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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | Avrenne comes to see to Ralaea's first injections after the end of the Nightmare's forced sleep, Siamus comes to make sure his ladies are well, and they find something for Ralaea to look forward to instead of only worrying about. Personal character plots RP. 7400-ish words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
It has always been a respectable time after dinner that the Lady Fallon has tapped on Ralaea's door for her nightly treatment — an assumption, perhaps, that Ralaea would like time to ready herself for bed, like a lady — and although the Circumstances Meter remains at Unusual (downgraded from yesterday's Exceptional), the schedule is being held to, and Avrenne knocks elegantly and decisively at precisely the same time as usual. That in itself might be oddly grounding in this reality, a return to a sense of a year past, of the consistency of the duchess.
Unlike the other times, tonight Ralaea answers the door herself, stepping aside when she sees who it is. Inside the room, Ralaea's belongings have been emptied from her bag and are strewn across the floor, but there is, at least, a path to the bed, and another leading to the tent.
"It's…that time?" Ralaea asks, glancing at her mess a little nervously.
Avrenne, still dressed for dinner in the deep red velvet trimmed with black dress, stands framed in the doorway for a moment, her hands folded one over the other on the top of her belly. Her eyes flick rapidly over the room, but return to Ralaea without any noticeable change in her expression. She's just done inventory; her opinion of it is hidden behind her composure.
"It is. May I come in?" The Lady Fallon might be the lady of the house, but this is Ralaea's room, and she waits for the permission.
"Yeah, of course," Ralaea says, gesturing her in. It is your house, says her expression. Only the tent belongs to Ralaea.
The mess on the floor mostly consists of bombs, but there are a few unused vials of holy water, and various odd things like a single gold coin, Ralaea's Scarlet Crusade insignia, and an insignia of the Argent Dawn, with a blood-stained hair ribbon tied to it.
Avrenne steps into the room with an elegant sweep forward. If she has lingering fatigue from the past few days, or the pregnancy, she isn't letting it show. That might be willpower though. She remains standing, for the moment.
"I have always found doing inventory rather soothing," she remarks, her eyes on Ralaea rather than investigating the objects. "I hope all is as expected?"
"Yeah," Ralaea says, remaining by the door after closing it behind Avrenne. "Yeah, it's all familiar, but there were some things I forgot I still had. It's been…helpful, at least. Seeing it all again."
Avrenne nods her head once approvingly. "Good. I'm glad to hear it." She's still standing for a moment more, but then, she shifts her weight in an unusual idle motion for the duchess. "I hope you don't mind if I sit. My ankles are not as immortal as I wish they were, and it's been a long few days," she says, her voice dry, as she moves to the bed to sit on the edge of it, exhaling a barely audible sigh of relief. Her ankles, it might be noted, are slightly exposed by the sitting, and are visibly thicker than they seem like they should be.
Ralaea's expression shifts from minor surprise to concern. The unbreakable duchess, showing weakness. "Do you want to put them up?" she asks. "That might help with the swelling. I can just be wherever's easiest for you."
Avrenne visibly considers it, pausing, before she toes off her shoes, and rotates to set her legs up on the bed. Ahhh, the sweet relief of putting her feet up. "Thank you, it's a good idea. It's only from the pregnancy," she tells Ralaea. The duchess is unassailable except through pregnancy means. See: inconvenient expressions of feelings. "Normal, or so my physician tells me. It certainly does not feel entirely normal to have one's legs balloon the longer one stands on them, but one must trust that one's doctor knows their business." She inhales to sigh, keeping her posture straight backed, as she regards Ralaea with dark, canny eyes.
"Well doctors have probably seen all sorts of things, so if they say it's normal, then I guess it is," Ralaea says, finally stepping further into the room to prepare the injection materials. "Sounds inconvenient, though."
"Yes, well," Avrenne allows. "It is brief." She says that now, with two months to go. Ask her again in March. She adjusts her dress a little, and idly rubs at her belly. Now that she's sitting still, guess who isn't. "May I ask how your arms have felt? We kept up the treatment during your…stasis, out of concern that it was difficult to know if it would matter, or not."
"How do they feel?" Ralaea pauses, as though she hadn't stopped to consider. "I guess they feel like… You know. Arms?" Helpful, Rae. She rolls up one of her sleeves and examines the arm beneath. Aside from the scar on the back of her wrist and a few barely visible patches perhaps from the holy water, the arm seems to have lost its purple coloring and returned to a normal state. Ralaea looks almost surprised to see it.
Avrenne is less surprised. She has been seeing Ralaea's arms for the past several weeks. "Regularity is still a useful data point of information," Avrenne says. (Math!) "If we continue the doses you have remaining, you will make a full recovery before the end of the month." A date which is rapidly approaching.
"And then…after the trial…" Ralaea stops there. It's possible that she's still hung up on one of the possible outcomes.
"After the trial, there will be some decisions to make, depending on the outcome, of course," Avrenne says, not unkindly. "Do you know your expected plans?"
"I'm getting back on Squad however I have to do it," Ralaea says. "It will be…harder if the outcome of the trial isn't what I want it to be, but… I can't see myself anywhere but the front of my Company's efforts, especially if we get into Icecrown."
After collecting the vial of medicine and the syringe, Ralaea brings both to Avrenne. She has already cleaned the injection sites herself.
Avrenne collects both, and moves with brisk efficiency on filling the syringe appropriately. "And have you decided yet on a wedding date, presuming the desired outcome of the trial?"
"Sure," Ralaea says. "Whatever day the Lich King dies. We can keep with the trend and do it over his corpse." She might not be joking.
"Well, you will want to be certain then that you have the appropriate paperwork with you at the time, so it will be essential that you secure that before you are in Northrend," Avrenne says, adding in a bizarre level of practicality to this notion, as she examines the syringe, and then pinch, whoosh done with that. "You may also wish to consider the timing of it. If the House of Nobles does vote on the citizenship of the Ebon Blade, it might have an impact on your marriage to Mr. Morningdew, regarding both the legality of it, as well as what it might mean for you, personally, in regards to House Morningdew."
The huh what now.
Ralaea blinks. About half of that probably sailed over her head. "What does citizenship have to do with anything?" she asks.
"Well, if he is not a citizen, if he is legally dead, you cannot legally marry. It would be like attempting to marry, well, if you'll excuse the comparison, a dead body, which is not permitted under the law," Avrenne says, disposing of the syringe. "However, if he is legally recognized as a citizen, not restored to his former legal state but in this new one,then it is legal. And given the nature of his House having no living heirs whatsoever, it is possible that the law might recognize you, through the marriage, as the sole inheritor of the title and the House, as he would not be able to hold the title himself." She pauses, considers her audience, and attempts a clarification. "You would be Lady Morningdew, of House Morningdew, married to Mr. Harvey Morningdew."
"I'll get his house?" Ralaea might not have heard the capital in that H. "That's all the way in Lordaeron. And what do I want to be a Lady f — Wait." Calculating. "You're saying I'd be a noble… And he wouldn't?"
Avrenne hesitates, and then in that way of someone who believes she might be delivering possibly unwanted news, says, "Yes. The undead cannot be permitted to hold a title, no matter what they held in life. You would be a countess of Lordaeron, if we are able to restore the title through you and your marriage, but he would be only able to be a gentleman and citizen of Stormwind as a member of the Ebon Blade."
A slow smile starts to spread across Ralaea's face. "So basically, he'd be a commoner?" she asks. "Do I get to boss him around?"
Avrenne's own lips move in a repressed smile. Ahem. Serious Duchess. "Well. That is a matter for you two to arrange on the nature of your marriage, but yes, socially speaking, you would outrank him."
"That might just be worth it," Ralaea says, her smile going smug. She is already making plans. "Will you keep me updated on the progress? I don't usually follow politics. I… I'm assuming they don't kill him again. That's… sorry, I shouldn't…get my hopes up. Things don't work out well when I do."
"I will keep you apprised of the situation. I do usually follow politics," Avrenne says, a touch of a light wit to it. Avrenne is the politics. She reaches out to set a hand on Ralaea's upper arm, a gentle, motherly sort of comforting touch. "I understand how difficult it can be to hope. From what I am given to understand, you have very good reason to. However, there is always a chance, and it is best to be prepared for that, even as one makes plans for the best outcome. From a purely mathematical point of view though, if it's any consolation, hope cannot influence the probability of an outcome of an event, only actions can, and your actions have increased the probability of success. You should be proud of that." You can't jinx it, Rae, is what she's saying, but in math.
Ralaea is not a wit girl, a math girl, or an optimist. Her mood quickly sobers again. "He said if…the worst happens, I should find a nice spot, put a stone down to remember him, and then move on. But I haven't managed that yet, so I don't see how he expects it'll just…go like that."
Avrenne's personal opinion of what to do about the death knight might align with his own (look, Harvey! She agrees with you! …probably not on what you wish she would though), but she keeps that very much to herself. Instead, she regards Ralaea for a moment, shifts on the bed to make a space, and then lightly pats the bed next to her in a suggestion to sit next to her."Will you sit, Ralaea, and tell me what you think you might do in truth, should the worst happen?"
Ralaea sits down and stares at the floor. "My instinct would be to try to break him out," she admits. "But I've been told my instincts are reckless. And I know that'd make an enemy of Cobalt Company, and the Alliance, and I might not even be successful." Might not is probably an understatement there, Rae. "So, barring that, I… I don't know. I'd probably throw myself back into the war."
"Industry and occupation can help," Avrenne agrees. Good ol' war industry. She clasps her hands back together, looking at somewhere on the floor where Ralaea is. "I had an older sister, Abrielle. She was engaged politically quite young, 19, but it turned into a love match, and she was very happily married at 23. She was widowed by 24." There's threads of grief, old and not so sharp, woven into Avrenne's voice. "It broke her. The grief, the loss. She fell into despair, and she never really climbed back out again. It is a very difficult thing, and I…I do not like to think of what life would be like without Siamus in — " Oh, her voice fades out for a moment, and she's obliged to gather it back up. "In the world, but we must remember that our lives do go on even after loss. We cannot let despair take us. If it does come to pass that way, and you do go to the war, remember that you have a place you may come back to, and people who would be glad of it. You will be quite welcome at Fallon House, for as long as you like."
Ralaea does not seem to know what to do with her sudden welcome, and she falls silent for a time. Finally, "That's… That's kind of you to say, and I'm sorry for…everything that came before, with your sister and all. I know some people think I'm crazy, for my relationship with Harvey. With…what he is now. I mean, you probably do too, and I get it. Believe me, I get it with my whole being. You know I tried to kill him, when I found him as a death knight?" She says tried, but there was a lot more staring and shock than actual combat. "I couldn't do it. Maybe that makes me weak, I don't know. I hate to have you even think of this, but if the Lordship was still in the world, only as…one of them… What would you do?"
The question doesn't seem to get a reaction. Or, more accurately, the reaction is one of someone holding very still, controlling the real one beneath the surface of a mask. It doesn't fit quite as well as it should over that real expression, and Avrenne squeezes her hands together harder. The fact that no immediate response comes reveals that she is thinking about it, and that she had not done so before.
"If Siamus came back, but as a death knight, it would mean that legally he would no longer be Lord Fallon, and our marriage contract would no longer apply. We would no longer be legally married," Avrenne says. This is all true. It is not, actually, any action of hers. So, she continues. "I would carry on my duties as Lady Fallon, and I would see to the continued well being of our household, and our children, as well as I would if he were to lose his life. I was very aware when I agreed to marry him that he is a soldier and a sailor, and it is very possible that I will be widowed by war or storm, and thus I know what my duty is should it come to pass." It sounds like cold, sound logic. The fact that there's something very bleak in her eyes in the crack of her mask says something else. It might be interesting to note that she does not mention that she would remarry someone else.
Avrenne's chin lifts up a little. "I cannot speak to any other action in regards to any continued relationship we might have, as it would depend quite a great deal on his own actions." It sounds like the truth, said definitively and evenly.
It might not actually be the truth, and she might, in fact, know exactly what she would do. But only Avrenne could say for certain, and she isn't saying.
As someone who can't even grasp her own feelings half the time, Ralaea stands no chance at trying to parse Avrenne's through any mask she chooses to wear, cracks or no. "Yeah, you're stronger than I am," she says. "Maybe everyone is, who knows. But the way we left it, before he went off and died… He was being stupid, and I was mad at him, and then… If he dies again, after all I've been through coming to accept him, I'm going to hate him forever." The tears behind her eyes tell a different story.
Avrenne has one move when people seem like they might cry — which is to reach out and try to hug them, pull them to her and hold them there.
The movement startles Ralaea, but she doesn't resist. In fact, she doesn't move at all, probably more concerned about the potential consequences of doing so while this close to a pregnant lady than about her own feelings of being hugged and what she should do about that. The good news is, she is no longer about to cry.
Avrenne is a motherly sort of hugger, an unavoidable vibe she gives off, even when she isn't pregnant, and she holds Ralaea gently, a hand on her hair moving lightly. "I'm sorry to hear it, how you lost him the first time. I understand how hard that is, to have left it so. One doesn't really ever seem to think of it, until it's happened, what it truly feels like to not know when one's last goodbye to another will be. It really must feel like a blessing, to be able to come back from that moment for a second chance. If it does come to it, you can rest with that knowledge at the least, that a second goodbye will not be such a terrible memory to hold in regret from a sudden unexpected loss. You can choose a better one to hold onto."
"A better memory… Like how I made him hug his guard?" Ralaea asks. She seems to have accepted her fate with this hug and relaxed a little.
Avrenne makes a humming sound of a closed mouth laugh. It dulls the brightness of the true laugh, but Ralaea can hear the hint of it. She keeps up the gentle touch to Ralaea's hair, despite the threat of tears having likely passed. "You made him hug Mr. Dinnsfield?" She sounds amused, not scolding. "My dear, whatever for?"
"The guard wouldn't let us have a private moment," Ralaea says. "So I said he'd have to hug Harvey for me. Romantically. Told them I'd scream if they didn't do it, and Harvey knew I was serious. And that's when Isla walked in. When they were right in the middle of it." She is not sorry.
"That explains…well, something at least." Avrenne is holding onto the laugh through sheer willpower. She is not keeping an entirely straight face but luckily no one can tell. "I do apologize for how Isla can be sometimes. She is truly a lovely girl, but she does have quite an imagination, and she will let it run wild sometimes. She always means well, though. Her stories always end well, with everyone as happy as can be, all virtues rewarded, and all villains punished." There's a little pause before she adds, "And I expect that it would not do any harm to have her telling a kinder story for Mr. Morningdew."
"No apologies necessary, I think she came in at the perfect time," Ralaea says. "Maybe not for Harvey, but I got what I wanted in the end. I like Isla. Anyway, I don't know who that Dinnsfield guy is, but they seemed…closer than I would've thought?"
"Mm." Avrenne makes her noncommittal noise. "Paladins can be…unusually minded at times, depending on their particular understanding of the Light and what is expected of them." Paladins, man. Who understands how those guys work. Not Avrenne.
"He didn't seem like a paladin, but if he really is one, maybe Harvey bonded with him over that or something," Ralaea says. "I will bet that guy's handy in a fight. Probably stronger than Harvey or they wouldn't have sent just the one guy, right? I wonder how Commander Mond… Kaela. I wonder if he could beat Kaela." There is a slight frustration in her voice at the name slip.
"Mm. I'm not much of a judge of that sort of thing, I'm afraid. Siamus might know more on how to evaluate it if he were to see them in action, but I expect that the best answer is to say that regardless of whether Mr. Dinnsfield might be able to handle a death knight single handedly, it is worth considering if he might be made into a better ally who would be willing to lend his aid. A paladin of the Light willing to openly work alongside Mr. Morningdew against Kaela would do much for restoring his reputation after the trial."
"If we just need A Paladin, I could ask Colson," Ralaea says. "That'd be even better, right? Noble Aspenwood paladin?"
"If you could convince him, Lord Colson's reputation is very useful, yes. I don't know him as well as I know his mother, so I could not say what he might do."
"Well I don't know his parents at all, because they're probably a lot older than me, and also not in Cobalt Company, so I haven't worked with them." Also she's a commoner, but that part will remain unsaid. "I could ask, at least. If everything goes well. With the…"
Avrenne pets Ralaea's hair. Shh, shh, keep thinking the good thoughts. "Yes. Those are good plans to make, and consider. And, recall, the ones you are more likely to need." Avrenne allows for a brief pause before she adds, "And should you become Lady Morningdew, you would have every reason to better know all the Aspenwoods, and I would be pleased to introduce you to them. Duchess Aspenwood and I are long acquaintances from when I came to Stormwind, after the Fall." She means of Lordaeron, of course. When Avrenne refers to the Fall, it is only ever of Lordaeron, despite other cities having fallen, and the season. That is referred to as autumn, because she is Fancy.
The hair petting seems to be working to further lower Ralaea's guard. "If I do that," she murmurs, almost sleepily, "become Lady Morningdew, I'll have to keep it going, won't I?"
"Yes, but so too would the benefits continue on. Opportunities for your voice to be heard, your opinions to matter to those in power who for better or worse are more likely to listen to a Countess than a warrior. I won't tell you that it is not work to hold a title of a House of Lordaeron in this world, but it's what I stand for myself, to refuse to be forgotten or ignored. Lordaeron's perspective in the world matters, and each one of us that has a voice that we might use, should." It's not an order, it's a suggestion, of an opinion presented a bit like fact. Her voice is a little wistful, a touch dryer when she adds, "If it is not entirely free to have that loud of a voice, well, that is the usual way of world, that we might need tally a cost for a benefit."
"I did wonder… what I should do with my life after the Lich King's gone," Ralaea says. "Maybe I could give that a shot. But…what I meant was… Keep it going, like what you're doing." Babies. She means babies.
"That is the duty of a House, yes: to carry a legacy forward, to provide the next generation with that offer of protection and guardianship of what a title is meant to be. We are not nobility purely for our own benefit. We are meant to stand in guardianship, and that is the burden we pass on to our children in exchange for the benefits they receive, to serve in their turn when their time comes. There are many ways to have those children. There are orphans of Lordaeron, and of Stormwind." Avrenne herself had four of them, now three of them. "Have you thought of it at all, being a mother?"
"Not really," Ralaea admits. "Well… maybe as a child myself, but that was imaginary. I've spent most of my adult life being prepared to die at any moment, so there wasn't time to think about it. I even have a tombstone already. Harvey's been trying to convince me to stop fighting for a while now…even before he died. I think making me a Lady is something he'd be glad to do."
There's no pause or alteration in the petting motion at the mention of either tombstone or Harvey. Avrenne is a practical woman. These are just reasonable precautions to take in Azeroth, and reasonable arguments to try to make. "Being a Lady does not necessitate in and of itself a need to cease fighting, any more than being a Lord does," Avrenne asserts. Take that, sexism. "Lady Sintha serves in the 7th Legion, and Lady Cressidha serves within Cobalt Company, as you know. But it is true that when it comes to children, someone must remain there to take care of them, and even more so if she should choose to bear them herself. For those purposes, a Lady's place is the home while she sees to that business." Again, these are more opinions than anything, but they're related as if they're facts. We're back to sexism already. That was quick.
"I worked with horses, before the Fall," Ralaea says. "I could hold a sword…defend myself a little, but my father didn't teach me how to fight. I don't think he wanted that life for me. But I don't know yet, what I want for myself. I'll just…see how life goes, for now I guess. We've still got a big battle ahead of us. If I see the Lordship in Northrend — I don't know if I will, but if I do — I'll help him out, make sure he comes home to you safe."
Speak of the devil lordship.
It's quiet behind Ralaea's door to her room, and that's not unusual. What's a little unusual is that the Lady Fallon has been in there for a Long Time now. The nightly treatments have been, for the past few months, something of a perfunctory, necessary pause. No fuss, no muss. But, this is the first one after the waking from the Nightmare's grasp, and it may be entirely possible that Ralaea is not entirely well, or perhaps Avrenne is having difficulties with keeping the girl calm. Probably there's been no attempts at taking Avrenne's runeblade, but that's most likely to be because Avrenne doesn't have one in this setting, and we are refusing to consider the AU where she does.
Siamus pauses outside the door and tilts his head to listen. When he detects neither weeping nor vapors — whatever vapors sound like — from the other side of the door, he lifts a hand to knock courteously.
Ralaea jumps a little and looks questioningly to Avrenne. Whosever room it might be in theory, it is still not Ralaea's house.
Avrenne raises her brows at Ralaea.
There's a moment of silence as they both expect the other to do something, but it's Avrenne who tells Ralaea, "It's Siamus." And then, more helpfully possibly, "You may tell him to come in or go, as you wish. It's your decision, and he'll respect either one equally." She doesn't say that this is Ralaea's room and therefore her space to decide, but Avrenne might incorrectly think that is Obvious and Already Understood.
Having received permission, Ralaea raises her voice a little. "Yeah?" It's not an instruction to come in, because maybe Ralaea doesn't feel like she can order someone to enter a room in their own house, but surely Siamus can figure out what she means.
Siamus doesn't like to presume, and is not entirely familiar with the varied usages of yeah. He does not come in. "It's Siamus, Miss Westwind. Is Her Grace still with ye?" Perhaps Avrenne can explain what yeah means.
"Yeah," Ralaea calls again. She's answering questions. Helpful.
Siamus raises his gaze briefly to the ceiling. Tidemother give him strength. Or Avrenne. One or the other. "May I come in?"
"Yeah," Ralaea says again. He got there eventually.
Siamus does not sigh as he opens the door. He is visibly not-sighing.
Avrenne is not laughing. She is audibly not-laughing. She pats Ralaea's hair again, in a motherly way. There, there, child, proper manners will be instructed with more time (somewhere, Harvey cheers and/or wishes Avrenne luck, probably).
The Lady Fallon is sitting on the bed (ostensibly Ralaea's, but not yet in use by her), her shoes off and her legs propped up (ankles still pregnancy swollen, proof of their lack of immortality), holding onto Ralaea, sitting next to her, in a motherly embrace, one hand still on Ralaea's hair. At the sight of Siamus, Avrenne's expression brightens, as if someone has turned a little lamp on inside her. "Vice Admiral," she greets him.
"Your Grace," he says, and inclines his head to her. He considers the little maternal tableau, steps in and closes the door behind him. "I was concerned, as it seemed to be taking longer than usual and I know things have been… unsettled. I beg your pardons if I'm interrupting, though."
He looks from Avrenne to Rae and then back again; he knows what the motherly-hair-hand means. His voice is gently concerned when he asks, "Are ye well, ladies?"
Ralaea is not aware that the hair patting has any particular meaning, in fact she is still a tiny bit confused how she got into this situation. "We were just talking about the future," she says. "Do you have any…totems in here somewhere?"
Siamus looks to Avrenne. Pls tramslate.
Avrenne raises her brows high enough for faint lines to form. Siamus, she's a canny woman, she's not a miracle mindreader. There's information here she's missing, but she does know how to get at it. Possibly. She looks to Ralaea, speaking with that manner of hers that is striving very hard to bring some normalcy back through sheer force of will, as if that was a very normal question Ralaea just asked. "Not that we're aware of, no. As I understand it, totems are something of a shaman's domain. Why do you ask?"
"Totems are also used for spying," Ralaea says, "And the Lordship's timing was suspicious." She eyes Siamus. She's not wary exactly, but she isn't NOT wary.
Siamus raises his eyebrows. He might be thinking of backing slowly out of the room again.
"Oh." Avrenne can explain this one. She is not-laughing. She's not, Siamus, don't look at her. "It is only that were just speaking of you, mo ghrá," the term of endearment is out before Avrenne catches it, but whoops, there it goes, and now if she stops it'll just make it worse, and so she continues on as smoothly as possible, "Of you both returning to Northrend. Not so unlikely a topic, or so unusual a circumstance that you might be by at just that moment, speaking from a probability point of view." Look, she can and will get math involved here if she has to. But then again, what can't Avrenne make into math. See her limerick and love declarations.
Siamus looks to Ralaea and nods. See? Not statistically improbable.
"I expect I'll be sailing as soon as Morningdew's trial is concluded. The Lady Blanche has been ready for some time." He surveys Rae, and the Avrenne Motherly Touch again. "Is your healing… no'coming along?"
At the strange words from Avrenne, a question appears on Ralaea's face, but before she can ask it, Siamus mentions The Trial, and her expression fades again into sullen anxiety. "The healing's…fine I guess," she mumbles.
Avrenne pats her again. "It's coming along properly, as far as we can tell. Ralaea's had her dose for the evening." Don't worry, Siamus, the needles are gone. "I would expect from an estimated calculated rate of progression of the healing process from an external point of view that she does not have much longer before it's completed, end of the month I would guess, but we can have Brother Casker take a look soon to get a healer's perspective on the matter."
At the mention of Brother Casker, Siamus's expression fades into sullen anxiety. No, not really. He does do a slight Mouth Thing that suggests there was almost A Sarcasm there, but look at what a model of self-restraint he is!
"If you're well in time, Ralaea, would ye like to sail north wi'the fleet wi'me? Or have ye made arrangements otherwise already?"
Ralaea looks surprised at the offer. "Sail with you? Will you teach me how it all works? Can I help?"
Avrenne's smile is irrepressible, even if she manages to keep it small, her eyes going to Siamus, a bright light in them.
Siamus's gaze softens; his smile at Rae is involuntary, warm, a little boyish. "Aye, if ye like. I'd be very glad to have ye. You're a child of the isles as well as a sharp lass. I expect ye'll take to it."
"My father took us all sailing a time or two, but my mother wouldn't let me help, she said I was too young." Ralaea clearly disagrees with that assessment. "There's something freeing about being on the ocean, though. It's…hard to explain. It's on my tombstone, I think. Well, I don't know the words exactly, I couldn't read."
Siamus was smiling fondly at her, an unmistakably soft gleam in his gaze. He is on the verge of saying something — but that last part wipes his smile away. He looks at Avrenne.
That gives Avrenne pause from her own smiles. Having your own tombstone pre-selected, that's reasonable Azerothian preparation at this point, like making a will (Winnie yells, from somewhere). Not knowing what's on it… "Did you not choose the writing of the epitaph yourself?" Avrenne asks, calm and gentle in her voice, but that arm still around Ralaea curls more protectively, and a harder, colder look rises in those dark eyes. "Who made that tombstone for you, Ralaea? And when, if I may ask?"
"When you think about it, about facing your own mortality… It's hard to know what to say," Ralaea says. "The tombstone was made shortly after our squad formed under Commander Mondragon, when there were a lot more of us. We had just suffered some losses and a lot of us were having trouble coping with it. The Commander had us pick out tombstones for ourselves, and what we wanted to say on them, and we all pitched in for those we had already lost."
Ralaea pauses, glancing down at her Scarlet Crusade insignia, on the floor spread out with the rest of her things. "She had a plot for us by the Monastery, so we could be together with our comrades. The Commander helped me pick what to put on mine, because I… I was struggling with it. I gave her a general idea, I think, and then she had it done. She probably told me, but I don't remember it."
Avrenne picks up that hair petting motion again as Ralaea speaks, as she listens with that attentiveness of hers, a quiet audience, no gasps of shock or sudden vapors. "I see," she says, her thoughts and opinions on this procedure hidden away beneath her composure.
Siamus looks very much like he has some thoughts and opinions he'd rather not hide, but it has been A Week and he is cutting some people some slack. "And what was the general idea that ye gave her? That ye wanted for it?"
"Well, the way we had them done was, we'd say a line about who we are, and then another stating our wish for…after." Ralaea might be a bit bad at reading the room. Especially when the other people in the room are good at keeping things to themselves. "I told her I wanted it to have my love of the ocean on it, but also that I'm from Lordaeron too. And for the wish, I was going through a lot at the time. We all were. I think I said something like, if the worst should come, I wanted to be…free."
There it is — Siamus sees it, if not Ralaea — that telltale freeze of Avrenne's face, as if her expression has not altered at all, when in fact something very likely should have. There's flickers around her eyes and mouth at the mention of a combination of a love for the ocean and Lordaeron, and she is obliged to lower her eyes to a point somewhere around Siamus' knee. She is not likely suddenly interested in his legs, but here we are.
Siamus glances at Avrenne. After a moment he does a thing it is possible he has never done in this particular fashion before: he steps away from the door and crosses the room to sit down quietly on the bed on the other side of Rae.
"I'm sorry," he says, "that it came to that. I'd say ye shouldn't have to be thinking on such things at such an age, but we've all done by now, aye?"
Avrenne leans in towards them both, like a flower turning towards the sun, her head bowed slightly as she sets it gently near Ralaea's, her expression controlled but holding onto Ralaea as if she's something precious.
"I don't think it was a bad idea, really," Ralaea says. "This way, people will know who fought for Lordaeron, both their names, and what they thought of themselves. Most of us in Kaela's squad weren't soldiers or anything, but we wanted to fight, still. And now…for the two of us that are left, we can look back on that moment and remember everyone, at that time. That brief moment of peace between tragedies."
Avrenne looks directly at Siamus on that one. Oh, yeah, the Duchess has Opinions on calling that a moment of peace, but she is not an expert in field morale. You're up, Vice Admiral.
Siamus considers this. "I understand — personally, that is, from long experience, I understand the worth in remembering lost comrades. I'm no' sure — that remembering them choosing their own epitaphs is a moment of peace, precisely. Peacetimes don't call for such measures." His tone is quiet and somber.
Ralaea shrugs carefully, trying not to disturb Avrenne. "It was peace as we'd come to know it. I think most people wouldn't agree with the practices of the Scarlet Crusade as it was. Our squad in particular didn't get much for breaks. Maybe that dreadlord or whatever was worried Kaela would catch on to him."
Siamus nods slowly. "Aye, well. And I understand that… Kaela was a comfort and an inspiration to ye. But even the leaders we admire can make decisions that aren't in our interests."
He hesitates, flicks a look at Avrenne.
"My own father, Admiral Fallon — there was no finer naval commander save Proudmoore himself. But as a commander now myself, I can see that not… every choice he made was in the best service of his people. And I can't… fault him for it, aye? Any man — or woman — can make a strange decision in the crush of a moment. We're none of us perfect. For those of us who admire them, it can take time and distance to see a misjudgment a well-loved commander might have made."
Avrenne's lips tighten marginally. She might have additional thoughts about the late Admiral Fallon's strange decisions, particularly those made on land outside crushes of a moment, but that's another thing she's keeping to herself at this time.
This causes Ralaea to pause and consider. "Do you think…" she finally says, "Someone might come to say that about you, in time?"
Siamus considers this gravely. "Aye," he says. "I expect they will. I've made decisions I regret myself."
"Sometimes one can only do what one can with what is before one, make a decision based on the calculus of war as one understands it, and live with the consequences," Avrenne says. "Later, when one has a better whole of it, or much longer to consider, one might imagine what else one might have done, but that is a luxury few have in the moment. But a moment's breath in a war is not peace, it is only a temporary stillness." She pets Ralaea's hair, smoothing it down a little. "When this war is over, you come back, Ralaea, and we will have a moment of peace, freedom on the water and a time of remembrance, and you might tell us of what you remember of your comrades, perhaps. What were their names?" Avrenne asks it gently, and there's a tone to her voice that sounds like this is something she has asked many, many times before. How many names of the dead does Avrenne carry in her?
Siamus leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees and regards Ralaea somberly, awaiting her answer.
"There were about twenty of us at the start," Ralaea says. "I never…got to know a lot of them. Jenzelle has their insignias, though. Commander Mondragon collected them from the start, when she was able, or remade them for those she couldn't retrieve. The ones that lasted the longest, aside from Jenzelle and me, were… You know Kaela Mondragon already, she's…Walking. Taya Lynds, as well. I don't think anyone's got her yet. Then there was Mevlin Evonshire, our engineer and mechanic. He taught me how to make bombs and things. Alver Lensfort, our rear guard and my patrol partner. He taught me a lot about how to survive. Jothran Silvertone, our paladin, and second-in-command. Basically a big brother to everyone. Those are the ones who were raised — well, except Jothran for some reason. I also remember Rayan Wildcroft, he was very…loud, and reckless, and wouldn't shut up about his cat. And Elsha Veris, a musician who… she did competitions, I think, on the piano? She was really good at that…less so at fighting."
Avrenne strokes Ralaea's hair, listening, attentive and solemn, and there's a familiar — to Siamus at least — sense of someone writing in a mental ledger, an internal pen scratching away at a page, as she tucks the details away.
Siamus nods at Rae. "A motley pack. But the kind of troubles and terrors ye saw will weld folk together as sure as family. A good commander can do the same."
"I bet you're a good commander," Ralaea says, brightening a little. "Ben is too, or at least he's good at leading a squad." She hesitates, stealing a glance at Siamus. He knows Ben, right? Everyone should know Ben.
"Lieutenant Hazan? I expect he might be. Seems a level-headed lad. As to whether I am or not, I can't tell ye that myself; ye'd have to ask someone who's served under me." Siamus smiles wryly at her.
Avrenne doesn't count, probably depending on someone's definition of serving under him, but she'd give him 10/10, 5 gold stars, and a Vice Admiralty to boot. Her own look is one of pride and admiration, directed at him, and the smile on her face is a little too bright for composure.
"Seems like I'll get that chance if you take me on the ship," Ralaea says, a tiny smile on her face.
Siamus's own smile widens warmly. "Aye," he agrees.
"Exactly." Avrenne pets Ralaea's hair again, and then leans in to press a motherly kiss to the top of her forehead. Oops. Habit. Oh, well. It's done now. "Something that will be much easier if you are fully healed by that point, as hauling on the lines can be very exhausting for one's arms, and you will be far more able to learn such exciting things as striking a topgallant mast by getting your proper rest now." If there's something a little playful about Avrenne's tone on the topgallant mast it is surely Ralaea's imagination. Ahem.
Siamus gives Avrenne a glinting, suggestive look.
Don't look, Rae, Mom and Dad are flirting.
Maybe it's because she's spent months with these people, or maybe she's gotten sleepy from all the hair pets, whatever the case, Ralaea does not even flinch at the kiss. This is clearly normal. "Okay," she says almost reluctantly. "Rest first, then. I'll just look forward to that, instead of worrying about the… the other thing."
"That's right," Avrenne says, as she slides herself off the bed, and back into her dainty house shoes. She looks like she might just tuck Ralaea straight into bed, but that's also again, habit. "Good night, Ralaea."
Siamus rises from the edge of the bed as well. "Good night, Ralaea," he says.
Ralaea nods to them both. "Good night," she says. What does she call them? Mr. and Mrs. Fallon? The Fallons? Mom and Dad? Nope. She leaves it at good night. Too complicated otherwise.