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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | After the War Against The Nightmare, Harvey Morningdew and his babysitter -- well, his paladin guard -- pay a visit to Fallon House. They do not send a card in advance. Exceptional circumstances. Fortunately for Harvey, his lady is at home and receiving visitors anyway. 9100-ish words. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
Harvey Mourningdew arrives at the Fallon's Elwynn house in the early afternoon, his hair plastered to his face from the rain. Lagging just slightly behind him is Lathrik, also completely drenched, and just as nonchalant as usual. He lets Harvey advance straight up to the door, but catches his arm just before he starts pounding on it.
"Oi. Take a moment, mate. Not here to be Mourn, are ye?" Lathrik meets the death knight's impatient gaze steadily.
After a brief staredown, Harvey takes a breath. "You are correct," he admits, taking a small step back and using the knocker instead. Three gentle knocks. He steps back again. Whoever answers may not be thrilled to see a soggy death knight.
The door is answered several moments later by a shave-headed gentleman who bears some resemblance to a stone wall, except in a crisp, dark blue footman's suit. Vane regards the soggy death knight expressionlessly, but then Vane regards a lot of things that way.
"Sir?"
Harvey starts to speak, but is interrupted by Lathrik cutting in.
"He's here to see the Westwind girl." After a pause, Lathrik flashes a smile. "Please."
Vane regards this second personage expressionlessly. "Who shall I tell her is calling?"
"Her fiancé," Lathrik says. That's old news by now, surely.
Harvey resigns himself to silent lurking in the background.
Vane surveys both men silently and equally dubiously; his expression conveys in politest footman fashion that he's not sure Miss Westwind should be associated with either of these people, let alone betrothed to one.
What he says, though, is, "Please come in out of the rain, gentlemen. I shall see whether the young lady is available." He stands aside to usher them in.
Maybe Lathrik is used to receiving such looks. He sends a smirk back to Harvey before stepping inside, offering a nod and a "Thanks." The death knight follows, trying to look as composed as possible. It has been A Day.
Vane inclines his head politely and leaves the gentlemen standing in the entrance hall — he is not quite the butler that either Barbour or Shine is, and he, too, has had A Day — and vanishes.
What he in fact does is not summon Miss Westwind immediately, but go to the room of Miss Westwind's present guardian. (One of them; the other is still out, but expected back at any moment.)
"Your Grace, there are two gentlemen downstairs requesting to speak with Miss Westwind. One of them is an Ebon knight."
Avrenne closes her work before she rises from her desk, and answers the door with a frown severe enough to cause faint lines on her brow. "I see. Did they give their names?" She sounds, despite the question, as though she is fairly certain she knows who they are. But, on the off chance she is wrong…well, the ones looking for Ralaea are death knights as well.
Vane looks faintly chagrined. "They did not, Your Grace, begging your pardon. I asked who was calling, and the one gentleman said 'her fiancé.' One of the men is dark-haired. The Ebon knight has white hair."
Avrenne's frown twitches, but then smooths, and she gives Vane a small smile. "It's alright. I will go down to meet them. I believe I know who they are, that should be Mr. Lathrik Dinnsfield, and Mr. Harvey Morningdew. You ask Ralaea if she is at home to receive them, and if so, then to meet us in the receiving room. Will you have Lyra prepare a tea, please?" She clasps her hands over her belly. The dress she wears today is formal, not a house dress, layers of dark, deep brown and striking slashes of gold, long sleeved with intricate but unusual embroidery.
"Aye, Your Grace, very good." Vane bows and sets off.
Avrenne descends the stairs to the entrance hall, sweeping into view with a stately walk, and both men might be surprised at the sense of a sudden evidence of time having passed since November — the Duchess is visibly very pregnant. Her expression is unreadable beyond a sense of cold composure, her head held high enough that despite the fact that she is quite a bit shorter than both of them, she seems as though she could look down her nose at both, should she desire.
At present, she is simply regarding them with icy flicks of her eyes. "Mr. Dinnsfield. Mr. Morningdew," she greets them, her voice as chilly as the winter air they recently traveled through. "There is tea arriving in the receiving room. You will excuse our reduced staff for the moment. It has been an unusual few days, as I am certain you are aware. If you will follow me." She does not lift her hand up for an escort from either of them.
The two men stand dripping in the entryway, though one of them seems far more concerned about that than the other. Lathrik, who has been taking some exploratory steps around, examining the art, perhaps? Turns at Avrenne's address and gives a quick bow. "As ye like, Milady."
Harvey, who has not moved a step since being let in, probably trying not to drip everywhere, or touch anything, or look in any particular direction, does not flinch at Avrenne's use of his name, though there is a slight widening around his eyes as he catches a glimpse of her — if that can be noticed past the glow. He bows, using that as an excuse to lower his gaze to the floor instead. "Your Grace," he acknowledges. Did he know she was with child? If he did, he is still surprised by the progress. "I could wait outside if that is preferable for you."
"Still rainin', mate," Lathik objects. "Unless you want your girl getting soaked through as well…"
Perhaps surprisingly, at Harvey's bow, Avrenne returns an answering curtsey, appropriate for a gentleman, but it may very well be simply automatic.
"If you did, all that would mean is that we need to send for you again, and very likely that Ralaea would stand out there with you," Avrenne remarks, her tone much drier than outside. "She has had a difficult enough time recently. Let's not make it any worse, shall we?" She doesn't repeat herself to have them follow her; she's a Duchess. She simply begins her sweep forward to the receiving room, that regal bearing to her as if she's on her way to take tea with the king.
"Have you been made aware of her recent state during these unfortunate circumstances regarding the Nightmare?" Avrenne asks, assuming they're following without looking back.
"State?" Harvey asks, catching up to her quickly. "She is in a state?" There is clear anxiety in his voice. Lathrik keeps himself firmly between the death knight and the duchess, probably for both of their sakes. Or maybe he just likes being in the middle of things, who knows.
"She was one of the sleepers," Avrenne informs him, her pace unaltered, her tone as cool as it was. "We kept her from harming herself or anyone else when they began to attempt to attack the living, and kept her as safe as was possible. She had very vivid nightmares, unpleasant ones, but is recovering well, if slowly." She opens the door to the receiving room, her eyes flicking around the room for a moment before she strides into it.
Oh. The furniture. The wet men. That won't do. She turns in place to look at them. Mm. Well, she'll have to do something about that.
If Harvey has any thoughts about what recovering might mean, he is momentarily distracted by arrival at furniture. He stops just inside the room, and halts Lathrik as well with a hand on the other man's shoulder, preventing him from seating himself.
"I did see her…" Harvey says. "Well. Images of her. In the Nightmare. She was with Kaela, attacking us. I could not…harm her, even if it was only an illusion."
"Interesting," Avrenne remarks. Her tone is so controlled, it's hard to tell how interesting she may or may not find it. She holds a hand up as well. "If you will wait a moment before being seated, I will have our staff bring towels for you when the tea arrives." She remains standing herself, although some of that may be to not have the height difference be any more extreme. The way she holds herself makes it seem as though this is a reasonable choice, very ordinary, not to be questioned. "You went to the war within the Emerald Dream then, by Archdruid Malfurion's request?"
"I did, yes. I…" Harvey stops himself before saying 'I looked alive again.' "It was the only way I could be of use," he says instead.
Lathrik is fine standing. He does his entire job standing, after all. Why would a person ever need to sit? His eyes do travel around the room, though, a bit restlessly.
Lyra slips in discreetly with a tea-tray, bearing a tea service, a dish of tiny crustless sandwiches, and another dish of the little buttery jam cookies that so delight Phoebe. She avoids looking at either of the two men as she goes to arrange these items by the fireside.
Vane himself follows on the maid's heels, to put another log in the hearth and stir the fire up against the rainy winter chill. If he isn't currently stationed at the front door, however, it must be because — yes, here come two voices in the hallway behind him, in low conversation: a man's and a woman's.
The murmured voices stop at the doorway, and Siamus ushers Miss Curran in ahead of him politely. The secretary is today dressed in what passes for casual for Miss Curran: a brown houndstooth tweed waistcoat and skirt with a high-collared white blouse. Her hair is up in a loose chignon.
Siamus himself is in what passes for casual anywhere: a pea coat and fisherman's sweater with canvas trousers and workman's boots. He has also quite obviously just come in out of the rain, and his wet hair has been raked back from his face. He does not, unlike some, look either uncomfortable or bedraggled by the rain, but again has that slightly exhilarated air. It dims a little when he sees the two visitors, his dark gaze sharpening, and his manner smooths and collects in a way that makes a damp pea coat somehow the equal of a dinner jacket in formality. "Gentlemen. This is a surprise."
Possibly to the further surprise of everyone in the room, Miss Curran speaks up unbidden. "How nice to see you again, Mr. Morningdew." Her tone is cool but gracious.
Siamus casts a look down at her like she's just sneezed without covering her mouth.
Avrenne's attention goes to Siamus first and then gets briefly stuck there — those paying close attention to her face might note an involuntary brightening of her expression at the sight of him, the equivalent of the sun washing over an early morning frost and starting the melt of it into dew — before she takes in the rest in quick, direct flicks, and returns back to Siamus.
"Vice Admiral," the Lady Fallon greets him, and while she manages a polite tone, you couldn't call it cold. "Mr. Morningdew has just arrived, having come from the efforts of the war within Emerald Dream to pay a call on Ralaea." That's all the information she currently has, but she offers it up. At least she didn't use allegedly come from the efforts of the war. "Lyra," she adds. "If you would get towels for our guests, so they might dry themselves?" She does not specify getting one for Siamus, but that may be because she has other feelings about the Vice Admiral being damp and storm-touched.
Lyra bobs a curtsey and heads out to collect towels. Siamus moves further into the room to stand beside — decorously beside, not too close to, that would be tacky — his wife.
"Indeed," says Miss Curran. "I did see Mr. Morningdew there in the fray." She inclines her head to him courteously.
Harvey blinks at Miss Curran, recognition and context suddenly snapping together at once. "Ah," he says, a brief smile flashing across his face. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere. You left in the middle as I recall. Was everything well?"
"It was," she says. "I was concerned by the news that the sleepers were running amok in the world, as I knew there were a fair number of them here at Fallon House, and I wanted to be sure all were well. I hadn't a chance to rejoin you all before it was resolved."
Siamus looks from Harvey to Miss Curran and back again. He raises an eyebrow. Recalculating.
Avrenne's expression remains unchanged. If she has any thoughts at all on this confirmation, she keeps them to herself.
Ralaea enters the room then, though she pauses in the doorway because wow, there are a few people in here, actually. She is still wearing her usual black clothing, but for the first time in A While, she is wearing her sword belt over the top. That's right. She is armed.
Harvey all but freezes at the sight of her, even forgetting for a moment to breathe. Lathrik shoves his thumbs in his own belt and sizes her up. This is quite possibly the first time he's seen her. His expression doesn't change from his usual, though.
"Ah," says Siamus. "And here's Miss Westwind now," as though possibly she requires introduction to anyone in the room. Well, maybe she does to Lathrik. He could probably figure it out from context, though.
Lyra slips in behind Rae with an armload of towels. They are plain ivory towels with a dark blue border stripe. They do not have either sailboats or krakens on them. They're pretty expensive towels, though.
Avrenne gives Lyra a very slight nod, her eyes shifting between Ralaea and Harvey — noting the sword in particular — as she remains where she is, her hands clasped together resting on the top of her belly. She does not seem to be inclined to give the couple any privacy at this particular moment, her presence the actions of a formal chaperone.
"Ralaea," Avrenne greets Rae. She doesn't explain either Harvey or Lathrik's visit, but Ralaea most certainly knows what they're doing there.
Ralaea takes in the room again, with another quick glance, specifically noting Lathrik's position. Then, chaperone or no, she rushes to Harvey, throwing an arm around his neck and pulling his head down into a deep kiss.
Which makes her next move possibly more surprising.
Within seconds she has his runesword in hand, leveled at him, with Lathrik holding her wrist and physically blocking her from the death knight. The paladin had moved fast, almost as if expecting some sort of trouble, despite his previously relaxed attitude. His expression now is serious.
Harvey stares at her, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, confusion blanketing his face. "Ralaea, I…"
"Someone care to explain?" Lathrik asks, casting a quick, but sweeping glance over the room.
"Ralaea," says Siamus. "What are ye doing, lass?" He watches her steadily as he takes two cautious steps toward her.
Miss Curran tenses in a way that suggests she is thinking about doing Something Dramatic but would rather not in present company.
Lyra squeaks and drops the towels.
Avrenne steps back at the sight of the runesword out, behind Siamus at first, and then holds her place as he starts forward, her hand now protectively over her belly, but she holds onto her calm with an iron grip.
Ralaea, who is holding the large runesword steadily in one hand, looks it over. "That's not…" her voice breaks. "That's not it. That's not what it looked like." She drops the sword as tears spring to her eyes.
Harvey glances between Ralaea and the runesword, which is now resting on the floor. For once, it seems he has no idea what to do.
"This wouldn't happen to be that 'state' ye were on about earlier?" Lathrik asks, still holding Ralaea's wrist firmly. "Or is she jus' like this?"
"She dreamed," says Siamus, still watching Rae, "that she was — a death knight, I believe. On waking, she asked several times for her runesword. I believe she thought she'd — done a number of us some harm. I also believed we'd managed to persuade her it was only a nightmare."
Miss Curran gives a distinctly unladylike growl, but doesn't move.
"The corruption of the Emerald Dream did seem to cause particularly vivid dreams," Avrenne remarks cooly and calmly, as if she might be speaking of the weather outside. "But as Ralaea has no doubt noted just now, the details were fictional, and therefore do not match with reality, and thus one can be more assured of the dream's falseness the longer one remains awake and aware."
"Ralaea," says Siamus, still intent on her, also calm. "Listen to the Duchess, aye? Ye're awake and well. Ye're at home. Morningdew was in the Dream, he can tell ye it was false, what ye saw."
Lyra crouches very, very slowly and begins to pick up towels, moving a shuffling step backward with each one. She is having a Week, Lyra is.
Lathrik lets go of her wrist as Ralaea sinks to the floor, then he stoops to retrieve the runesword, returning it to its proper owner.
"I… I'm sorry," she says, wiping tears from her cheek with her sleeve. "What you're saying makes sense with what I'm seeing, I just… I thought maybe you were hiding it from me, at first. But it never existed, did it? All this time, the compulsion I felt to find it was…all in my head." If Ralaea heard Siamus call Fallon House her home, she does not object. It is probably the longest she's lived in any particular place since her time in the Scarlet Crusade.
After disappearing his runesword back into its sheath, Harvey kneels in front of Ralaea, taking both of her hands. "Did you ever hear His voice, in your dreams?" he asks.
"…No," Ralaea says, after a pause. "It was always her. Always Kaela."
Siamus dares a look away from Rae now, seeing that Harvey is On the Case, and steps back toward Avrenne with a look over his shoulder at her, though he's still facing Rae.
Lyra looks like she has no idea what to do with all these fucken towels, so she just hugs them.
Avrenne is watching Harvey and Ralaea with solemn, steady eyes that flick up once to Siamus at his look and then back to the unusual couple. She has that look to her like she's compiling information, waiting to see if her questions might be answered before she needs to ask them. Avrenne has one (1) move when someone is crying, but at the moment she isn't leaving her spot. She's got a delicate passenger with her, and she won't risk being caught in any sudden violence.
"Ralaea," Harvey says firmly. "You do not belong to Kaela Mondragon."
Ralaea stares up at him tearfully. "But she —"
"You do not," he repeats, "belong to Kaela Mondragon. You were going to end her suffering, remember? As we did with my parents. As we will for all the dead who walk unwillingly. And then, you will decide whether or not to continue the fight."
It could be his words, or it could be his steady, assuring tone, giving her a direction to walk in, but finally, Ralaea calms down, returning to her feet with his help. Harvey then turns to the others in the room, bowing his head.
"I lost control of my weapon," he says. "For that, I apologize. It will not happen again."
Siamus surveys Harvey for a long moment, and then makes a dismissive, one-handed gesture. Think nothing of it, old chap. "There is tea. Lyra, were ye bringing those towels for the gentlemen?"
Lyra looks faintly dismayed to have been remembered, but she ducks her head and scurries forward to give away her Hugging Towels to the two wet strangers.
Avrenne pauses for a similar moment, and then moves forward in counter point to the tea service, selecting out the cups, picking up the teapot to pour tea with a practiced elegance of a hostess, and an enforced sense of normalcy to her. There, now. Crisis over. Ordinary things once more. "Will you come sit?" The offer is extended as a general invitation, and a suggestion, not an order. "If you have questions, Ralaea, Mr. Morningdew and Miss Curran may be able to answer them, and perhaps provide greater context for the circumstances you have found yourself in."
Lathrik accepts the towels from Lyra with a wink, then passes half to Harvey before he begins trying himself off. Mostly his hair and his armor. He does not take off his armor to get at the wetness beneath it, and he will probably pay for that later. Harvey is much more thorough with his drying, making sure to get between the various joints of his armor so no water leaks from between plates.
Ralaea, meanwhile, finds herself a seat, arranging her swords in a more comfortable fashion. "Sorry…" she mumbles, her gaze focused on the floor.
"That's all right, Ralaea," says Siamus kindly. Who hasn't accidentally drawn a cursed sword on guests and loved ones?
"It has been a very trying few days," Avrenne adds, not unkindly, still busying herself at the tea, assembling a little plate. "Cookie, Ralaea?" A lot has been asked of these cookies in the past few days, but they are here to serve.
They're good cookies, Bront.
Ralaea nods. Yes, cookie. She remembers she has to eat now.
There is a moment between the two guests where Lathrik insists he is "dry enough" and Harvey dries him better, but then the two settle into seats themselves, after Harvey is convinced they will not ruin any furniture.
"So…a nightmare war," Ralaea says. "Em said it was a druid thing, but how do people…fight in that?"
Avrenne brings over a plate of several of the cookies and a teacup filled with only milk to Ralaea, reaching out a hand to gently touch her shoulder, perhaps a small steadying light touch, her eyes flicking from Harvey to Miss Curran, waiting for an answer to the question.
Miss Curran approaches to settle demurely on a couch, smoothing her skirt. "The Emerald Dream — the realm in which the war took place — is… a place, itself. It is… somewhat apart from our reality. The druids might say it is more real than our reality. It is… the most primeval, unblemished version of Azeroth, a sort of… layer beneath the world. The essence of the world. Ordinarily, people other than druids would not go there at all, and not even druids would go physically, but only in sleep.
"A corruption was allowed to take hold within the Emerald Dream, however. It was… as though the very wellspring of the world had been poisoned. All sorts of horrors might have ensued. The Archdruid exercised extraordinary powers to draw not merely druids but the sleeping minds of any willing to join him into the Dream. It was not, you understand, a dream such as you or I might have on an ordinary night. The Emerald Dream is a place, but for most it is only accessible in dream-form, to… preserve the integrity of the Dream.
"Those who went to the war slept, but they did not dream as one ordinarily does; their dreaming selves were summoned into another realm, to do battle with the corruption there."
She explains all of this so matter-of-factly that she might be telling Ralaea which forms one fills out to file quarterly taxes as a freelancer in the Kingdom of Stormwind.
Ralaea looks as though she is attempting to process all of this, but isn't sure she wants to believe that a more real world exists. "But… Okay, so dream forms…can they still fight like normal? You're not…magicking at things? You hit things and they die?"
"It did seem to work that way, yes. Many of us engaged with weapons," Harvey says. "My…" Again he stops himself from saying 'my dream form looked alive.' "I saw…other members of Cobalt Company present."
"Well, of course they would be, if there was something bad going on," Ralaea says. "Can these dream forms…die? If they die, does the sleeping person also die?"
"In general," Miss Curran says carefully, "they would only… wake up. But I believe the stakes may have been rather higher last night. And as we know, some of the Sleepers here in the real world were moved to attack the very real bodies of those who had gone to sleep to do battle in the Dream. That was why I left — because we began to lose dream soldiers as they were harmed or even killed in the world outside the Dream."
She hesitates and flicks a glance at Harvey, then tranquilly back to Rae. "It is interesting, for those not familiar with the Dream, how one's dream-form might appear. In general, as the Dream is the most essential version of Azeroth, a person's dream-form is the most essential — to them — version of themselves. Some people's dream-forms might be all but unrecognizable in comparison to their worldly forms. Some might be familiar in unexpected ways. I have only been acquainted, for example, with your Mr. Morningdew since his death. I did not immediately recognize the blond paladin gentleman I encountered in the Dream."
Avrenne steps away to secure Miss Curran's tea, passing it over with a quiet, intently listening air. If she has questions, she's holding them for now.
At the mention of Harvey's blond paladin self, there's a strange movement of Avrenne's expression, a flickering around her eyes, and mouth that seems like an old echo of grief.
Miss Curran accepts her cup of tea with a gracious inclination of her head and a smile at Avrenne. "Most kind, Your Grace."
Avrenne uses the moment to nod, and recompose her expression, moving to retrieve her own tea and to sit. For some reason, she would like to be sitting now, and drinking tea.
"Many of us had forms that resembled our living selves," Harvey says, and by 'us' he probably means death knights. "Roper, for one, and a death knight calling himself Silver. I also met Theris Lysander, though his form was a bit…colorless. Miss Curran herself had a differing form, and if not for the suit, I may not have realized it was her."
At first, Ralaea scowls at Harvey, probably for risking death without her yet again, but her gaze turns thoughtful when Miss Curran describes how dream-forms work. "So that basically means the death knights still view themselves as…who they were? Or, colorless in that Lysander guy's case? Is it possible to force your dream form to look like something in particular, or is it like looking at someone's soul? Like, you can't lie about it."
"The latter," says Miss Curran, and sips her tea.
Avrenne's eyes go to Miss Curran at the mention of another form. She might not be accurately picturing what that other form was. Avrenne's probably looks like a shiny emerald dragon, for example. In a nice suit.
"Roper was there?" asks Siamus with interest.
"He was," Harvey nods. He does not suggest that Roper had some reason for being there, other than just being a helpful guy. Maybe Roper is just Nice.
"Hmm." An almost smug expression comes onto Ralaea's face as she sips her milk. Yes, sips. She is amusing herself with her drink. It's been A Week, okay? "I bet you looked scarier in the Dream just after you were raised. But… If you appeared as a paladin, that means you're more Harvey than Mourn."
"Yes, I…suppose so," Harvey says. "But even if that were not so, I promised, I will always be Harvey to you, Ralaea."
"And Roper is…" Ralaea shakes her head. "Nope, never mind, Roper doesn't count."
Avrenne merely raises her brows, and drinks her tea. She may be adding something to an internal ledger.
Ralaea takes a small bite of cookie, finally looking Lathrik over more closely. "So who's this guy?"
An amused smile comes to Lathrik's face at her directness. "This guy's babysitter," he replies, gesturing to Harvey with a thumb.
When Harvey does not object, Ralaea glances around at everyone else. "Wait, really?"
"Yes. Mr. Dinnsfield is a paladin in the current employ of Stormwind's judiciary system to see to Mr. Morningdew," Avrenne confirms. She looks to her tea for a moment before regarding Harvey seriously, looking more directly at him than she has in quite some time. "If I might ask you a question, Mr. Morningdew?"
Siamus has not sat, himself, and now he moves over to stand behind where Avrenne is seated.
Harvey might be a little surprised by the address. "Your Grace?"
"Might you be willing to provide a more detailed description of the one calling himself 'Roper,' within the Emerald Dream, to the best of your knowledge? I find myself curious," Avrenne says. She does not offer an explanation for her curiosity. Maybe she's just a curious person.
"His… his eyes were brown?" Harvey offers. "He looked…alive? He was wearing a uniform, as though he belonged to SI:7, and he had his…" Here, Harvey pauses, sparing a glance at Ralaea. "He had his runeswords. The death knights I saw all did, including myself. Possibly because of how we are bound to the weapons…"
Ralaea turns her attention to her plate at the mention of the runesword, shoving a cookie into her mouth. There, distraction.
Avrenne's eyes flick to Ralaea at the mention of the being bound to the weapon, and her chin tilts up, and she returns her gaze to Harvey. "I see. Thank you." It's a brisk dismissal, no further information needed, let's not linger in the runeblades topic, and cause Ralaea undue stress. She manages, if in a cool, politely neutral tone, with no warmth to her expression at all whatsoever, a "We do, of course, appreciate the efforts of all who acted on behalf of Azeroth's well being." Even if she has to include the groce undead in that list.
Siamus gives Harvey a smile. He appreciates your efforts, Harv, never mind about the groce undead thing.
Lathrik does not give Harvey a congratulatory pat, even though he might want to. He is Professional, and Unbiased, you see, and more than that, he wants to keep his job.
"I am glad I was able to help," Harvey says, both to Avrenne's question, and the compliment.
Ralaea watches Lathrik suspiciously, her expression making plain that she has Seen paladins, and this man does not look like one. Lathrik watches her back, almost as a challenge.
"I guess…the trial didn't happen while I was asleep," she eventually says.
"No. Among concerns for…possible bias due to sleeping issues, Judge Darby was one of those afflicted by the sleeping sickness, and the Prosecution had left for Dalaran," Avrenne informs her. "It has been once again delayed, but I don't expect it will be long before normal schedules resume." The Wheels of Justice may be slow, but they do creak on.
"We'll verify it all wi' Lady Alwynneria now that things in the city are — I assume — settling, but I expect we'll be able to move forward soon enough," Siamus agrees.
"Oh they're settling one way or another," Lathrik chimes in. "Healers are busy, I imagine. Some of the lower ranked patrol lads are bein' sent out door to door, make sure we haven't got entire houses of deceased, or folks that are trapped needing help. Gotta wonder how Miss Lawyer and the law would handle Nightmare murders. Pass 'em off as accidental?"
"Involuntary manslaughters. Temporary insanity." Siamus looks a little too intrigued by the question himself. What an interesting legal novelty. Perhaps he can draft legislation about it, for… next time?
"Mm. I would expect it to be covered already under any other existing law regarding mind control, as the sleepers were not acting under their own volition or choice, as I understand the matter," Avrenne says. "I am certain that if there have been any such unfortunate cases, we will find out soon enough. Let us hope that it remains only a question of theory, but if you are curious, you might simply ask it of Lady Alwynneria."
A thought suddenly occurs to Ralaea. "So, did anyone invite these two, or did they just…show up?"
"As best I'm aware," says Siamus pleasantly, "they… 'just showed up.'"
"There was no calling card sent on ahead," Avrenne confirms, sipping at her tea. "But, I expect that with these unusual circumstances, it was to be assured of your well-being more immediately and certainly than a message might convey." Unusual Circumstances, the downgrade from Exceptional Circumstances. Normal Circumstances is just around the corner.
Avrenne's attention, ostensibly on her tea for the moment, might be more on Ralaea — watching, perhaps, for signs that the young woman would rather the gentlemen (well, gentleman and his guard) leave.
"Is that allowed?" Ralaea asks. "Nobles don't have a formal process where, if there's an emergency, you first have to send a letter, then you send a servant or something, and then you show up yourself, what is it…fashionably late? Is that a thing?"
Harvey clears his throat. "Ah, no, it was the circumstances. Ordinarily, I would never arrive unannounced, especially given my…state of being." His state of having 'caught the death knight.' "But I was concerned about…" He trails off as beside him, Lathrik starts chuckling quietly. "Things," he finally says, his expression having gone flat. "I apologize for my sudden and unexpected arrival."
Ralaea watches Harvey with a touch of suspicion, but there is a tiny smile on her face as well. "I guess you can't have nightmares about this if you don't sleep," she says. "You know he had nightmares once, when Colson Aspenwood didn't bow properly to him?"
"Ralaea," Harvey protests. "Must you tell everyone you meet that story…?"
Siamus is squinting very hard at a window right now, his lips pressed tightly. He clears his throat twice and addresses the window, almost as though if he looks at anyone else in the room his expression is going to reveal more than he means it to. "Understandable, Morningdew. Your concern for Miss Westwind, that is."
The bowing thing maybe less so.
Avrenne is luckily not looking at Siamus, because she is very, very busy drinking her tea. This is a very important task that also by obviously complete coincidence covers her mouth. She doesn't clear her throat — what a lady — but there's a bit of a humming sound of a mm, which could be nothing more than a pleasant, non-committal listening noise and not a doubly repressed laugh.
"Yes, given the circumstances, it's reasonable," Avrenne agrees, and her voice is not quite as cold as before, if it is still nowhere near warm. "And in turn, any immediately recent news you have of the state of Stormwind, as well if you did pass through Goldshire, is most appreciated."
"When we passed through, Goldshire was in a bit of a state herself," Lathrik says obligingly. "They had one of my lads, Joelle, and a number of others that could be spared from Stormwind down there helpin' to organize the town guard who'd been under, and were only lettin' people straight through, no stopping. Least until they had a firmer handle on who was hurtin' or missing. That was earlier this morning, of course. Might have settled some, since."
"There were some injured on the roads between here and there," Harvey adds. "That is…partly why we arrived later than intended. Lathrik had to tend to them." He does not mention the Hunger. Please forget about the groce undead part, friends.
Avrenne has not, unfortunately, forgotten about The Hunger, or the groce undead part. Whatever warmth had touched her eyes in sentimental nostalgia of a Harvey of the past vanishes again behind the Ice Queen Composure. Well, it was a moment while it lasted, Harv. She is, however, still gracious when she gives Lathrik a bob of her head. "It was good of you to assist and carry out your duties, Mr. Dinnsfield."
"Indeed," agrees Miss Curran, who seems less likely than she did last time they met to want to put Lathrik in the Time Out Corner.
Lathrik gives Harvey a solid shoulder pat, and a look that seems to read, 'you didn't have to do that, buddy,' but he nods once, accepting the praise. "Only right," he says. "I am a paladin." That last sentence might be directed at Ralaea, who continues to regard him dubiously.
Siamus also regards him dubiously. Maybe for different reasons.
Avrenne regards Lathrik cooly, but without deep scrutiny. The Light worship does sometimes seem to be that bizarre. Who knows what some people think hard enough in their head about their special glow energy? "With the day you must have had thus far, Mr. Dinnsfield, might we offer you refreshment?" Does he want tea or cookies food? He's a guard and therefore on duty, but he can be allowed a sit down moment, as a treat, for good behavior.
"Respectfully decline, Your Grace, and to be frank, the day's been a breeze compared to what came before." Lathrik does not elaborate on that.
Harvey practically glows with pride. Lathrik used title. He learned! If Harvey could produce tears, there would be a dramatic tear wipe. Now if only he could convince Ralaea to as well…
"Of course," Avrenne says. If she's impressed by the use of her proper title, it doesn't show. Her well applied cosmetics hide any evidence of the past few days of before as much as her manner does. The Circumstances™️ once again. But no, she's an Untouchable, Unassailable Duchess, and above such things as fear or worry or panic. And even if she isn't, no one who knows better is saying any differently, and so her reputation carries on.
Siamus touches Avrenne's shoulder briefly, where he is standing behind her. To the room at large, he says, "Now that we're sorted here, if ye'll all excuse me, I'm going to go change." Between the wet pea coat and the wet sweater, he is beginning to smell distinctly like a wet sheep.
Avrenne looks up at Siamus, and despite what is likely an internal effort at that cold woman, there's unmistakable warmth in her eyes. It's fine, she's allowed to be passing fond of her husband. She sets her teacup aside, and readies her dress to stand, setting her hand against his. "And I left some business upstairs that I should likely finish up before long. Miss Curran, Mr. Morningdew, Mr. Dinnsfield, Ralaea." Their names are spoken politely, a litany of temporary farewell. She might be back in a bit.
Siamus offers his wife his (damp) arm to escort her away.
Miss Curran, reading the room, finishes her tea and returns the cup to the table. "I ought to return to my work, if you don't mind. Lovely to see you again, Mr. Morningdew."
Harvey rises to his feet, offering a proper and polite bow as they leave. Lathrik stands as well, copying Harvey imperfectly, but look, an attempt was made. Ralaea does not stand, and looks up at the two men, still munching on a cookie. Maybe she is waiting for Lathrik to leave. He doesn't. An awkward silence follows, one in which Harvey considers sitting back down, even though he probably had something else in mind. Alas, his dance partner has not left the wall, so to speak.
"Ralaea…" he begins at last.
"Is he staying?" Ralaea interrupts, her gaze fixed on Lathrik.
"You bet," Lathrik replies, his expression inscrutable.
Harvey glances at Lathrik, his expression one of understanding. "Well, it is his…"
"Could you at least turn around?" Ralaea asks, interrupting Harvey to address Lathrik directly this time.
Lathrik raises his eyebrows. "Nope."
Harvey tries again. “Ralaea, it is his job to…”
"Close your eyes?" Frustration has started to creep into Ralaea's voice.
Harvey lets out a small sigh. “Lathrik, surely for a moment, it would be alright to…”
"You know what you did," Lathrik says to Ralaea, interrupting Harvey once again.
Ralaea glares at the paladin. "You're going to make this right, then."
"Oh?” Amusement creeps onto Lathrik’s face. Challenge accepted. “And how will I do that?"
Harvey, his own frustration growing, raises his voice by a small margin to be heard. "Would you both stop behaving like…"
Nope, sorry Harvey. "You're going to hug him for me,” Ralaea says.
Harvey blinks. "Pardon?"
"That's a leap," says Lathrik. "An' what makes ye think I'm going to do that?"
Ralaea looks smug. "If I don't get to hug him without embarrassing myself in front of you, you're going to do it instead, on my behalf. Do it, or I'll scream."
"You wouldn't," Lathrik challenges, but Harvey places an urgent hand on his shoulder.
"She would," he says. "Ralaea, please reconsider, it…it will only be for a little…"
Ralaea takes a deep breath.
"Light—okay, okay, give us a moment." Harvey turns to face Lathrik, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Seriously?" Lathrik asks. "We're doin' this?"
Ralaea takes a deeper breath.
“Shit,” Lathrik mutters. “Alright! Fine. We’re doing it.”
With a slight pause, followed by an awkward moment of positioning, the two men manage a hug.
“Now stay like that,” Ralaea says. “It’s supposed to be romantic, after all.”
Harvey stares up at the ceiling. This is fine.
Did someone say something is supposed to be romantic?
It's like the Batman Signal, a call that goes out to where one aspiring writer with overly romantic sentiments can hear it, and Isla Lenaire walks into the Fallon House receiving room with all the energy of someone who had heard voices speaking and come to investigate.
She halts in a sudden — loud — gasp at the sight of the three there. And then her eyes widen, her mouth opens, and oh no, is she going to scream? Is she going to panic and —
"Oh!" Isla squeals in delight, clasping her hands to her chest. Those might be almost visible stars around her eyes, twinkling above her head. Well. She isn't afraid or panicked, at least.
The two men all but spring apart guiltily at the sudden intrusion, Lathrik looking, for once, rather uncomposed, and Harvey, who could have predicted something like this, because this is how Ralaea's spite generally works, still tries to smooth the situation over.
"It was not…what you probably think it was," Harvey says. Yeah. Real convincing.
Ralaea, meanwhile, has a giant, and very smug smile on her face. "Hello, Isla," she says, turning in her seat to face her.
Isla looks even more intrigued. What does Harvey think she thinks it was? What should Isla be thinking that Harvey thinks she should think that would be different from what she should think? But upon realizing that one of the gentlemen in question is one of those Death Knights, what she says is, "Hello! Oh, you're a — you must be Harvey!" She's looking him over now with a flair of someone noting very important details. Yes, yes, white hair, of course. Glowing eyes, naturally. Runeblade, perfect. How exciting! But, no, she can be composed. She can ask reasonable questions like —
"Is it true what they say about Highlord Darion Morgraine? That he can strike fear into the hearts of people just by looking at them? Is that a special thing or — Oh, can you strike fear into the hearts of people by looking at them?" Is he doing it right now? How scary is Harvey?
"That… Yes, I am Harvey, and… I think that depends on how afraid people are of death knights in general? The Highlord is…loud, I suppose, and I, at least, try not to strike fear into people?" Harvey is a wet blanket. It is Harvey's first Isla Experience. He is extremely unprepared.
Lathrik has taken a seat on the couch, but his efforts to recompose have been largely unsuccessful. Instead of his usual laid back sitting posture, he is leaning forward slightly, expression serious.
Isla nods avidly. "Loud! Terrifyingly loud?" She doesn't wait for confirmation. He's now Terrifyingly Loud in the fanfiction. Perfect. She turns that attentiveness to Lathrik. Oh, she doesn't know who he is, actually. She flushes a little in embarrassment, but drops into a slightly awkward small curtsey, just in case. "Oh, I'm sorry, I — " She wobbles, whoops. End of the curtsey before she falls. "I'm Isla Lenaire, Her Grace's ward. And you are?" Look at her, remembering her manners and everything! Avrenne is proud. Well, she's sighing, but she's proud.
Lathrik snaps to his feet again and gives a military salute, perhaps a default, practiced reaction in the absence of his mask. "Lathrik Dinnsfield, paladin of the 3rd Special Unit under jurisdiction of the Kingdom of Stormwind." Oh. It's just a young girl. He sits again. Harvey doesn't cringe, but he doesn't not cringe either. Really, his face does more of a flinch.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Isla," Harvey says, offering her a small bow, mostly in an effort to take her attention away from his unfortunate babysitter. "We are here visiting Ralaea, as it came to my attention she was trapped in a Nightmare during recent events."
Isla is going to start vibrating with intensity soon. "Oh, a paladin — " She starts, stops, and turns back to Harvey, nodding. "Did she tell you then? I was trapped too, and I was simply terrible, and I thrashed horribly. I had to be made into a sheep, I was so fearsome and awful!" This is related with glee. She does not look, in her sunshine yellow dress with little white socks and black shoes, like she is capable of being either fearsome or awful, but maybe she has layers?
Probably she just has an imagination and a finger perpetually on the edit button.
"That…sounds exciting!" Harvey attempts to muster even half of the energy Isla seems to have. "A sheep. That is… do you remember what that was like?" He's… he's trying.
Ralaea pops another cookie into her mouth. She's not helping.
Isla shakes her head, warming to this topic. "Not at all. I asked Avrenne — oh, uh, Her Grace," is a hasty attempt at a correction, whoops, manners, "If she'd make me one again, but she said absolutely not. I'll just have to come up with something. Have you ever been a sheep? Oh! Can you still be a sheep? Do you think the sheep would sound different? Oh, would it have a runeblade?"
"I have never been a sheep, no," Harvey says. "And as such, I do not actually know whether or not it is still possible." After a pause, realizing how boring that sounds, he continues, "But…a death knight sheep may…very well have a runeblade, given the importance of the weapon. Perhaps it carries it…in its mouth?" He looks to Ralaea, who gives him an encouraging smile in return, and sips her milk. Doing great, Harvey.
Isla sets both hands at her own mouth, eyes wide. That's definitely going in the fanfiction. "Oh, like a pirate with a blade between his teeth, or could it wield it by the handle?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "It would be terribly clever if it was by the handle, don't you think? And then it could bleat in a terrifying voice." How it is bleating and carrying this runeblade will be probably ignored. It's a throat singer, maybe, she doesn't know. She turns though to Ralaea, because a thought has occurred to her. "Oh, but if I was a sheep, do you think Av — Her Grace had to turn you into one? Do you think we might have all been sheeps?"
"I…" That thought hadn't occurred to Ralaea either. "I hope…not. But I did…bite the Lordship."
Harvey stares at her. There's a lot to unpack there. Ralaea as a sheep would be adorably terrifying, for starters. Imagine its sullen sheepy face. Then the biting, and how no one volunteered THAT information before. Was it a nibble, or, no, it's Ralaea, it was probably violent. "Ralaea," he begins, focusing on the last thing instead, "that is not how…"
Ralaea gazes back at him, that defensive prickle already creeping into her expression.
"No, never mind," Harvey says, wisely dropping the subject. He will take his small wins with Lathrik and run.
"Oh, we were completely out of control," Isla tells Harvey with great relish, her hands flapping wildly in either emphasis or very possibly demonstration. "Just terrible! We had to be locked in separate rooms, with nothing inside, no weapons or sheets to escape out the windows, and I was in the haunted room, and the ghost must have been so pleased, but I didn't see her at all." Wait, there's a ghost now? Slow down, Isla.
Isla will not. But wait, the information — "You bit Siamus?" She asks Ralaea, her manners forgotten, and nearly trips on her way over to Ralaea, to get in closer to her friend. "Oh, Rae!" Again, that sense that she might just scream but all she does is ask, a little too loudly, and much, much too joyfully, "Where?!"
"His arm, I guess?" Ralaea says. "I don't remember it, of course."
Harvey looks just a bit relieved. His arm. Only his arm. Then the rest slowly starts to process. "You were out of control? There's a ghost?" A pause. "Do you happen to know where Emerine is?"
"She's sleeping, upstairs, in the room Rae was in," Isla pipes up, helpfully. "Oh, you must be very quiet if you go see her. She has very good hearing, and Scilla says she probably has more knives on her than a reasonable person should have, which I think would be forty, but Lee says that's much too unreasonable." A brief flash of annoyed anger, like lightning across her face. Hmph. What does Lee know anyway? But she brightens. "We're all normal again now though! Except for maybe the — Oh! Oh, you're a paladin!" She whirls on Lathrik. "Do you know how to exercise a ghost? Is there a litany you use, or is it holy gestures? Do you need a priest as well?"
"Yes, he is a paladin, isn't he?" Ralaea smirks again, even though the 'supposedly' is still on her face. "But I bet he needs a priest. Paladins are handsy, I've heard, so he'll need someone to, you know. Put his hands on."
Lathrik has finally managed to compose himself thanks to Harvey taking the spotlight for a moment, thanks buddy. He raises his eyebrows mildly at Ralaea's suggestion. "Sure, some paladins might need a priest to exercise a ghost," he says, having picked up on the slight error of the word, "But I prefer to take them for walks."
Isla gasps and puts her hands to her mouth, her head swiveling at dangerously quick speeds between Lathrik and Harvey (quick, call a young priest and an old priest!). "Oh, is that what you were doing? You needed to put your hands all over Harvey? Are you exercising him? Or is this how you start a walk together?" Oh, there's definitely fanfiction being written, right there, in front of them. There might even be wonton wanton desire being written in this. The Forbidden Romance of a paladin of the Light and the Death Knight of the Ebon Blade. Their beloved warrior caught between their love like a sheep holding a runeblade's handle hilt between her teeth.
Lathrik raises a hand to his lips and gives Isla a cheerful wink. "'Twas a sacred ritual, that, top secret. We were about to initiate a walk, us two. Good on ye, lass, for catchin' us just then."
"I… Pardon?" Harvey says again, helplessly. What is even happening right now?
Isla's eyes expand to comical levels. She looks between Harvey, Lathrik, Ralaea, and starts again. She blushes a bright pink, and flaps her hands a little. "O-oh! Oh, I'm sorry — I…yes! I didn't mean to interrupt the — you can…all have your sacred ritual," she squeaks out. "Sorry, sorry, I'll just… " Melt out of everyone's sight. And by that we mean, back away awkwardly, bump into a chair, yelp, nearly fall to the floor as she jumps away with another sorry, sorry apology to the chair maybe, and then flees with absolutely not even remotely ladylike speed.
Yeah, sorry, Lathrik. She might tell everyone about the top's secret sacred ritual with his bottoms, who can say.
"I am so sorry," Harvey says when Isla has gone. "That will probably…travel, some."
Lathrik shrugs. "You got a feisty little lady here," he says. "She caught me by surprise, is all."
Ralaea finally gets to her feet, confronting Lathrik. "Take his runesword, if you're that worried about it. I only want a moment."
Harvey, almost insistently, shoves the blade in question into Lathrik's hands. "Please."
"Alright," Lathrik says, taking the runesword with a sigh. "But if anyone dies while I'm not watchin' I'm telling the uppers the feisty one put me out." He turns his back.
Finally at least a little bit alone together, Harvey takes Ralaea into his arms. "Are you really alright?" he asks her softly.
"Yeah," she whispers back. "I will be. Just… live, okay? If the trial doesn't go… If something happens, then I…"
"Then you will put Kaela down and finish the Lich King for both of us," Harvey says firmly. "And then, you will find a nice place, set a Stone down to remember me, and move on. But have confidence in the Fallons. Their reputation is on the line here, and they will do their utmost to make this a winning case."
Ralaea closes her eyes, listening to his words, and finally takes a steadying breath. "Okay. Yeah. I believe you."
Harvey pulls back, wearing a fond smile as he gazes down at her. "I should not overstay my welcome here," he says. "As soon as our hosts return, we will depart."
Ralaea reaches out and links one of her fingers with his. "Okay," she says. "I'll see you after it's over." There is a faint, timid smile on her face.
Lathrik turns back to them. There. He is doing his job again, and not at all buying Ralaea's sudden shyness.