need it back, I can't explain."

"Harvey's dead, yes, but he's still among us as one of the unliving. He hasn't died a second time. He's awaiting a trial, do you remember that?" Emerine begins to untie Ralaea and remove the blanket.

This gives Ralaea pause. "I… I think? But that doesn't make sense, I thought that he…"

Emerine discards the blanket and the rope onto the bed. "You're remembering something that must have happened in your nightmares, I think. The trial is real. I figure it's been postponed due to the whole sleeping business, but it should happen soon now that you've all woken up. Do you remember staying at Fallon House?"

Ralaea nods slowly, examining her hands and arms as though unsure that they're really hers. "Yeah, but it…feels like it happened a long time ago. They're…alive then? I didn't kill them all?"

"You didn't kill anyone here. They're alive. The Lady Fallon's been keeping up with your injections. I imagine it's pretty chaotic out in the hall right now, because we've had six people asleep here, but if I let you out so you can see for yourself, will you be calm?" Emerine crouches down by Rae's feet, taking out the key to the cuffs.

Ralaea takes a deep breath. "Could I just…stay in here, for a bit? I don't think I'm ready to…look at them, yet."

"Sure." Emerine unlocks the cuffs and drops into a seated position up against the wall, stretching her legs out in front of her. "Want me to talk to you about the present some more?"

Ralaea sits down as well. "Yeah. I'm going to guess Kaela Mondragon's my enemy again?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I'm here to protect you from her or her people." Emerine collects her handcuffs and then leans her head back against the wall, closing her eyes. "I've been awake for way too long, myself. I've pushed it before, but this is really pushing it. Have you ever heard of the Emerald Dream before? It's a druid thing."

"No, and of course it is," Ralaea says, her default sullen expression finally returning. "If you need to sleep, it's fine, I'll…figure this out somehow."

"Oh, I will soon enough." Emerine tilts her head, smiling lazily. "I guess I don't really know enough details about what went wrong enough to explain it to you just yet. But I can find out, within the next day or so, just how resolved it is and whether it has any chance of ever happening again. I know people to write to who'll have those answers."

Emerine takes a deep breath. "A call for help went out last night from Malfurion Stormrage. He's basically…" She yawns. "As big a deal as one of your kings, if not bigger, to my people. The first druid ever. Old as a naga ruin. Well, older."

"So, this wasn't a Scourge thing, it was a druid thing?" Ralaea asks. "Or did the Scourge figure out how to trap people in nightmares for days by infiltrating…green dreamland or whatever?"

Emerine pauses. "I don't think it was Scourge-related at all, but I can confirm that one way or another for you tomorrow. Either way, the druids were trying to fix it."

"I guess it worked?" Ralaea stares towards the door. "Hope it went better for other folks, but for me it feels like I've lost a year I thought I'd lived. Well, not…lived, exactly. I'm not…disappointed, or anything, it's just weird."

"It worked," Emerine says, nodding. "I hope this real year'll be a better one for you than the nightmare year." There's another tired smile.

"Me too," Ralaea says quietly.

In the Corridor

Meanwhile, Croft has emerged from the Refuge Room and is seated in the door of his sister's room, resolutely shoulder to shoulder with her as Casker John heals the silently weeping Milla's battered, bloody hands. Catrin, who was in a worse state, was healed first, and is now seated quietly on the floor of the hallway wrapped in a horse blanket like a shawl and staring vacantly at nothing.

Siamus — still sodden, still bloodstained — emerges from the refuge and finds the shaky-looking Shine standing awkwardly in the hall between Burren and Vane. Wordlessly, Siamus goes directly to him and wraps him up in an embrace, rocking him a little. Shine's arms close around him fiercely and they stand like that in silence.

Vane feigns an interest in the wallpaper; Burren moves uncertainly down the hall toward Catrin.

Finley hasn't let go of Isla and he isn't going to until someone shuts the window that keeps spraying rainwater onto his face. That would be more believable if there was an open window anywhere near him.

Avrenne briefly leaves Phoebe with the plate tea service finishing to glance into the hallway, taking stock of things with quick flicks of her eyes. Upon seeing Catrin, she moves further through the door, with a quick glance back at Phoebe to fix her location, just stay there for a moment little girl, and asks in a very low voice, "Catrin?"

Catrin looks up dully at the sound of her name. When she sees that it's the Duchess Esprit who's just addressed her, she makes an effort to rise to her feet.

Avrenne risks stepping closer into the hallway, and therefore not quite blocking the door as effectively if a four-year-old ran for it, reaching out a hand in offer. She has that composed calm to her, a certainty of action. She's still trying to be quiet, although her voice has a tendency to carry. "Catrin, if you believe you are steady enough, we have Phoebe with us in this room here; she's quite well, and assembling some sweets for you with Cook."

Catrin's eyes go huge and she makes a choked, gasping sound. "Phoebe? She is — ?" She drops the horse blanket from around her shoulders and seizes Burren's offered hand to rise urgently. Her eyes have filled with tears. "Phoebe!" she cries.

"Mama!" cries a little voice in answer, and Phoebe comes eeling out of the room from behind Avrenne and goes pelting down the hall. She has a cookie in each hand. "Mama mama mama!"

Avrenne does not tell Phoebe that if she does not run in the hallway, she will not trip, because Exceptional Circumstances. She simply straightens up, clasps her hands over her belly, and watches with eyes a little over bright, before she continues past to Isla's room.

Isla's hands are visible on Finley's back, and that's about all. "Lee, really, what is going on?" She's getting dangerously close now to stomping her foot in frustration.

"Isla?" Avrenne asks.

"Oh, Avrenne, isn't it marvelous? Have I been missing for days? Did the ghost take more of us?" Isla asks, squirming around, trying to get free of Finley's embrace, popping her head to the side to see Avrenne. She has sparkles in her eyes, despite who knows how long within her own nightmares. They have been swept back and away for the moment in the intensity of this present joy of having been part of some supernatural happening.

Avrenne opens her mouth, pauses, closes it, and tries again. "Finley will explain," she decides. "Finley, will you please let Isla know what has been happening?"

There's a jerky nod from the young man. A task. Okay. A job. He can do a job. "Yeah, yeah. It's… it wasn't a ghost, Isla. There's no ghost."

"There is too," Isla immediately protests, pulling her head back to try to look up at Finley and now, actually, stomping a foot. Oh, boy. Well, Avrenne is sure they'll work that out.

Avrenne moves along to Daisy's door, hesitating before opening it.

In the hall, Catrin is kneeling now, weeping and clutching Phoebe to her as the child tries through her own tears to tell the garbled story of the last few days and offer her mama a cookie. Burren stands quietly, a grounding hand on Catrin's shoulder.

Thredd goes into the Refuge Room to find Lyra; Moirin comes out. Tarrant stands awkwardly in the middle of everything.

Moirin goes first to Milla, whom Croft is helping to her feet, and gives her a hug, and then goes to Catrin to put her hand on Catrin's other shoulder. Siamus and Shine move down the hall toward Catrin, Siamus's arm still around Shine's shoulders; they are trailed by Vane.

"Catrin," says Siamus gently, and Catrin looks up, startled, and tries hastily to blot her face with the back of her hand. Phoebe has burrowed against her mother and looks up at Siamus a little murderously. He'd better not be trying to put Mama someplace else.

"If ye could all come in here," Siamus says to the servants around him, and gestures at Catrin's recently-vacated room. "I'll explain what's happened, and we can talk about what comes next. John —" He steps back and looks around for the priest.

"Aye?" Casker John comes forward.

"It will be properly daybreak soon — when it is, will ye go see Larabie and Mr. Latour, and be sure they're well?"

The priest nods.

Siamus looks to Tarrant. "Take Thredd and get down to the Harbor, see that they've all woken there as well, and what state the place is in. Tell them I'll be down myself midday to have the survey of it, aye?"

Tarrant nods as well, and makes a little salute. "Sar."

Siamus ushers the servants with him into Catrin's room and closes the door.

In Daisy's room, Avrenne leaves the door open behind her as she moves to untie the young woman, slowly working between having had to first get down to the ground and then figuring out which knot this is and undoing it with delicate fingers. She speaks softly, as she explains in her own way the past week, and in particular the past few days.

At first, there's not much to give away how badly this explanation is going.

And then there's an audible shouting, Daisy's voice lacking Avrenne's clear carrying tone, but making up for it in pure teenage rage.

“Because you had no right!” It is practically screamed. “No right to go into my home, go through my things, take me wherever you want, do whatever you please.”

Surprisingly, there is an answering shout, as Avrenne’s temper slips its leash. Her voice carries significantly, her words enunciated crisply, but with growing anger and frustration souring the notes. “No right? This wasn’t an abduction as though I insisted on an attendance and you declined. Daisy, you have needed to be healed repeatedly, by a priest of the Light! If we had left you there, you might have been injured, permanently, you cannot think that I would have ever let that happen to – “

“Yes, I can. I can think that!” Daisy’s voice gets louder, likely because she’s pushing past Avrenne to get into the hall, her face contorted with rage. “Because that’s the whole point of everything I’ve done! I’m not your ward anymore. You don’t get any say in what I do or don’t do or what happens to me anymore! You’re supposed to respect that, and not just do whatever you want whenever you decide it’s right because of course you know best, of course you can just force anyone to anything you want, and no one can gainsay you, you’re a Duchess!”

Ooh, that left a mark. Not a physical one, but the tone of Avrenne’s voice shifts from only frustrated anger to something mixed with anguish. “I did it because you’re family!”

Daisy has made it out into the hallway, and whirls around to cut a hand through the air. “No, I’m not! You are not my family, and you never have been! I have a real family, and you are not it!”

Avrenne stands inside Daisy’s room, on the other side of the open door, her hands held so tightly together they must be hurting by now, her face twisting as she halts tears at the gates of her eyes.

Casker John is still standing near the mouth of the hallway, close to the Refuge Room, and he straightens at Daisy's emergence. His expression is mild but he makes no pretense of not having heard anything.

The door of Catrin's room opens, and then Siamus is in the hallway too. His gaze is fixed on Daisy, and it is very, very black.

"That's enough," he says to her. "Ye will not raise your voice at Lady Fallon, and ye will not make a display of your childish ingratitude."

Behind him, from inside Catrin's room, Moirin peers avidly out. Juicy stuff afoot!

Daisy's height makes her look grown, but the tight balled fists at her side, and the hot mottled red across her cheeks emphasizes her youth. She juts her chin forward, a partial mimicry of Avrenne's own lift upwards, perhaps.

"I am not a child," she shouts at Siamus, which is, as some protests can be, not the most convincing of statements when spoken like that. "And you, none of you, have any right to treat me like one."

Avrenne steps forward at that into the hallway, and more telling of her own feelings are two vividly red streaks across her cheeks, as if she's been slapped hard on each side. Well. Now Siamus knows what that blush looks like.

"You will not raise your voice at me," says Siamus. He does not raise his own voice, but there is such an icy whipcrack in his tone that three grown men in the vicinity who have all served on ships with him flinch. "If ye don't want to be thought a child, ye won't carry on like one. I've met cats with better manners."

Casker John speaks up mildly, in his grave, gravelly tone. "Do ye see the blood on Lord Fallon's shirt, lass? That's your own, not even an hour gone. Ye'd have battered yourself to death on a wall if ye'd not been here where someone could hold ye and someone could heal ye. And that wasn't something ye did by choice either, but something the Nightmare made ye do. Ye were under the power of something evil, and would ye rather have been in its hold helpless, or with the help of people who thought of ye, came for ye and cared for ye?"

Siamus does not hear half of this speech himself, because he has seen Avrenne's face and goes to her immediately.

Moirin has also seen the Duchess's face and is now glaring at Daisy balefully. How very dare.

In the Refuge Room, under the table, Otto makes high pitched rumbling sounds, rocking a little back and forth. He might not be parsing the words well, but he can hear that people are shouting.

Priscilla has curled around Otto, making 'shh, shh' noises. "Daisy's mad, that's all. We're safe."

Finley's expression has gone dark with fury, and he whispers harshly to Isla before leaving her and stepping into the hallway with a servant's silent, unobtrusive footfalls. He remains in place, staring at Daisy, his thoughts not so well guarded now, but he waits for an order.

Avrenne has summoned up the wall over her expression, features schooled into a cold, unassailable mask, her shoulders rigid and perfectly aligned, head held high. It would be so much more convincing if not for that flush that she cannot force back, the stain of it like spilled red wine over a white tablecloth.

Daisy turns her own reddened face and glare on Casker John, those same hands that battered at her wall in tight, angry fists, looking for all the world like she would use them again to force her way out if she thought it would work. "I wouldn't have been — " Is the start of something, before she pales around the redness, a sentence halted and course reversed in a way that draws more attention to what she had been about to say, and she tries covering it by directing her ire at Avrenne. "Better to have been alone, than with someone who will tally every favor done and gift given and copper spent in a ledger for what she thinks she's owed and use it against you."

The metaphorical shot lands in a twitch of Avrenne's shoulders, a flickering of her eyes as she holds her face steady.

Burren has ushered Moirin aside to move out into the hall as well. He is regarding Daisy with a servant's inscrutable mask.

Siamus puts his hand on Avrenne's back. "Get out of my house," he tells Daisy. His voice is low and cold. "Get out, and may ye someday regret what ye've thrown away."

It is still raining out and the sun has not yet risen, but none of Fallon House's people — not even Casker John, who may have considered it briefly — protests this order. Burren, in fact, takes two steps up the hall toward Daisy. As a good footman, he is more than willing to show her to the door.

Daisy, who is dressed in simple clothing meant for indoors, doesn't protest it either. She looks like she might say another thing, but doesn't, charging for the stairs like she's ready to fight them to get out.

It's Avrenne who protests the order, watching Daisy leave as she is, and Avrenne reaches out a hand to her husband, speaking low, her voice slightly cracked. "Siamus, it's raining, winter, if she walks back — " she starts.

"I'll go," Finley says, stepping forward, glaring in the direction of Daisy's retreating back. "I'll get her to Stormwind." He sounds a bit like he's likely to manhandle her into a carriage, fear of horses notwithstanding, and kick her out of it in a tuck and roll the second they're at the gates, but here we are.

Siamus flicks a glance at Finley, nods curtly.

Avrenne briefly closes her eyes against something, and curls a hand around Siamus' arm, holding onto him. The temperature of her skin is cool; whatever emotions grip her, anger or fear aren't the main culprits at least. "Thank you," she says, to both of them, as she keeps hold of her composure.

Finley returns the nod with a bow, before using his own long legs to catch up to Daisy. It's not going to be a pleasant ride.

"My apologies for the scene." Avrenne clears her throat, trying to shed that cracked note, standing closer to Siamus. "If you will excuse me a moment." She doesn't give a reason for her leaving, or say where she's going. Given the direction she's pointed in, it's probably to her room. She walks through the corridor in precise, stately steps, her dignity and poise pulled so tightly around her it might be starting to hurt a little.

Siamus watches her go, silently.

Moirin emerges fully from Catrin's room. She is still bristling with vicarious outrage. "My lord?" she asks.

Siamus continues to watch Avrenne. "In ten minutes, bring her tea and see if she'd like a bath drawn." After a moment's further thought, he glances down at the housemaid. "And go in to Lady Moore and see whether, once Otto is settled, she'll go to her."

Moirin dips a perfunctory curtsey and heads for the Refuge Room.

Siamus waits for another moment, and then turns to the door from which Finley emerged. He knocks politely on the doorframe rather than stepping through the still-open door. "Isla, child? Are ye well?"

Isla still has a look of utter, tiny rage on her face for a whole half second before she brightens up at the sight of Siamus, her mood shifting entirely to the other side. "Oh! Yes, I'm fine, thank you!" At the moment at least, she seems it, leaving her spot to get closer. "I didn't realize that Daisy had —" The rage is there for another flash of lightning, before it's banished with a head shake and she looks up at Siamus, tossing that thought aside for a new one. "What about me? Finley said he wasn't here when I got put in my room, and he won't tell me anything real or useful about it at all." This is said with a brief huff, before she gets stars back in her eyes. "Was I terrible? Did I thrash and, oh! Did I look any different? Bigger? Claws? Oh, wait, fangs?" She demonstrates with her hands held out in little claws and baring her small teeth.

Is…is she asking if she was a good zombie? She might be asking if she was a good zombie.

Siamus looks slightly nonplussed. He is not, as some members of this household are, deeply familiar with Isla's imagination. "Ye… fell a great deal," he says.

Then he contemplates the direction of her apparent enthusiasm and tries a slightly different tack. "Ye did… thrash, and… Avrenne had to make ye into a sheep for a moment, as ye couldn't be managed."

Isla gasps in delight, clasping both hands to her chest. "Oh, really?" That will be added into the soon to come fanfiction. "A sheep!" She looks as though she's about to charge out to find Avrenne to have her describe this sheepening. "She made me a sheep!" Her volume is a little too loud in vibrating excitement. "I have to tell, oh, Lee, but he's…" Again that dark cloud, before it's gusted away. "Scilla! I didn't know Avrenne could even make a sheep. I wonder if she'll do it again so I can describe it. I don't remember it all." She moves to bound out of the room, to tell Priscilla about the fact that she was a sheep! At some point! How dramatic!

Siamus stares after her.

Isla flies through the hall, and bursts into the Refuge Room with excitement. It is a minor miracle she doesn't fall. At last, she has some real dramatic answers, and she needs to tell someone. "Scilla?" She asks the room at large.

Sir Somer looks as though he's had a Night, but he nods to the table at the query, directing Isla's attention to it. Sophie, still sitting, has clearly been crying again, and is now trying to get back up to a stand, turning her face from Isla's voice, swiping at her face. "Geoff," she says quietly, as she gets up at last, motivated to make her way back to her room before Isla realizes Sophie's state. Sir Somer offers his arm, to escort her out and there.

"We're under here," Priscilla calls from beneath the table, petting Otto's floofy hair. "Otto's scared by all the yelling."

Isla's hands fly to her mouth, covering it. Oh. Oops. She drops into a crouch by the table, and then promptly tips over a little, landing harder on her hands and knees with an "Oh, ow," before she adds, "I'm fine! I'm fine!" She's stage whispering now. She pushes back up and peers at them both, smiling. "Sorry, Otto. Did you hear that I was a sheep and I thrashed horribly, and I was just dreadfully terrible." Siamus might not have put it that way but that's how it's going down in the story now.

Otto raises his head slowly, blinking at Isla, it might be taking him a moment to understand what she's saying. Finally he uncurls a little, and reaches out a hand to Priscilla. Hold hand, please. "Did you fight as a sheep?" His voice is very wispy, almost incomprehensible from the whisper of it. Does he mean in the war? When she was a sheep? Unclear.

Priscilla takes Otto's hand. "That was yesterday, when Avrenne turned her into one…" Wait. "Yesterday? Two days ago…?" She's lost track of time.

Isla certainly doesn't know. "I don't know! Did I fight? Lee said it had been more than a week that I've been sleeping! I don't feel like I've slept for a week." A new thought, more horrifying than being a sheep, occurs to her as she puts her hands up to her hair, nearly tipping over again. "Do I look like I've been sleeping for a week?" She squeaks, embarrassment hovering on the edges.

Isla looks like she's been fighting rugs, her hair more not in a braid than in a braid, but honestly, how different this really is from Regular Isla is debatable.

Priscilla chuckles. "No, but you didn't need to eat or drink, either. Everyone sort of… magically stopped aging for a little while."

Isla looks even more intrigued, scooting in under the table. "Oh, do you think… will we need to move my birthday by a week? Or was I somewhere else and this was just a figment of me here? Do you think somewhere there's another Isla?" She's already spinning an entire AU concept now, her excitement building.

"Maybe she fought in the War. Scilla tried to fight in it," Otto says, sniffing as he rubs at his eyes.

"The war? Was I in a war?" Isla asks of Priscilla. "Were you in a war? What war?" She sounds equal parts excited and confused. Finley may not have referred to the Emerald Dream experience as a 'war.' Or maybe he glossed over it a bit.

Isla's enthusiasm has at least one (1) other effect combined with the quieter halls and room, which is that Otto is calming. He looks like he could probably leave from under the table. He isn't trying to get out yet, but he's generally comfortable under furniture as a rule.

Priscilla begins to explain what she knows, which is mostly just Malfurion's announcement and then the very dramatic rainstorm starting when everyone woke up. She sounds quite disappointed that she wasn't able to fall asleep.

In Ralaea’s Room

Siamus, having abandoned the attempt at comprehending 15-year-old aspiring writers, goes across the hall now to knock courteously at Rae's door. "Ralaea? It's Siamus."

This is almost certainly the first time he has addressed her directly by her first name, and it is certainly certainly the first time he's used his own first name with her.

Ralaea flinches, hearing Siamus's voice, and reaches for a sword that isn't there. Probably more a reflex than anything. After a notable hesitation, she answers in a voice that trembles, despite her best efforts. "Yeah?"

"Are ye well? May I come in?"

Emerine lets Rae answer that one. She tips her head back against the wall, eyes shut.

Ralaea's hands curl into balls in her lap, and she nods. …Before realizing nodding at a closed door wouldn't do much. "…Yeah," she says meekly, hopefully loud enough to be heard.

"She says yeah, come in," Emerine calls.

Siamus opens the door and steps in, drawing it closed behind him. He moves a few steps into the room but no farther; perhaps he doesn't want to crowd Rae. Perhaps he wants to keep some distance from her teeth.

"How are ye feeling, lass?" he asks. "Are ye well?" He studies her, his expression grave with concern.

Ralaea stares at his feet, unable to bring herself to look at him more directly. "You really don't have my runesword?" she asks.

"Your —" Siamus glances at Emerine, a brow tipped down, and then looks back at Rae. He takes another step closer, and after a moment's hesitation, crouches down. "Ye haven't got a runesword, Ralaea. Ye're not one of the dead. Ye were in a nightmare. I expect Sentinel Nightvine's explained?"

"Yeah. She dreamt, like, a year's worth of memories." Emerine grimaces a little.

Siamus winces sympathetically and looks at Rae again.

"She…" Ralaea sighs. "She did. But it felt so real. It might take a bit to sort out what really happened. Or didn't."

Siamus nods. After a moment, he resigns himself and just sits on the floor like everyone else in here is doing. He glances at Emerine a little self-consciously, and then focuses on Rae. "I do know what that's like," he tells her quietly. "Not — the extent, aye? But… the nightmare, and the not knowing. At any rate, we have ye back here and safe now, aye?"

Ralaea nods a little, making temporary eye contact, almost as a test. "You had me tied," she says. "It wasn't…just a nightmare, was it? What was I doing, if not what I thought I was?"

"Ye were… sleepwalking. Sleep… fighting. Whatever had the lot of ye in nightmares — and it wasn't just you — roused all of ye against the people around. That's why we confined the lot of ye. And we bound ye — and confined ye in rooms as bare as we could get them — so that ye wouldn't harm yourself, as a few did." He studies her gravely. "I apologize for doing it. We wouldn't have if it didn't seem necessary for your own sake as well as others'."

"No, no that's…it makes sense. It was a good call. Did I hurt anyone? Sounds like you might've had your hands full." Ralaea might be picturing something else, thanks to the word 'fighting.'

Siamus's lips twitch. After a moment, he says very solemnly, "Ye bit me."

Emerine snickers quietly.

Ralaea blinks at him. "Bit? With…with teeth? Actual biting?" Though she doesn't say it, her expression whispers, 'is that all?'

"With your actual teeth, aye, ye bit me." Siamus shows her his forearm, which is not that helpful as it's been totally healed since, like, five minutes after the bite.

But then he considers her expression, recalls Isla's excited questions of a few minutes ago, and decides to elaborate. "Ye made a serious job of it, as well, very bloody. Ye were the first one we had to bind, and I expect if ye'd had your hands free at that point ye might have done a deal worse. But as it was, all ye had was teeth. And ye made the best of it."

Yes, Rae, you were very scary. Ferocious zombie burrito.

"At least you're alive," Ralaea mutters, though a flash of doubt across her face leaves unsaid, 'unless this is a dream.'

Siamus lowers his arm and regards her again seriously. "I am thoroughly alive, aye, I assure ye. You're awake now, still at ho– Fallon House, everyone's well. Will ye have something to eat or drink? I find it… settles me, when I wake and can't be sure."

It's usually whiskey, but we don't have to tell Rae that part.

"I don't need —" Ralaea stops herself. "Actually…yeah. Okay."

Emerine nods to her. "There you go. I think I'll be going to sleep, now, if things are all settled?"

Siamus inclines his head to Emerine. "Thank ye kindly, Sentinel Nightvine, for all your help in — this. It was invaluable."

Emerine grins. "Welcome." She looks him over. "Say, did you fall half out a window into the rain or what?"

Siamus looks down at himself, startled by the question. "Oh. Ah. I — opened the window. For the rain." As one does.

Emerine laughs. Humans! What will they do next? She waves him and Rae off to go eat.

Siamus gets to his feet and offers Rae a hand up. He doesn't even look worried about being bitten again. "There's food across the hall. Cook brought it up earlier."

Ralaea accepts his help without her usual hesitation, which is how you know she's not all there. Her grip strength is stronger than it's been in months. "Yeah? Okay. I'll go see. Thanks."

Siamus opens the door to usher Rae out into the hall.

Emerine eyes the bed in the room like she's seriously considering it.

Outside Avrenne’s Room

In the hall outside of Avrenne's room, there's a tap tap tap on her door. "Renne?" Priscilla asks. "Would you like me to come in?"

There's a silence. And instead of an answer, Avrenne opens the door, and moves to step outside it and close it behind her.

The evidence of whatever moment Avrenne took has been covered up as best she can. The redness is gone — in fact, for the first time in five days she's wearing cosmetics again, a slight tint of green barely visible on her eyelids, canceling out the redness. That her eyes look a little puffy is unfortunately not so readily covered up. She has also changed her dress, from the red running dress, to a deep navy blue velvet trimmed with white, with a longer hem and heavier drape that makes her seem elegant and put together.

"No, that's not necessary," Avrenne tells Priscilla, head held high. "Have there been any changes? Isla?"

Priscilla offers Avrenne her arm, either escort or friendship-link style, Avrenne's choice. "She's managed to get Otto to come out from under the table, and she's in quite a good mood dramatizing her time as a sheep."

Avrenne links up with her friend. "Oh, goodness." We have returned to the ladylike cursing. "Well, at least there is that." She frowns, however, a moment later. "Though really, if we have come to an end of things, both of them really ought to be in bed by now. They'll be entirely off schedule for meals tomorrow if they don't get some rest soon."

"I don't know if Isla is tired," Priscilla says, shrugging. "Was sleeping for over a week restful for them? I haven't the slightest idea! But if it did count, then… she's awake at the right time." She does not address the Daisy-shaped elephant in the room at all. Avrenne will talk about it when and if she wants to.

Avrenne Esprit Fallon, talk openly about how she feels about something while there are other people she could be taking care of? Ha ha any way.

"Otto has not slept and he really should. And I expect with all the excitement, if she does not calm soon, Isla will be awake for hours and then fall asleep around lunch." Avrenne is already walking down the hallway now to the Refuge Room. "We shall give them at least a few hours of rest, and they can have a late brunch, perhaps."

"You're probably right," Priscilla agrees. Avrenne knows about Schedules.

Speaking of which, Avrenne eyes her friend over. "Priscilla, you really ought to do the same. It's been a very trying few hours, and with the staff settling, you should get some rest. I can see to the children," by which she means to encompass not only Isla but also Otto and Finley, "And I promise I will take a proper rest once Siamus is ready to retire." She does not say because she would like her security blanket husband with her for hot-hands-watching, but maybe it's implied. "Besides, the sooner you sleep, the sooner you may wake and write Lord Bertrand and be sure all is well. I do wonder if he might have fought in the Emerald Dream with the others."

"Oh. I rather suppose I should, shouldn't I." Priscilla makes a face at the prospect, but brightens up at the 'besides'. "Oh, yes. I'm sure he would have wanted to. I wonder if he did!" She is now walking the wrong direction for if she wants to go to bed, so when they reach the Refuge Room, she gives Avrenne a little squeeze and calls out, "Good night, everyone!" to the room at large.

Siamus, who is standing near the window again — he has not reopened it, Moirin will be glad to know, but is only gazing out at the rain — looks over his shoulder. "Lady Moore," he acknowledges with a smile. His gaze goes to Rae, upon whom he appears to be keeping an eye. When he is not staring at the rain.

He might be a little tired too.

"Good night," Avrenne tells Priscilla, disentangling from her friend.

Isla has been busy stuffing various foods into her face as if she's trying to make up not eating for a week, and hurriedly sets down two hand pies at the sight of Avrenne, hastily wiping her hands on her dress — whoops — and brushing crumbs off her face. "Good night!" She calls to Priscilla, and starts to rush to Avrenne.

"Isla," Avrenne warns.

"Sorry, yes," Isla says, slowing her roll a little as she gets closer. "Avrenne, will you make me a sheep again? Please, please, please?" Big, giant pleading eyes.

"Absolutely not," Avrenne says crisply, holding out a hand to the younger girl. "And really, with things over and done, you really should be in bed at this time. Come on. If you sleep now, then we shall have you wake in a few hours, and have a late brunch, and be right back on schedule as soon as possible. Otto," she says, holding out her other hand for him.

Otto is very fine with this, hold hand, go places with Avrenne.

Isla sulks for a brief second, and then perks up at brunch. Oooh! Brunch! Special Brunch!

Avrenne has one ward now in each hand, and she flicks her eyes from Ralaea to Siamus, holding for a few beats on him there at the window.

He looks away from Rae again, this time to Avrenne, and his own gaze softens. He inclines his head to her, smiling faintly.

Ralaea stands in a corner — with her back to it this time — eating. She primarily looks at peoples' feet, to identify them.

Avrenne's are the feet that Ralaea can't see properly because of the giant pregnant bump in her way, but that's probably still very identifying.

Avrenne smiles back at Siamus dreamily for a moment, before she remembers her face is supposed to be composed, and also that she's staring at him. Ahem. She might be tired. Right, game face back on. "Ralaea," she says, dragging her attention off Siamus. "I think it would be for the best if we resume your treatment this morning if you feel ready for it, to best ensure not so long a gap since your last, and to not have the treatment too close to this evening's." Yes, she is still working on immediately getting things back to normal. The Avrenne Esprit Fallon Way.

"I would like to…pass on being stabbed with anything for a while," Ralaea says, staring at the floor a little tensely. It's not that she's suspicious…it's that she isn't NOT suspicious.

"That's all right," Siamus says soothingly. Not clear which woman he's trying to soothe.

Avrenne's brows raise, but she nods. "Very well. It is not unreasonable given the exceptional circumstances." What can't they excuse for an evening. "I will check with you tonight, and we shall see how you feel." She might have persuasion later, but not at the moment. She indulges in one more look at Siamus at the window with a, "Vice Admiral," before she pulls both wards along in her wake out of the room, Isla looking back longingly at the two pies she doesn't get to take with her. Maybe the Brunch will have little tarts or quiches, or oh! More pies!

Siamus moves closer to Rae in her corner. He lifts a hand as if to touch her elbow, but does not actually make contact with her. "Better?" he asks quietly.

"I'll need to look over my gear soon," she says, avoiding the question.

Siamus drops his hand. "Aye. As ye like. Shall I let ye be, then?"

"For now," Ralaea replies. "I might have more questions later."

"Of course. Ye can find me whenever ye like." Siamus pauses. "… later. I might be asleep, soon." His tone is wry.

He steps away from her. "Ralaea," he says cordially, and takes his leave.

In Isla’s Room

Avrenne pats Isla’s bedding one more time, smoothing out the corners and edges of the blanket until they’re perfectly aligned in clear angles and shapes. “There. Now, do get some rest. Even if you don’t sleep, as long as you are resting, it will help when you rise later for Late Brunch. It will take a few days for things to return to the proper rhythm, I expect, but the sooner we start, the sooner it will be right again.” She moves to leave, but Isla’s hand darts out from under the blankets, and grabs a fistful of Avrenne’s dress, halting the duchess in place.

“Avrenne?”

“Yes?” Avrenne’s brows raise as she regards the teenager.

“It’s not…I’m not going to have them again, am I?” Isla asks in a very small voice. “If I go to sleep, I’m not going to see…”

“No,” Avrenne says, reassuringly, setting her hand over Isla’s. “No, those were…it was part of the unnatural attack by the Emerald Dream’s circumstances. It won’t happen anymore. You’re safe from that now.” She says it confidently, and calmly, as if she has any actual guarantee of this.

But the words do the trick, as Isla’s grip loosens, and she settles back a little. “You didn’t… did you get… attacked?” Isla’s words are hesitant, and she can’t help the darting glance at Avrenne’s hands. “Did the… the fire… ?”

“No,” Avrenne lies, reassuringly, removing her hand from Isla’s. She leans over to smooth Isla’s hair, and withdraws. “There was no fire. I never had any need for the fire this time at all. There never is, not with Siamus here.”

Isla relaxes fully in a full body sigh. Whew. She nods, and pulls the blankets up into a disarray of cuddled cloth around her face. “I’m really, really glad we were here,” she says, closing her eyes.

“So am I,” Avrenne replies quietly, as she moves to sweep out of the room, and on to the next person to take care of, probably her husband, because when everything went wrong she had been attempting to get him to take his rest, and Avrenne Esprit Fallon can be delayed but rarely stopped.